#thunder mcqueen

pt. 3

Hol Horse

Usually when you're slumming it at the sleaziest bars available you like to be left alone. You're a rather irritable drunk, with little patience or tolerance for people hitting on you, talking to you, breathing near you, or generally just having a pulse (once again, near you, can't they do that somewhere else?). But when he comes around...for some reason it doesn't bother you. Not one bit. 

Hol Horse had made a somewhat dicey decision in trying his luck with you. It'd been random chance, of course, just a sudden idea, and impulse he'd given into. Plus in his honest opinion you're probably one of the finest people at this total dump. Seriously, what's a chick like you doing here anyways? Only one way to find out. He cozies up next to you at the bar, not at all shy.

"You'll hafta pardon me for askin', miss," he'd started. You don't even look at him but he continues. "But what's a catch like yourself doin' at such a run down bar, huh? Don't be shy now, I just gotta know." 

You give him such a venomous glare. Enough to kill an actual viper, probably. You're definitely into him, Hol Horse smugly decides. 

"Kill yourself." You turn back to your drink, trying to look as busy as humanely possible. Can't he just leave you the hell alone? 

The man only grinned, a finger at the brim of his hat. "And miss out on talkin' with such a live wire? Not a chance in the world baby. You're a one-in-a-million type babe, I can tell you that right now." 

He really, really will not leave you alone. Usually the glare and the immature death threat is enough to send them packing. Far away from you. So you can wallow in self-loathing in peace and also in a really decent amount of garbage vodka. But this guy will just not let up. What a fucking scumbag. He doesn't give you...a dangerous type of vibe. Just a really incessantly, annoying one. 

He leans in closer to you. "Name's Hol Horse, by the way. You don't gotta tell me yours. I'm alright with callin' you baby instead, how's that sound?" 

SUCH a prick--he's already got your blood boiling. That's a very rare thing to be able to pull off. See, you're more of a stone-cold snide, bitch type of mean. Not raging bitch type mean. It's rare for anyone to make you feel anything at all, really, rather than general disdain. But rage. Oooo....he makes you feel a type of hot fury that you haven't felt in a long time. The type that swallows you whole, makes it hard to even think straight. 

"Sounds," you say, "like shit. Don't call me that. Jackass." You go back to sitting silently like before. But Hol Horse knows you'll take the bait. He smirks as you suddenly look back up at him, his cheek leaned into his hand expectantly. "What the hell kind of a name is 'Hold Horse'? Tell me that's not legal." 

Yep. Took the bait. Works every time. He'd predicted you'd go to attack him over it. 

Hol Horse smiles at you. Not a snide little half smirk, nothing of the sort, just a genuine smile. He tips his hat. "It's Hol Horse. Let me buy you another drink and maybe I'll tell you all about it, baby. And not that cheap stuff either." He casts a look at the watered down drink still nestled in your palm. 

You look him over again, sizing him up. He's built. Well built. And he's got this scruffy look to him, like he's up to no good. Shifty. That's what he is. But there's no sort of ill intent or evil in his eyes. None that you recognize, which is strange because you've come across many forms of pure evil in your life. Most men--their eyes are very dull and empty and hungry. Not his. His are very much alive. And a hue of dark blue, dark enough to be perceived as black if the shadow of his hat covered them enough. And there's no hunger to them. Just a sort of glint. Like a "hey, wanna play?" type of thing. Maybe it's just fascination. Maybe curiosity. Whatever it is, you don't have a name for it. 

He's no danger. At least not to you. 

As you're about to accept Hol Horse's offer, somewhat reluctantly, you feel a tap on your shoulder. A scowl quickly crawls onto your face as you turn to look at yet another man. You open your mouth to say something downright nasty. Hol Horse beats you to it. That and he also draws a gun--wait, where did he get that? It's like it just appeared in his hand? Is he some sort of quickdraw?

"Beat it ugly," he barks. "Can't ya' see we're in the middle of somethin' real nice?" 

Hol Horse must be a magician. Because just like that, the intruder disappears. And so does his gun. You decide you're just too tipsy to register whatever happened to it. He turns back to you with that smug look slipping back onto his face. It replaces the old expression. The one that hardened his face and all the sudden he wasn't some jackass at a bar trying to woo you. He was a stone-cold, grizzled killer. Or maybe he just hates men as much as you do. 

"C'mon girl. Can't say no to that drink now, can ya? Did'ja a real favor there." 

"I was gonna say yes anyways," you mutter stubbornly. Just for the sake of not letting him think he has power over your decisions. "I'd be stupid to say no to a free drink. That's not fucking rocket science. Just know you're not getting shit in exchange." 

Hol Horse laughs. He has a raspy laugh. 

You don't chase him off, purely because you feel like now you at least owe him bare minimum courtesy. He can talk his head off, you don't care. As long as he's paying, you're not the one taking a loss here. What an idiot. But he's an interesting idiot. He's busy telling you some crazy ass story that can't possibly true, about how he's a mercenary for hire and he's thinking about taking a job from some eccentric freak in Egypt. At least you can say you've never once heard those combination of words in your life until now. 

To his credit, the story is long enough that he's bought you enough drinks to the point where you're pretty close to shitfaced. 

Hol Horse's goal hadn't really been to coerce any sort of sexual favor out of you, no matter how drunk he got you. Well, originally it had been, but as he talks to you he realizes there's something just. Off about you. Not in a bad way. In a way where he knows he shouldn't let this devolve into one of his usual one night stands.

He's never been above doing sleazy shit like this just to get some ass but...he looks at you and knows he can't do that to you. He won't. 

"You don't look too good, baby...lemme walk you back to your place, huh?" He offers.

You respond by dumping what's left of your drink on him. He stares at you. You stare back, eyes narrowed. Then, you seem to relax.

You shrug. "Okay." 

Hol Horse isn't sure what the fuck that was about but he's certainly intrigued by you. 

It takes twenty minutes longer than usual to get back to your apartment. This is because you gave him incorrect directions six times. Two of those times were on purpose because you'd simply thought it would be funny. You likely would have confessed this to him in the coming months if you'd been sober enough to remember. 

You stare at Hol Horse for a moment from inside your apartment, hand on the door. You sure hope he doesn't think he's getting invited in. Your grip pushes up harder against the wall, you desperately need the support. 

"For the record...you have a great rack," you tell him, slurring far too lightly for how much alcohol you'd had. "Thanks for the drinks. Night."

And then the door slams in his face.

She's fuckin' hot. Probably wants me too, just gotta play things right. Next time I bet I can get her name. 

Daniel J. D'Arby

A lost traveler. As stupid and cliche as it gets. Also Daniel's favorite people to take advantage of. Something about the combination of desperation, jet lag, and general disorientation makes them especially easy to toy with. When you'd walked into the hotel bar, you'd looked beyond frazzled. You didn't even order a drink. You'd just sat down in front of him at the table he'd chosen to lounge at. Daniel looks up at you, acting as though he hadn't even noticed you walk in and already thought of the best way to claim your soul. 

"Can I help you?" He asks, knowing he can and will help you. That's right, help you find your place amongst his many other trophies. Such a pretty face. Perhaps it'd be better for it to be immortalized on a coin, rather than be cursed with age and weariness. Perhaps he'll even give you your own page...he wouldn't want to lose you among the many other ones. Or heaven forbid, insult you by daring to place you alongside so many other average and even ugly faces. 

He thinks of all the scumbags and other scam artists he's swindled out of their souls. There are plenty of 'innocent' people simply cursed with the misfortune of losing to him, sure. But there's a fair sure of despicable people there too. Who deserved to lose. That the earth deserved to be cleansed of. No...you definitely don't deserve to be alongside them. 

Quickly, Daniel draws himself out of his thoughts. Such foolishness to already plan so far when he hasn't even been able to lure you into a game yet. 

Upon seeing the deck of cards he seems to be mindlessly shuffling, a slight weary smile appears on your face. "Got any 3's?" you ask, obviously joking, voice cracking slightly with distress. 

Oh?

Daniel smirks. This could be easy. But a bit of curiosity prods at him. To learn more. About you, of course. 

"Perhaps I do." He won't make you bet your soul yet. It's an easy slide of the correct fingers to shuffle the deck to his desires, seemingly without looking. You watch the cards blur, until he turns them right side up and produces a three of hearts. He pinches it between his pointer and middle, face coming to rest in his hand as he watches for your reaction.

"You're a very lucky man," you say, looking a bit taken aback. 

"Luck, my dear, has absolutely nothing to do with it," Daniel says, coy smile pulling further at the corner of his lips. "How about a game?"

You shake your head disappointingly quick. His hand drops from his face, eyes still on yours. 

"I...I wish I could. I'm just...I'm really out of it right now. They're still trying to find my room that I booked that apparently just." You let out a frustrated sigh. "Just isn't in their records anymore. This is stupid to share with a stranger buttt...I'm gonna roll the dice and take the risk, y'know? I'm alone here, and scared. I don't have much on me either. I dunno what I'm gonna do if things don't sort themselves out." 

This honest and he hasn't even managed to sway you with a couple of drinks first? Unbelievable. 

"You just look...I dunno." You're looking even more and more desperate by the second. An exasperated hand goes to push at your head. "Like you just know what you're doing. Trustworthy, I-I guess. What do you think I should do?"

"Hm. Perhaps you can stay with me," he says, tone light. At your face, he cocks an eyebrow. "You did mention I looked...what was it? 'Trustworthy'? Why not roll the dice just once more on me?"

Your face begins to flush furiously. "I don't know if-um. I. It's nothing against you, I just-"

So nervous...it's kinda cute. Daniel leans a cheek into his palm once more, gazing over at you as you stumble over your own words for a solid eight seconds more. 

"Or." His smooth voice cuts off your stammering. "You could play me for my room key." He reaches into his pocket, retrieving it. He offers it to you, leaving it resting in his palm. When you reach for it, his large fingers close over your hand. You flush even brighter, which he finds even more amusing. "Ah. Ah. You haven't won it quite yet. The real question here..." The man's grip tightens. "Is what you can bet in return." 

"I-I thought just not getting the room key would be enou-"

The man shakes his head. "It was a rather pricy room really...I want to gain something from this too. We are both seeking out the things we desire, yes?" His eyes still don't leave yours. 

You nod shakily. "I...I don't have any money. What's it worth to you, maybe I can trade-or-or something-"

"Your name. Does that sound fair?"

At your immediate look of unsureness, Daniel elaborates.

"Win against me and you won't have to give your name to a strange 'trustworthy' man sitting in the bar of a hotel."

"I-I don't think you're strange," you say quickly, hands up defensively. "For what it's worth." 

It's the truth. He's not strange. Just...bold. The last thing you'd want to do is insult him in any way. Not with what's on the line.

"But okay, deal. Um, you can pick the game, I guess. I'm not really great at cards so try to keep it easy, okay?"

You're very hilarious without knowing it. Something about the irony of not realizing who you're playing with, he thinks. That's what makes it all so funny.

"I quite liked your approach earlier," Daniel muses. "Fish it is."

For the first time in a long time, Daniel did not call out his stand. He didn't cheat. He didn't use any of the questionable dirty tricks he usually did. He simply plays with you. He leaves it to chance, something he hasn't done in a very long time. Usually, he can't risk losing, not with either the money he's contracted to win or what's at stake. But since souls are not in play, a loss will not weigh on him and his trophies won't be affected. He didn't mind taking a breather, playing such a simple card game with you. And you look so cute when you're concentrating that hard. He saw you bite your lip a little out of anxiousness before calling out a number and his mind wanders. 

Fate smiled upon you that night, because you won.

He hadn't thrown the game, he hadn't let you win--you simply won because you did. And considering the only players were you and him, it was a rather quick game.

You breathed a sigh of relief as he slid the room key over to you across the table, that same smile still set on his elegant face.

"Um...thank you." You're quite for a moment, picking it up and turning it over in your hand. "I kinda feel bad about stealing your room from you, though." 

Daniel simply gives you a dismissive shrug, leaning back as he takes a slow slip from his glass. He has really thick eyelashes. 

"I hate to leave now but...I'm really tired. More than you know." Awkwardly, you sit back as well.

Oh he definitely knew. Your eyelids had been fluttering with exhaustion the entire game. He's surprised you hadn't just fallen asleep on top of the card pool honestly. 

He raises a polite hand. "Please," Daniel insists. "Don't let me keep you." 

Still feeling awkward, like something's unfinished or unsaid, you stand up. The blush in your face hasn't quite subsided. You can't believe this guy gave up his room key so easily. Not even best out of three games? What was he going to do? Where was he going to stay? You know it's not smart to worry about all that, it's not smart to care about strangers this much. And you still feel bad you can't pay him back, seeing as you "won" the key.

Daniel watches you start to walk away without turning his head. Then you hesitate. You turn back around. Quickly, face still flushed a light pink, you lean down and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," you say again. "This means a lot to me." Quickly, you stood back up straight.

Even though you've won, you mutter your name to him, looking more and more embarrassed under his unwavering gaze. Does this guy ever blink? You suppose he doesn't have to, considering how his eyes always seem to be so sultry and half-lidded. You turn around, attempting to leave once more. His hand goes to snatch your wrist, with unexpected quickness and aggression. You look back, stunned.

"D'arby," he replies. "Daniel J. D'arby." 

He releases you. Heart pounding in your chest, you finally leave the bar, key gripped tight in your hand. 

Daniel smirks, looking down once more into the auburn depths of his brandy.

"(Y/N), hm?" he muses out loud. 

He has great plans for you.

This game should surely be entertaining. 

pt. 4

Okuyasu Nijimura

He's some new dude in your class. 

He's apparently new to campus, having joined late in the semester for whatever reason. You've heard rumors about him purely because of his scholarship. It's some strange, situational one that no one's ever heard of before, and enough to give him a full ride. You're a little jealous yourself, but hey, that's just life. 

Honestly, upon meeting him, you thought he'd be a lot more pompous or snooty. But Okuyasu's kinda like...well the complete opposite of that. Guess that teaches you a lesson about judging a book by its cover--or at least the rumors surrounding said book. Judging by appearance probably would have actually given you a way better idea of his character in the first place. 

He slouches. Like a lot. Even when he's standing up. He's not ridiculously tall or anything like that, so he doesn't have much of an excuse for such bad posture. His hands always seem to be in his pockets. And he's got these strange, curved, symmetrical scars on his face. What gave him those? Sometimes they distract you when he's leaned over, asking for something like a pencil or yesterday's notes, and he has to repeat himself because you weren't listening. Okuyasu talks funny too. With some sort of dialect you've never heard before. 

As his first few weeks on campus drew out, you found yourself talking to him a little more. Y'know. Small talk, the basics. Usually you're not one to chat during lectures but the last couple of units have been kinda boring. He told you he was from Morioh, that he missed it a lot and couldn't wait to go back for winter break. Then he asked you when winter break was because he hadn't the first clue about the dates and apparently couldn't get an answer from anyone but you. 

You'd mentioned offhandedly that when you were really young, too young to remember, you used to live in Morioh for a couple of months. That's what your parents had told you at least. Okuyasu asked if you went to a high school that you'd never ever heard of (apparently thinking that you'd only recently moved from Morioh too, like him). You kinda felt bad about your dryness in the conversation and told him no, but fibbed a little and said the name was familiar at least. 

After getting rightfully shushed by the people behind the two of you, the conversation died. You didn't mind--it was a good out. Okuyasu, on the other hand, looked beyond pissed. His right hand clenches a little. He wishes he could use his stand to make the people behind him disappear so he could keep talking to you instead of trying to desperately understand what was going on. It's just an intro class...why do things have to be so difficult in college? How embarrassing...

That gives him a bit of an idea, however. 

Later after class, he'd pulled you aside, a rough hand on your shoulder.

"This is kinda embarrassing but I'm...I'm kinda startin' to already struggle and I get confused and stuff...I get confused really easy. Uhm...do you wanna do one of those things? The study group thing?" Okuyasu asked you, looking more and more desperate with every word out of his mouth. 

You shrug. "Sure, why not." It isn't like you have anything better to do. Plus it'll give you an excuse to get away from your roommate. 

"Great! Awesome! Thank ya-" he starts to turn away from you, looking beyond excited.

It's your turn to grab his shoulder. "Hold on, don't leave yet," you said. His face flushed a little. "Let's trade numbers before you go. So we can figure out when and where we wanna meet."

Your number? Already? This is going even better than he expected. 

"Yeah! Yeah, of course. Sorry, I'm not all that smart, y'know?" 

Despite getting your number, he still feels pretty stupid. How could he have forgotten something as important as that? Do you already think he's a complete idiot? Maybe it's for the best, cuz' at least you'll lower your expectations for him a whole lot. Then he remembers that he's not supposed to think like that anymore, not according to Josuke at least. Man he wishes Josuke were here...

Conflict settles in his stomach.

Or...does he really wish that? Without Josuke here it's less competition--wait, fuck, why's he thinking of his best friend like he's some sort of rival still? He's not even on the damn campus! But Okuyasu can't help but bitterly remember the way all the hot chicks in high school would fawn and flock over to Josuke, and not him. How's he not supposed to feel just a teeny tiny bit jealous over stuff like that?

Cuz he's in college now. Right. Right. Stupid. Grow the fuck up. 

His head finally clears around the same time a text from you rolls in a couple hours later. Apparently your classes for the day were finally over. 

When u wanna meet up? ? theres a study room in my building we coould go there instead of the library 

All the little typos were kinda cute. And you felt way less intimidating, since you texted so casually. His heart races as he responds. He can't believe he's getting worked up over something so small...

4 pm maybe if it works for u. what building r u in

sounds good

You give him the name of the residential building you happen to live in. He's relieved that it's within walking distance. He still hasn't really figured out the layout of this campus and how to get around it. Maybe you could help him with that too if you liked him enough? 

"Y'know maybe I'm jus' not meant for this whole college thing," he'd muttered to you somewhat glumly, his cheek in his palm during the study session.

You'd simply shrugged your shoulders, keeping the pencil pointed at the term you were currently attempting to explain to him. You've dumbed it down around 50 times now, but it's just...not clicking for him. You get annoyed pretty easily, being tired and overworked and all, but with Okuyasu, that familiar flare of irritation never really sets in. It's like you suddenly gain the patience of a saint with him. It's not out of pity either. He just, for some reason, doesn't entirely piss you off. 

"Some people are, some people aren't," you replied. "No shame in it. Some of us are just meant to do different things. Like some just go right into the workforce. I like that you're going for the whole higher education thing though. It's cool. Seems like you're actually putting the work in. Just give it time. You just gotta figure out what type of learning works best for you." 

Never mind the other stuff for now--you think he's cool? He thought after the hell that was this study session you'd be getting all mad at him and giving up and storming out or something. That happened to him a few times in Morioh when Josuke suggested he try the tutors the school offered after classes. 

He perks up a lot after that and seems to suddenly tune in much better. You even managed to finally get him to understand the basics of the one theory he'd been having the most trouble with comprehending. Having him memorize them and be able to tell the difference between them would be a whole other story, but little steps, little baby steps. And that's not even beginning to mention the fact that he's a solid two weeks behind since he started classes late on campus. He must have an absolute miracle worker of an advisor. 

The study group that you expected to fall apart after around two meetings actually stayed pretty solid. You met with Okuyasu frequently, up to four or five times a week actually. A few times you suggested bringing other people in, after hearing them vent their own frustrations about the course before and after the lectures. However, Okuyasu told you he can't focus as well with more people involved. So, you shrug and agree. It can just keep being you and him against the world and this hell class.

Tonio Trussardi 

You'd just been looking for work. There'd been some ad in the paper about help wanted at some restaurant near the outside of town. Some Italian place. It looked interesting and the pay didn't look completely awful, so you thought you would give it a shot. 

Trattoria Trussardi, what a name. You hoped you wouldn't have too much difficulty remembering or pronouncing it. Your nerves started to get a bit shaky when you'd first walked through the door with the paper still in your hand, kinda feeling like an awkward, out of place idiot. The empty restaurant wasn't really helping. You found that odd. Although the restaurant is new, it had been steadily gaining popularity. Sometimes you see reviews of the food (always five stars) in the newspaper. So if it's so quiet why is help needed? Maybe a question to ask after you got the job. At least there wouldn't be any dinner rushes anytime soon. 

"Ah, welcome!" comes an accented voice from the kitchen entrance. 

Judging by his outfit, he's the chef, and probably the one who put the help wanted ad in the paper. You thought he'd be...a lot older? He can't be more than five, maybe seven years older than yourself. Suddenly he's daunting to you, and not just because he's so tall--it kinda feels like you've done nothing with your life compared to him. 

Turns out Tonio (he'd insisted that you to call him that instead of Mr. Trussardi because he wanted to be on equal terms with you, although sometimes a habitual 'sir' slips out from you here and there from former jobs) was super friendly. He had such a cheery, warm demeanor that it was hard to continue feeling intimidated, much less nervous around him. It helped that he practically hired you on the spot too.

You'd asked him to reconsider, as you have little to no experience in cooking. He'd simply laughed, a hand at your back as he ushered you into the kitchen with ease. 

"You wish to become my apprentice, sì?" He'd asked as he hands you an apron. 

"Uhmm..." even through your shyness you put on the apron out of awkwardness. "I thought this was more of a waitressing thing? The ad didn't really specify."

Tonio nods. "Ah, I understand." He suddenly looks disappointed. "If you are not up to it, then I by no means will pressure you."

You feel a strange panic shoot through you. Like you're going to miss out on one of the best opportunities in your life if you take off the apron and walk out of this kitchen. "N-no," you reply quickly. "I can be your apprentice. That's okay. I kinda need this job. I'm willing to learn." The part about needing the job was a lie. You'd already mentally lined up a few other help wanted ads to check out if this one was a dud. But you're willing to take the risk with sticking around here. 

Tonio claps his hands with a smile. God, he's kinda cute...you wonder if a guy like him has ever had a bad day in his entire life. 

"Bene! That is all you need to begin--willing to learn. Now, we begin. Basics first, of course. This is your first day." 

He should be a motivational speaker. 

Most of the day was spent teaching you more about the function of certain areas and things in the kitchen, the placement of the knives and other tools, proper dress code, things like that. You were kinda relieved Tonio was taking it this slow with you. When the idea of being someone's apprentice came to mind, you always thought of a mentor as being much older, grouchier, and scarier. But not Tonio--the guy's a complete and total sweetheart through and through. He genuinely, really really loves what he does and it's obvious. 

You already love his passion.

Even as you finish up things with him (you'd been here for six hours? It'd only seemed like two...), and head for the door you feel rather upbeat about this new job. 

Tonio called out for you to wait. He'd been so happy about receiving such a bright, eager new apprentice, something important had just slipped his mind. 

"Scuse...I never asked for your name. You'll have to forgive me, hm?" 

You feel twice as dumb as he does for not remembering to introduce yourself in the first place. "Right! Of course, it's (Y/N). I should have told you earlier." 

"(Y/N)," Tonio repeats, getting the proper pronunciation down. Then he nods. "You'll come in again tomorrow, sí?"

"Sí," you respond.

He smiles, wide, and waves as you turn to leave for real. 

For once you don't mind waking up for a job.

With the coming weeks, Tonio steadily began to teach you more and more. He has you just observe for the first couple of days. Tonio's accent can be a little thick at times, but you're getting better at understanding him. You even pick up some more Italian from him too! He'll admit to himself that it's cute to listen to you parrot back phrases or butcher pronunciation here and there, but to your credit you are getting much better as time passes. 

Tonio's very attentive and trains you to the best of his abilities. Any mistakes you'd made, he'd simply shrugged off. You'd looked so scared when you'd first messed up a dish. He'd simply laughed at the awful amalgamation of somehow burnt spaghetti and tomatoes. Messing up is part of the process, he tells you.

"Failure is a good way to get better. So don't cry, okay amichetta?" Tonio gave your shoulder a soft squeeze with his hand. Somehow, it makes you instantly feel better. "How about a little lunch break? If you must cry, you will not do it on an empty stomach."

You could never turn down an offer like that. You're not sure what his secret is, but his food is fucking legendary. 

Keicho Nijimura

Okuyasu was supposed to be here two hours ago...

You sigh and lay your head down on your arms, sinking low onto the crummy kitchen table. One of the legs is shorter than all the other ones so it tilts. It kinda smells funky too. Likely a result of all the leaking water from the ceiling dripping onto it.

You hear stairs creak and sit up suddenly. Is somebody else home? You know he has a brother, but Okuyasu says he's kinda mean so he'll make sure you don't ever have to cross paths with him. You also know his dad's locked in the attic (long story) and isn't allowed out. So it can't be him. 

"My big bro's just...difficult to understand sometimes, that's all," Okuyasu had insisted when explaining the enigma that was Keicho Nijimura to you, doubling back on what he'd said. "So what if he's a lil' moody? Y'know? He does a lot for me and my old man." 

Can't argue with that. 

Your first thought upon seeing the infamous elder Nijimura brother is to immediately apologize for being in his house and maybe being alive too. He's beyond fucking scary. Is he doing that on purpose, keeping to the shadows like that? He's so intimidating you don't even have the time to fully comprehend or acknowledge the war crime that is his hair. How had you never noticed someone like him before at school? He'd stick out like a sore thumb. Did he really keep to himself that much? 

So many questions and you're too paralyzed to ask any of them. Not that you ever would, that's rude. And the worst idea ever considering he's glaring fucking daggers into you from across the room. Not even daggers. Something bigger and more violent. A rifle or something. His hand slides off the staircase railing as he starts to approach. Quickly, you stand up, bowing as deep as humanly possible, praying he'll take pity on you.

"S-sorry. I'm. I'm not supposed to be here alone, uhm. Sir. Okuyasu was supposed to be here-" 

An exasperated groan leaves Keicho. His teeth flash white in the gloom of the house as he grits them. "That's my little idiot of a brother. Late and unreliable." 

His voice is so deep. You stand up straighter only because your head's starting to spin from how quick you'd gotten up and bowed. He's fucking huge. Okuyasu's got that same kind of heft to him, must be in the genes, but he's not nearly as tall. Would it be appropriate to just turn around and leave right now? WHY WAS OKUYASU SO HORRIBLY LATE?? 

"Uhm. Sorry," you apologize again.

Keicho fixed you with a sharp gaze. You stand up even straighter. Your spine could have made a metal ruler look floppy in that moment. "Don't apologize for him," he snaps. "Why were the two of you meeting here anyways?"

"I mean...I come over a lot to play video games with him sometimes...I thought you, uh, I thought Okuyasu would have let you know that-"

"I know you come over here. I can hear you two babbling through the ceiling. That's not the answer I wanted. What are you doing here now?"

You feel like you're going to burst into tears. Your voice shakes a little. "Uhm-"

"Stop, with the 'uhs' and the 'uhms'," he suddenly interrupts you again. He comes closer to properly stare you down. You wish you could melt into the floor and die. You hope Okuyasu dies too--how could he let you even chance, much less be alone in a room with his scary ass older brother??

 "It's appalling. Answer confidently or don't answer at all. What a waste of breath." 

You take a moment to breathe in, to steady yourself, but you can't shake the ice from your blood. "To study. We were...going to study. He said he got a-a bad grade in English." 

Keicho's upper lift lips a little. He shakes his head. "I don't like that he kept you waiting. How long have you been here?"

You really don't want to tell him. He leans closer, expecting his answer. You shrink back. 

"Twohours." You mutter quickly, voice barely above a whisper. 

Great now he looks even more pissed off. You should have lied and said two minutes. However, that answer might piss him off equally as much. He's so...disciplined? Is that the right word? Sergeant-like? You wonder if he served in the military or something--he looks so young, though...Okuyasu certainly hasn't mentioned anything like that when Keicho was rarely brought up in conversation. 

"You can leave," Keicho commands.

Don't gotta ask me twice.

"Yes, right, of course," you open your mouth for another 'uh' then quickly remember what Keicho's reaction had been last time. "Thank you." 

What the fuck are you even thanking him for? Bootcamp simulator? Whatever--you're just happy to get the hell out of there.

You leave so fast you forget your English notes, which you'd brought to study. Keicho picks them up, flipping through them a bit suspiciously. Well...at least you weren't lying. Not that he cared too much about his brother's progression in school, but oftentimes Okuyasu would lie and say you were only coming over to study with him, just so you could play video games with him instead. Keicho hated being lied to. Whenever he caught him, he didn't mind having Bad Company fire a couple of warning shots a little too close to Okuyasu's head. Some of the walls still bare the odd little bullet holes. 

Keicho was pretty sure you wouldn't dare come back for them. You'd been blanched and terrified throughout the entire conversation. Maybe on the verge of fainting too. He doesn't trust Okuyasu to get those notes back to you. As usual...Okuyasu dragging someone else down with him and being a general disappointment. What's new? 

So, he ends up seeking you out between passing periods. He manages to catch you right before your English class. You certainly didn't look happy--and that was before seeing him, so Keicho (correctly) guessed that you were stressed out over the missing notes. 

Your day gets significantly worse when you see the senior standing outside the door to the classroom, waiting expectantly with the usual scowl on his face. He sees the way you go from looking frustrated to scared. 

"In a minute, you'll be late," Keicho says coldly. Then he reaches into his book bag and pulls out your notebook. He jerks it impatiently towards you.

You get the message and quickly take it from his hands. "Uh-" you cut yourself off, not in the mood for him to go off on you in the hall right before your least favorite class. "Thank you, Nijimura." 

"Don't forget this."

Between his scary, giant man fingers is your pink glitter pen that Okuyasu got you as a gag gift from a dollar store. It actually made you more willing to take down notes in class, so it isn't completely useless. But right now it's the last thing you want to see. 

You want to kill yourself. Again. Okuyasu should also be killed simultaneously as this is partially his fault technically.

Your cheeks flush a little as you quickly take it from him like it's contraband. "Thank you. Again." You bow your head and leave for your class. He's not wrong, you actually are about to be late in a few more seconds. 

Keicho casts an icy look in the direction of the classroom door, closing behind you. 

After what you considered to be the worst two days of your life, it's like you suddenly are able to spot Keicho around the school more often. Originally, you'd gotten paranoid, thinking he was following you. But then you just realized he's always been around and you'd been too dense or distracted to notice. He never looks over at you or tries to talk to you really. 

Actually, he looks pissed off all the time so you try your best to leave him alone. 

The most he does is maybe roll his eyes when he sees you giggling or chatting with Okuyasu in the halls but you think the dude just genuinely fucking hates everything including human joy and laughter. 

You wonder what happened that made him well...the way he was. At least in comparison to Okuyasu. They're both from the same family, went through the same things. So how could two brothers be so completely different?

What a strange man...

Yuya Fungami

You think Yuya Fungami is a washed up piece of trash. He peaked in high school and your life would generally be better without him in it. You just want to know what the fuck he's on that makes him as unbearable as he is. 

Throughout high school he'd constantly pestered you for a date. After GRADUATING high school he'd continued on pestering you for a date. "Just one", he'd begged you over and over again. This was before and even during the period of time where he started amassing groupies. Once you considered filing a restraining order but you had no proof against him doing any actual stalking or harm to you and to his credit, whenever you told him no and to go die, he usually left you alone after about ten more minutes of begging. 

Ironically, although you're what draws him, you're also the only thing that can send him away. A few times, strangers had tried to intervene with his light harassment and he has a pretty bad habit of beating the absolute living shit out of them. He is a total punk after all, through and through. He'd never hit a lady like you, but some asshole trying to get in his way? Oh yeah, they're going the fuck down.

It's been a few years since you've seen him now actually. You're hoping you're well on your way to forgetting his face completely.

Then, you had the extreme misfortune of running into him at a coffee shop.

Fuck, is your immediate thought upon seeing him. He's alone, for once, which you find strange. Nowadays he usually likes hanging around with three different girls (he claims he loves all of them equally and he can love you equally also, which you rudely reject). When you recognize him, you start to turn around and leave.

He, being the jackass he is, follows you out.

"Now, wait, wait, wait, what's the rush, huh?" he asks, stepping in front of you with that stupid smirk of his, cutting off your path. You automatically step back from him, having almost run into his chest. He continues advancing, until your back is up against a wall.

"I swear to fucking God, I will pepper spray the fuck out of you, Fungami," you warn, hand already reaching into your bag. It's a bluff. You'd stopped bringing around your pepper spray after the first couple of months of not seeing him anywhere. 

"You're not gonna even ask me how I've been? Geez...thought giving you some time alone would help you cool off..." 

He sees your face pale a little at the implication that the only reason he left for so long was to come back when you were least expecting it to catch you off guard. That level of obsession would be...off putting for sure. Luckily, Yuya's quick to rectify his mistake. He doesn't mean to creep you out on that high of a level. He just likes playing with you a little to see your reactions.

"Hey, heyy, don't look like that, baby. I'm messin' with you. Had to leave for business reasons that's all."

"Business reasons?" You question. "All you do is ride around on a stupid fucking motorcycle and crash it all over town."

Yuya lifts a defensive, stiff finger. "Okay, first of all, it was one crash. Second of all you never sent me flowers or even a note when I was in the hospital after that crash, so you owe me one. And third of all I was checking out some of the shows around the country. Kinda a big subculture y'know?"

You hate it when he gets all sarcastic and smart-alecky with you. And the flowers comment? God he's got some serious fucking nerve. If you recall, somehow during that period of time (you're 90% sure he paid one of your friends), Yuya got your number and you woke up one morning with like thirty unopened texts and two missed calls. His groupies must have not been entertaining enough in the hospital for him. Maybe the hospital kicked them out at later hours, which was usually the timestamp on the all of the messages. Then when you finally blocked his number, he just ended up getting a new phone so you had no choice but to just give up, figuring he would keep getting new numbers until you stopped blocking him. 

Usually the texts weren't terrible, which you hated to admit. Stuff like "how ya doinn" "come hang out w mee ;)" "miss u boo boo girl hugs and kisses" "stop ignoring me" "you into shitty american movies? wanna catch a movie, fast n furious 2 is out". Plus to his credit once he was out of the hospital and on way less morphine you didn't get any random calls from him. You thought Yuya would be abusing your phone number a lot more, actually. 

He's...he's annoying but he's not...dangerous? You guess? Just really, really bothersome. 

You'd hate to admit that you kinda enjoy the exasperation that comes with interacting with him. It always gives you something to complain to your friends about or gossip over. So...at least he's entertaining?

"You never texted me back."

"Hm?" you raise your eyebrows.

"Once I texted you, askin' how you were doing, and you didn't even reply. I was all bent outta shape over it for days. Really toyed with my vibe, y'know?"

You scowl. "Poor baby, I'm sure all forty eight of your girlfriends were there to provide you arms to throw yourself in and weep into." Then you cross your arms. "For your information dickwad, I wised up and got myself a new phone after you left so that number isn't mine anymore. God bless whoever you've been harassing this whole time. They have so much more patience than me." 

God he loves playing this game with you. And even though he knows you're trying to bite back at him, just hearing the word "baby" on your lips directed at him provides enough motivation to keep it going.

"We should go out," Yuya suggests, like he didn't hear anything you just said. "I was thinkin' maybe coffee? I know a nice place around the corner, I'll bet you've never been." 

"Go fuck yourself, Fungami." 

You shoulder him aside and go on your way.

He watches you leave with a smirk, arms crossing over his chest. You have a really sexy little angry walk. 

pt. 5

Guido Mista

Stand users are naturally drawn to each other.

From the beginning you'd been able to see the Sex Pistols.

You work in the restaurant Guido Mista rather favors. Mostly, he likes it cuz' of the cute waitress, who he's pretty sure is flirting with him whenever he goes in. 

One day, he'd been making some small talk with you. 

"I'm actually a pretty decent chef," you'd told him offhandedly, leaning down with one hand on the table and your usual smile. "I just haven't worked my way up the hierarchy here yet. I only moved here about a month ago and got this job recently."

Your story lines up. He'd tried this place purely because Number 5 would not stop sobbing about how he was starving to death. Blah blah blah it went on and on until all the other bullets joined in. Mista knows the little guys don't work if they're hungry. What a troublesome stand...

Buncha babies...

"So you're good at cookin', huh?" Mista says to you as he sneaks Number 5 a piece of pepperoni from the appetizer under the table. 

You tilt your head at him with a bit of a half smile.

"I didn't mean that in a weird way, like you're a woman so of course you can cook kinda thing. That's just sexist, right? And that's why i didn't mean it. Like that. Just sayin'." He goes awkwardly quiet, looking beyond mortified. God he prayed he hadn't given you the wrong impression. He knows he's kinda an asshole but you're not supposed to know that this soon. 

You shake your head with a laugh to Mista's instant relief. "You're fine, signore. Is there anything I can get you started with?" 

Mista hasn't even thought about his order. His heart is still pounding from his almost fuck up with the cute waitress. Even the bullets like you. They giggle about "waitress girl" in front of the rest of the gang constantly. It's getting increasingly obnoxious. Often times, he reminds them that if by some miracle granted by God himself, even if he was able to get with you, you wouldn't be able to see them. Little fuckers. It kinda feels good to bring them down a notch. He hates to admit it but the idea of having to share you with his stand gets him all jealous and bothered sometimes. So immature...but the smugness feels good. 

At his silence you shrug again. "If you haven't decided yet, signore, that's perfectly alright. I can come back around in five minutes, yes?"

"Guido Mista," he suddenly says with a wave of his hand, like he's banishing formalities. "You don't gotta do the "signore" stuff with me." 

You tap your name tag with a small smile in response. "(Y/N). Pleasure to meet you, Guido." 

BINGO, YES! One time he overheard some other dickmunch at the table next to him trying to flirt with you. Oooh...that got his blood fucking boiling. He thought about maybe cornering him out back once the bastard finished up and putting one of the bullets through his stupid ugly head. But you seemed to handle yourself just find. You'd adamantly had refused to call the pushy customer by his name, claiming it was disrespectful, against business policy, blah blah blah could get you fired other shit Mista doesn't remember. Excuse after excuse, basically. But the main point was you'd continued to call the other man signore and had not exchanged your name. This HAD to mean you were into him. 

And he's not wrong--you've always thought he was pretty cute. Dark eyes, and when he takes his hat off to sit back and relax--dark hair too. Such a hottie...and he's funny. You like when he comes in and flirts with you, because you have the opportunity to flirt back. Your little crush goes to the extent where when you serve him, if you notice there's something wrong or off about the food or presentation, you have your stand fix or enhance it. Such a little favor from such a conditional stand...but it's enough for him to appreciate seeing as how big he tips you. 

Mista's pretty sure you could serve him an actual dead rat with a parsley sprig on top and he'd still pay more than the bill was asking. You're just so damn cute...

You tap the table with your pen to get his attention again. You know by doing this you're taking a risk, but you can't help it...

"And lemme know if there's anything the little guys want too, okay?"

Then with that same smile, you leave.

Mista's only thought is "goddammit". 

Risotto Nero

You'd just been walking to a convenience store. You knew you shouldn't have taken that shortcut down the alleyway. You had a gut feeling that you should take the long way. But you didn't.

You'd bumped into...nothing. Maybe about three feet before the alleyway let out into the more public area. Like walking into the clearest window pane ever. How do you bump into something that you can't see? It's so mind blowing and confusing that you don't even have time to properly react.

That same nothingness seems to have hands like a human. Because that nothing goes to grab onto your throat, turning you and pinning you up against the bricks of the alley wall. Your head is spinning, you can't breathe. You can hear yelling, very faintly, over the pounding of your own heart in your ears. What the actual fuck is going on? 

In his mind, Risotto Nero is thinking of all the things he could do right now, fingers still tight at your neck. He could proceed onwards with this very obviously botched hit. There's no way his targets don't know he's there after watching this idiot girl bump into what appeared to be thin air. He could kill you...no that wouldn't do anything. It's needless too. Just a petty result of his frustration and anger. And you look absolutely terrified. You obviously hadn't walked into him on purpose--you couldn't have, you couldn't see him after all. He should have been paying enough attention to move out of your way. 

Risotto sees guns start to appear from inside of coats and out of holsters. There is an even higher chance now that if he doesn't hurt you, his targets will. Or the ever merciless yet neutral crossfire of blades and bullets. 

He curses his carelessness again. He hasn't made a mistake like this in years. 

Fuck.

Risotto's hand changes position. He goes from pinning you to the wall, to wrapping his arm around you, throwing you off balance so he could lift you off the ground and over his shoulder with ease. It's honestly a mystery as to how you haven't fainted yet. You just seem to be in a state of shock as he makes a run for it, carrying you. Turning as many corners as fast as possible would reduce the possibility of a stray bullet hitting either one of you. 

Soon enough, he's lost them completely. 

He stands, silently and motionless, with you still over his shoulder. He stays that way for a few long moments. You are also dead silent, not having recovered from the shock of...once again being interacted with by fucking nothing?? How is there any logical way to explain what's happening? Are you dreaming? 

Risotto sets you down finally. Your fingers remain grasping him, for reasons he's not sure of. Safety? Even though he's likely the one you should be afraid of. You look like you're finally on the verge of fainting, your face a complete mask of disbelief. Strange...he hadn't taken any iron from you-oh. He only realizes then that he has yet to make himself visible to you. How strange of an experience that must have been...

He could walk away now, still invisible. He could make it so you just have no fucking clue what happened. You looked a little frazzled, sure, but no harm had come to you. Chances are you could still go about your day just fine. 

But something compels Risotto not to do that. He's learned from past experience that one should always listen to gut feelings. This one is no different. So, slowly, he reveals himself to you. The invisibility slides off him like a metallic sheet, like he's stepping out of thin air itself. He wonders if you'll catch on that it's just a trick of the light, just an illusion. 

His reveal does not make you look any less terrified, which is what Risotto had been expecting. He doesn't notice your face blanche even further. He's used to that kind of reaction. Despite it, you still cling to him, fingers finding themselves snug against the leather straps hugging his chest. 

"I'm sorry," he simply said. "You should get far away from here. And then go farther than that. There's nothing here for you now. Do not stick around. And do not get involved. You will certainly die if you do. Do you understand me?" 

"I-involved? Far...far away? What? What are you talking about?" Your panic finally starts to set in, chasing out the numbness of your former shock. "Who are you?! Why did those men start chasing us?" Your voice rises more and more. You look like you're about to cry now too. 

No time for emotions like that.

Risotto simply shakes his head. "Every question is another moment of your life you have wasted here. Please. Go." 

You don't know what to do other than listen. 

Ghiaccio

Your new roommate, God bless his soul, is an actual freak.

You'd been desperate, which is the only reason you let him move in with you. He'd been just as desperate to have a place at all. You didn't catch much of his sob story, to be honest. Something about not getting paid enough it's not his fault everyone is fucking stupid blah blah blah, you have no idea why he's ranting to you about this. You're practically strangers after all. Come to think of it, you're never sure why he rants to you about anything.

Hell, you barely know the guy.

But for some reason, Ghiaccio has decided that you absolutely need to hear about every problem he's ever had with the world in his life. This can range from a pigeon he saw get hit by a car in the street (you still don't know if he's on the pigeon's side or the driver's side), to the very roots and faults of developing late stage capitalism in America (you also don't know why he cares about this, you're both in Italy?). 

As long as he's paying his half of the rent, you've decided it's whatever and you can handle it. Your job gives you a break from him anyways.

Whatever Ghiaccio's problem is, he's quite the character. A very, extremely neurotic one at that. 

Several times, you wonder if he's worth his temper, which oftentimes gets turned on you once or twice a week. You truly have not one inkling of a clue of just how lucky you are. Most people receive the brunt of his temper like fourteen times a week, so he's decided you're one of the few people he can stand. He actually likes you, for what that's worth, so he finds less things to prod at. 

You're not sure if you, yourself, can stand him though. You want so badly to just sit back and be entertained by him. Lord knows he comes up with some insanely creative strung together insults that you're sure no other human has thought of much less said ever before. But it's also a hassle staying on your toes, walking on eggshells trying your damned hardest not to piss him off. 

One time you'd mentioned you were partial to dark chocolate. You don't remember what sparked this conversation. He asked what percent and you'd apparently given him an answer he'd liked. Because first off, he didn't immediately delve off into a rant about the unnecessary inclusion of sugar and additives in modern day chocolate. And second off, once you came back from a rather annoying day of work, he'd shoved a bar of it into your hand. 

So, you start to realize maybe Ghiaccio isn't as...one sided as you thought. He's got some complexity to him. Some depth beneath his ice. You'll never quite figure him out, but at least there is something to figure out. It makes him feel like less of a hopeless nightmare in general. 

Also, whenever he's around, you have started getting into the habit of ranting about your own day. Probably not healthy all the time, but if it maintained your relationship with him then it worked for you. A lot of the same things Ghiaccio had a problem with actually pissed you off too. You both hated slow walkers, old people, the color orange (Why is it so hideous? Why would anyone make anything orange of their own volition?), traffic cones, tourists, bad hair days, annual eye exams, the list really goes on forever. 

Previously, you'd usually kept all of your own troubles or thoughts in, to yourself. Ghiaccio told you that doing that will just rot you from the inside out.

It's weird to say but he's oddly...encouraging? So usually if you have a bad day your first thoughts are "God, wait till I tell Ghiaccio about this shit..."

pt. 6

Thunder McQueen

Ever since you arrived at Green Dolphin State, you've felt eyes on you. 

It's also no coincidence that the custodian here freaked you the fuck out. You know it's him. He has these...these strange eyes. Like he's not even looking at you, like he's looking straight through you. Blank, and therefore unreadable expression too. You have no clue what his intentions are but you can't help but feel afraid for your own safety. 

You'd noticed him staring at you one time in the cafeteria and ever since it's like he never stops fucking showing up. It's like a curse.

You spent a good few of your first weeks in the prison being scared of him. Terrified even. Because even as time passed, you still never gained a clue as to what his intentions were. He didn't stare at anyone else. Just you. And no one else ever seemed to notice him. Just you. Sometimes you wonder if you've already gone crazy and he's just some weird ass hallucination. Even when people bump into the custodian, therefore proving he IS real, they have no reaction and just continue on. Like he's some sort of ghost. 

Eventually, you couldn't take it anymore. You were losing sleep your anxieties and paranoias had grown so bad. 

You'd tracked him down that day, noticing that he seemed to actually be trying to get away from you. Once you managed to corner him and he turned to face you, he actually looked just as scared of you as you were of him. That was...off putting to say the least. Still, your nerve practically had you in tears. He, for some reason, was on the brink of tears as well. 

Babbling through said tears after you stare at him for a minute too long, he'd explained that he didn't mean to creep you out and he was truly and honestly from the bottom of his heart sorry for stalking you. He was just so...pathetic and sad that you had a hard time really feeling too threatened by him now.

"Stalking me?" you repeated, looking taken aback.

To which he'd nodded aggressively. 

You hadn't even known about that part. Your blood runs a little cold at that confession. So that's why even when you couldn't find him in a room you still felt on edge...huh. Human instinct is really something else. 

But turns out besides the stalking he's actually a pretty nice guy. 

He said his name was "Thunder", which you were sure was a fake name he gave you. Still, you could tell he wanted you to trust him, so you reluctantly gave him your name in return. 

After the confrontation, you didn't see the custodian for a few days and wondered if something bad had happened to him. Or maybe he just couldn't take the embarrassment and put in for a transfer or something to the men's ward. You kinda felt bad for scaring off someone who potentially could have been your first friend in here. Sure Thunder was...weird. And a stalker. To his own very quick admission. But compared to everyone else, you felt like he couldn't have really been that bad. You're desperate for companionship, and your cellmate isn't really much conversation.

With a soft sigh, one night, you leaned up against the bars of the cell.

You'd been too worried and stressed out to eat today. So now you're really feeling the consequences of your actions. The cold metal in your side gives you something else to focus on. You hug your knees to your chin, ignoring the hunger pains. If they kept you up all night, at least you'd be the first one up to make it to breakfast in the morning. 

Then you hear footsteps. Weird. There shouldn't be a patrol out right now. 

"Thunder?" you whisper. 

"You didn't eat today," he responds, equally hushed, his wiry voice shaking even more than usual. "Are you trying to die?" 

It's not a dig at you, it's a genuine question. If you were attempting that way out of prison, he could finally make good use of his terrible stand and take you with him maybe. Was it all because he didn't talk to you for a few days? Were you that worried about him? He's kinda flattered...It was a shame not to be able to hear your voice anymore. It'd be an even bigger shame if your efforts succeeded without him and he couldn't watch you from a distance. 

To Thunder's equal disappointment and relief, you shake your head.

"I just...I dunno. I forgot, I guess." You don't want to tell him the truth, that you'd been worried sick and depressed, convinced you were about to spend your years long sentence entirely and completely alone. 

In the dim lighting, he can see that you look...sad. Did he do that too? He feels awful, yet overjoyed at the same time. Maybe you could come close to understanding his pain. 

"Here," he whispers. He passes something to you between the bars. A granola bar. You sit up a little.

"Oh, uh. I don't have anything to trade you. I'm sorry, Thunder," you whisper. You're already well aware that it's a bad, bad idea to borrow or take without immediately giving something in return. It's bad to be in debt to anyone in here. Even this super cute custodian. Thunder simply shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it. Please."

You look like you're about to argue, but you really don't want to risk waking your cellmate. They don't need a reason to go from indifference towards you to hate. 

"Thank you...Thunder. It...it means more than you know." 

How much does it mean? Thunder wonders. Maybe he'd find out if he stuck around. 

pt. 7

Mountain Tim

You work at a bar he frequents. It's not pleasant, but you don't exactly hate it either. The customers there are rough around the edges, usually crude and nasty. But the pay is pretty good and it covers you just fine considering you have no one but yourself to feed, shelter, and clothe. 

The saloon's in a town he always passes through when he's on the way to or back with a bounty. He's very, very consistent in this. Thus, he becomes somewhat of a regular. You're not really a fan of the bar regulars. The fact that they're here so much gives them this level of entitlement that you can't fucking stand. But Tim? Tim's different.

When he'd first walked in, you'd thought "Good God" because based on his outfit along, you were sure he was gonna be some extravagant unbearable asshole.

But he was actually kind of a sweetheart. 

Had you cared to look a little closer the first few times he'd walked in (when you'd gone out of your way to avoid serving him in an attempt to dodge anticipated jackassery), that sweetness was clear on his face. He'd really earned your respect one time, when one of the other bar regulars was getting a little too handsy with you. You had barely swatted the man's hand away before Tim was over in a flash, the same level-headed, cool aura ebbing off him. Without a word he takes the guy by the collar, drags his ass out of the chair, and out of the saloon. You don't know what Tim did. You don't bother asking. All you know is the guy didn't come back for the rest of the night.

"Thanks for helpin' me out there," you'd uttered to him once he'd settled back down at his quiet little corner of the saloon. 

He tilts his printed hat up with a thumb and a half smile. "Least I can do for ya', honey. Fella needed to be taught a lesson in good, ol' fashioned manners if ya' ask me." 

Even before he'd directly helped you out, he'd always treated you right. That doesn't stop after the incident either. He treats you with an amount of respect that suggests you're nothing short of a princess, despite being a waitress at this stupid, dirty, backwater bar. Tim's gaze always stays on your eyes when you're talking to him. No where else.

You don't know this yet, but he genuinely likes looking at your face. He thinks you have the prettiest eyes he's ever seen too. 

His respect for you, usually rare among hardened bounty hunters like him, makes you rather sweet on him. This makes him like you even more in return, continuing the cycle. It's a nice break from the usual straight-faced, cold demeanor you tend to put on for everyone else. After all, if you're not be a completely icy snob, half these guys think you're practically begging to be taken out back for what they think is a good time. Silence is a yes, kindness is a yes and even a verbal no is "I wanna say yes, keep going, keep teasing" to these animals. Mountain Tim seems to be the only one of them you can actually let your guard down around.

And you know he's not trying to deceive you either. There's no falseness in his actions nor in his words. No secondary motive, no nothing. It seems he just...genuinely likes talking to you. The long, grueling trips he makes to and from his bounties get a little brighter whenever you're working that day. And your days seem to get a little sunnier too whenever Tim's dropping in for a drink. 

He jokes around with you sometimes, tellin' you to point out whoever was being vulgar or nasty to you tonight so he could go and "set them straight" once they left the bar. The last time he'd dragged a patron out it'd caused somewhat of a scene, which he could tell you really didn't like. Usually, at his offer, you just shake your head and laugh. Which he doesn't exactly take as a solid no. You never know if Tim makes good on his little promises and threats (he does), but it's a sweet gesture and helps relieve some of your tension on the job. 

It's embarrassing, but you start adoring the sight of that stupid zebra striped hat.

Stand: Kiss N Tell

Ability: Can make the target feel illusory sensations, positive or negative.

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“Shit, dude, quit it with that ‘dare me to’ bull. If you just wanna fuck, you can say that.”

“Huh? Who are you calling a whore?”

“The whore is calling from inside the house.”

Releasing the lollipop from your mouth with an audible slurp, you flip off your bunkmate with your free hand, melting off the side of your bed with your shoulders nearly brushing the ground. By this point you’d pretty much perfected how to slide and squirm around it to lay or sit in any position, though not for the reason your friends insinuated.

Allie shakes her head, wispy blue hair fried as hell, leaning back in the bolted down chair. “It would be way easier to just threaten the dude, wouldn’t it? What’s the damn catch?” She asks. Like she could give advice looking like that.

“That’s just it.” You snap your fingers and look at her pointedly. She raises an eyebrow. You continue, waggling your fingers in a mockery of someone telling a ghost story, “Apparently he’s so desperate to kill himself, threatening him won’t work. I heard it from Hermes.”

Allie snorts. “Hermes? Fuck dude, that’s on you for believing her, she’s fucking fiending for money. Bet she already got it and just wants to see you catch something.”

You shake your head. “Nah, Hermes and I don’t have anything against each other.”

“Then why would she even tell you?”

You shrug a shoulder, saying, “Just making story I guess. Apparently he’s out of the infirmary by now so he’s back to wandering and cleaning.”

She blows a raspberry.

Your tongue rolls around the candy again before you give up and bite into it. Crunching like glass, it becomes chewy before you know it and you suck at your teeth. Allie rolls her eyes.

“Like I said, I think she just wants to see you laid up with a broken pussy.”

“But what if it was broken in a different way?” You posit.

“Oh you fucking SLUT!” She half yells, and you, cackling, roll to the side to avoid the pen she throws at you. Your blue stained tongue pokes out, and you sigh. Damn.

“Be for real, I probably won’t. But I am curious.”

“Just don’t get something that’ll come back to me okay?”

“Okay actually, did someone actually start spreading shit that I fuck without a condom?” You ask, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the… well yeah, it’s technically a bed. But Allie shakes her head.

“I’unno, just saying.”

You roll your eyes. Helpful as a fucking ant.

“I don’t. Tell me anyone you hear saying it so I can take a swing at them,” you say, sliding off and stretching your arms above your head with a yawn.

“So you mind telling me where you get your condoms ?”

“Starting your whore arc too?” You tease. She flips you off.

“No, but I might have a newbie who’s been desperate for some because she’s infatuated with some guy and my cash isn’t stretching where I need.” She exhales, and raises a brow at you. “So, who’s your guy?”

“Annemarie, she’s got like five different brands and Plan B. Go nuts,” you reply, and start walking out of your cell. “And don’t let your girl get my name because I'm not selling mine.”

“She don’t want anything used.”

You flip her off again over your shoulder and slip into the rest of the inmates, milling about lazily.

The stone city isolated from the rest of society had the same quiet, though occasionally erratic, rhythm of those on shore. Mornings were punctuated with calls from acquaintances across the walkways the same way streets were disrupted by cars honking, midday rushes to make sure the best of the lunch available was saved for them, and grumbling over the activities of the evening— nothing ever gets done, and none of the fun activities are fun enough. Not for you, though.

Grinning to yourself, you trail your hand over the gummy railing for only a minute before picking it up and shoving it in your pocket. A finger trails over the hidden inner pocket you’d sewn in, perfectly camouflaged into the way the uniform folded. It was the right size to fit about a thousand in hundred dollar bills— and you just heard a reason to stitch in four more of them.

Allie knew jack. You’d keep it that way as long as possible, all of it: Hermes letting you see a weird locket that she was trying to get rid of and getting sick after getting scratched by it, how you woke up with hallucinations of a crowd of small, blue skinned fairy-looking creatures with purple eyes that no matter how much you drank or slept, wouldn’t go away. And that when you finally interacted with them, touching one with a hesitant pinkie, that pinkie felt like it had been chewed off and you howled with pain until Allie slapped your cheek. The stun turned your attention back to the hand, where your pinkie was perfectly intact.

Realizing you could make people feel things that weren’t there… well, what else was there to do, but scheme?

What Hermes, Allie, and over half of the men you’d “slept with” didn’t know, was that your little troop, named “Kiss N Tell”, had swindled these guys out of their orgasm, plus any valuables they had. Last asshole had the audacity to hit your ass, and for that you’d also snapped a Polaroid for blackmail potential.

Even if he did have some weird ability, there was no way this guy could do anything.

You hop off the last step and roll your shoulders. Beelining to the infirmary sounded like a bad idea, and you didn’t want to injure yourself just for this. Besides, you think, scratching your temple, what was it Hermes had said?

“He took my cash when I was laid up. Jackass managed to slip his fingers right between the bars…” she muttered, kicking a book in the corner of her cell. “Tch.”

“And you got it back?” You asked. Leaning against the entrance to her cell, you traced a graffiti mark deciphering… what the hell was it a picture of? It was faded and distorted as hell. Cell must have last been cleaned minimum of a year ago.

“Yeah. He’s a bit of a crybaby, but he was tough. Says he didn’t kill the girl he was convicted of offing, not on purpose, and it was a gunshot, but…” Black two-strand twists bumped against each other as she tilted her head. She says, slower, as if in thought, “I think he probably could hurt someone, if he was cornered. Gotta be a little muscular if he’s a janitor.” There was something strange to her tone— overly contained. Hiding something.

“Hm.” You tapped against the wall. Hermes raised a brow.

“Going after him?” The joke was teetering on the edge of her tongue, but ultimately she held it. Though the two of you had spent similar lengths inside facilities, you’d been in Green Dolphin longer and you were technically her senior— you didn’t lord it over her though, it was way more worth to keep her as an ally.

“Sure, but it gets the job done.” You stuck out your tongue at her and left, practically skipping down the hallway with a grin. You have to suppress it now, as you meander to the water fountain line.

“Oi, Y/N.”

You look up, and give a disinterested nod to the girl who sneerss down her stumpy, thrice broken nose at you. Her eyes aren’t that bad, or the rest of her face, really, but her posture and pale complexion made her gangly, like a spider. You hide a snort.

She bares her teeth. “Nodding? Bitch, after the audacity you had?”

“‘Unno what you’re talking about, but sorry?” You reply, and shuffle forward in line. Great, what now? Didn’t seem like the other inmate wanted this sitch over quick either. You’d wanted to go to the library before anything else, and all the good seats filled up around this hour.

“You fuck my boyfriend and think you can get away without me knowing?”

Ohhhh. Christ, that was it?

This was the second time this had happened. Of course, you probably didn’t even sleep with the guy, but if someone saw you two disappearing together… ugh, you thought you had been discreet. You exhale, and hold up your hands.

“Didn’t know. He’s the one that came onto me, y’know. Maybe we should both get better taste in guys,” you say, before turning to the water fountain and pressing in the button to sip.

Only for your head to be pushed to the cold metal, your hand slipping off the button but not in time to stop the flow of water. It trickles down your forehead, in your nose a little as your lips pinch between the edge of the fountain and your teeth. You taste copper. Cursing, you try to look at her out the corner of your eye. God, that was stupid.

“Listen, you fucking whore. Everybody knows you fuck anything with half a pulse, you’d probably hit up hospice if you could convince those dying assholes to give you half their shit. You really think I’m gonna think he came on to you?”

You grit your teeth. The money. Just think about that. So close, you were so close to having decent savings. Your term wasn’t too much longer. You couldn’t cause a scene. Exhaling, you concentrate.

C’mon.

Kiss N Tell slides down your arm, little shaky, trembly figures with chittering wings. The girl spits; it lands warm, and slimy on your cheek.

“Answer me whe—“

Suddenly, the pressure on your temple releases. Sucking in a deep breath and stumbling to your feet, you just catch her flailing, nearly falling over and clutching her arm as your Stand hovers around it, hissing like a burning stovetop.

A few other inmates have whipped around, pointed their heads towards the commotion.

Dammit, dammit. Screw her.

Without another thought, you turn and pivot to the hall, running past the other inmates and towards the infirmary access. Through burning eyes, you just barely catch a glimpse of some green haired girl giving you a wide eyed look, before you slip away.

-

Sniffing, you take a shuddery breath and rub the ice to your lip. Your reddened face hadn’t quite been enough to keep you in the infirmary, but really you weren’t even sure you should go at all. Just because your term was ending so soon… ould it have made you look like you’d gone soft?

Shit. You were so, so close.

As you shuffle down the hall, your head wanders to the girl who had jumped you. The guy who she talked about… you thought you knew who it was. Dampish, limp hair, pretty nice shoulders, but dull. He had a movie you’d wanted, and you’d swiped it after he was dazed out in a glow from Kiss N Tell. He was like the most of the guys you’d taken a little something from— one mouth against another, then let the ability fill him with pleasure, easily overwhelming so that some finished without you even unbuttoning their pants. The memory grants you a brief reprieve, even if your smile makes you wince. Ugh.

Can’t give up now though. Can’t worry about just another stupid girl. A few more months, they would be nothing but a memory, and you could be coasting. Just had to keep under the radar. Keep making money.

You fuck anything with half a pulse.

Stupid insult. But it does make you sniffle again, despite yourself. Damn. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t.

So lost in thought, you almost fall and injure yourself again when another inmate bumps into you.

For a moment, you lose your footing, but, grabbing onto a pipe, you quickly regain it and glare up at the asshole who decided to make your day even worse. For real… thank god you caught the pipe, going to the infirmary twice in the span of a fucking hour?

“Hey, watch where the hell you’re going, would you?”

A huskier voice than you expected murmurs, “Oh… I’m sorry.”

Huh?

Sucking in a deep breath, you straighten, and blink a few times to adjust to the low light. The yellow light flickers in dying bulbs. And your heart pulses erratically, matching its rhythm.

This wasn’t….

But you were pretty sure it was. You hadn’t gotten the most vivid description from Hermes, but how many inmate janitors were there? And he was decently muscular— you must have solidly ran right into his shoulder. Tall, blond hair pushed and styled back, shiny blue eyes downturned and focused on you with long lashes. Not too bad looking, all things concerned. Two large hands clutch a mop in one of the dingiest blue buckets you’d ever seen.

And if he had five thousand dollars…

You inhale. Maybe you were just proving that bitch from earlier right, but… ah, hell. Scratching your temple, you give him a sweet smile. He tenses.

“No, it’s… it’s okay. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Don’t think I’ve run into you before.”

“No…. Don’t recognize you,” he mumbles. Using the mop handle as leverage he pulls the bucket closer to him, the wheel squeaking as he nudges it to the side a little. “Should I?”

“N-no… I haven’t been this way in a while. Might come back a few more now,” you murmur to yourself. He tilts his head.

“Didja say something?” He asks.

You shake your head. “Nothing. What’s your name?”

His cheeks almost immediately pinken. It draws a giggle from you— seriously, that easily?

“You’re asking my name…? The last time someone asked…” he frowns, and rubs his temple. “I feel like something bad happened.”

Hmm. Was that when he met Hermes? Did he have memory issues, maybe? You mirror his expression and take a step closer, pulling the ice from your lip. As you do, his eyes trail to the puffy skin, giving you more of a natural pout than before.

“That sounds awful… but I promise, I’m just making conversation,” you say, holding up your hands where he can see them. Admittedly, you might be pushing your chest out a little, and his eyes do trail there.

Four more months. Four more. And you deserved a break. May as well just let the rumor be true for the moment, you think bitterly.

“My name is Y/N. Now we’re even, yeah?” You inch just a little closer. The man doesn’t budge. But he doesn’t back up either. He swallows.

“The last time a pretty girl asked my name… something… I don’t know…” he mumbles, and looks at you with a sad expression. “McQueen.”

“McQueen?” Bingo. You smile easily, letting a hand trail across your shoulder before dropping it. “I like it. Sounds cute. But in a fun way,” you tease, and lean against the wall. His eyes widen.

“Cute?”

“Yeah. You’re pretty cute. Too cute to be locked up here.”

McQueen’s expression shifts. For a moment, something darker seems to stir the deep blue of his eyes, but it’s gone. “You’re just flattering me.”

“I’m not, I promise. You really don’t believe me?” Pouting, your lower lip grabs his attention again. A thin tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “Kinda makes me sad, McQueen… I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“I’m sorry… cute girls like you, they don’t really talk to me. They think I’m a monster who should drown himself under the bridge…” he half moans. His head lolls back.

Cripes. Hermes wasn’t lying. Types like these usually backed down though. Just have to push.

“I don’t think that. How could I? I just met you,” you protest, and reach out to just slightly trail your hand down his arm. McQueen’s gaze snaps straight to it and his face reddens more. Hairs prickle under your hand. “And I’d like to know you more….”

“R-really?”

“Mmhmm.” Mischief lighting up your eyes, you lean in to whisper in his ear, “Though if you’re itching to lose your breath, I could just suffocate you between my thighs.”

Funnily enough, he chokes— his eyes widening, lowering shamefully to where your chest brushes his, before flickering back up to meet your look. Damn, he was cute. Overgrown school boy kind of way, his pupils blown out with desire already. As you press closer, a thrill goes down your spine feeling his arousal swelling against the inside of your leg.

“You really…” he swallows again, and lets go of the mop. It bumps against the wall with a clack, the bucket making it a few inches before stopping. “You really would let me do that? Someone like me?”

“Only if you wanna. I don’t like hearing you be so mean to yourself, you know? I wanna get to know you more before I call you a monster.” You reach up to let your fingers trail down his chest— broader, and stronger than you thought, you notice appreciatively, and say, “And I’m sure you know a lot of good spots to chat.”

Kiss N Tell hums at your side, each little being starting to crawl towards him from your torso.

“Y/N…”

He tilts your head up. You see that bit of emotion again; it’s something possessive, you realize, as his grip tightens, and a hand hovers around your hip, trembling. One being of your Stand hops onto it and begins to brush its little hands against it.

“I can really… can I kiss you?”

“Mmhmm. Go ahead, Mc—mmph!”

Clumsily, he presses his lips to yours.

Kiss N Tell squeaks and disorients— you practically fall into him, cheeks warming and eyelids fluttering shut. The hand at your hip takes hold, slides around to your back, pressing your body to his, hungrily, more than anyone else. Shivers run throughout your body.

He’s a little inexperienced, pushing his lips against yours over and over, stealing your breath, crushing you against his torso, but it’s overwhelming in too good of a way— your Stand draws back to you, confused, and you weakly will it to drift over his hands again.

Your arms lock around his neck, trembling as he walks you backwards. Where were you going? Panic surfaces in your head briefly, but the lack of oxygen from how desperately he kisses you… fuck.

His hands shake. Blearily, you register Kiss N Tell marching up his arms and clinging to his hips. But McQueen is still walking you back, turning you, down another hallway that’s darker than the one you were just in. Your stomach flips as you’re pressed against the wall, cold, gritty, the individual particulates in the concrete scratching you through your shirt. You hiss into his mouth. He moans against yours.

When he finally pulls back, a trail of saliva connects you two. Your sore lip throbs, and you swear you taste blood on your tongue. Dazed, you look up— and freeze.

His face… it teeters on delirium, how his own kiss-swollen lips are parted, the blue eyes heavily lidded and rimmed with long lashes that darken his expression further. Kiss N Tell glows on his torso and down towards his crotch, which, you glance at— oh, shit.

“Maybe I am scum…” he says softly, and drops to his knees. You take a deep, shaky breath, but before you can say anything, he tears down your pants in a single motion and turns your breath to a yelp. “Maybe I really am…”

He plants a wet, soft kiss directly to your clit through your underwear. You whine.

Your grip on your Stand is fading fast. It’s as though he’s already overwhelmed by the pleasure as McQueen lays his head against your thigh and inhales deeply, almost embarrassingly, the smell of your arousal and the sweat starting to collect between your legs. His thumbs hook into the flimsy fabric and pull the garment down. As the air hits your bare pussy, you shudder, twitching as his warm breath dusts over your clit.

“Wow… you’re so wet. It’s cute.” He sounds genuinely surprised. He flicks out his tongue and does an experimental, tentative lick, on the underside of the sensitive bud. You clasp your hands to your mouth to hide the sounds.

“But you’re kinda scummy too, aren’t you?…. Y/N.”

What? You glance down at his eyes. His expression is dark.

“You know about it, don’t you?”

“H-hu— UH!”

Just as he did before, he dives into you without giving you a chance to breathe. He laps at your wet folds like a man starved, each ridge of his tongue trailing against the tender flesh. You moan, hands lacing into his hair and gripping tight. It only spurs his administrations, clumsy, overeager, but deliciously intense as he fucks you with his tongue, sucking against your cunt and moaning loudly when your thighs press tightly against the sides of his head. Panting, you’re curling over him just a hair, holding tight to him as your head spins. Shit. Shit.

He rolls the tip of his tongue along your clit before sucking it harshly with a pop. You squeal.

“Mmmm… if I died right here, I would be pretty happy…”

McQueen barely finishes his sentence before he slides his tongue along your soaked pussy, nudging his nose against your sensitive clit as he strokes your insides with his tongue.

Pleasure burns in your abdomen, tightening, as your legs push in against his head tighter, hands shaking around your mouth as your eyes roll back. Fuck. Fuck. You cum on his mouth with a small, broken cry as he groans in satisfaction against you. The vibrations make you tremble, but his hands hold you steadily to the wall.

Slick slides between your thighs when he pulls back with a pop, then kisses your oversensitive clit. Again. And again. Your hands flail against his head, but he holds you there firmly as he licks you, your body heaving, nails scrabbling against him when tears burn your gaze but he refuses to stop until you sob.

“M-McQueen.. s’too much…”

“No, you’ve convinced me.”

Your leg lifts with him, as he stands; hooked over the crook of his elbow, helplessly, you lean against the wall, struggling to focus on him. A vile cocktail of emotion mixed, between you two— the haziness of each of your lust, your terror at what he said before, the determination in his stare. Vaguely you register the sound of a zipper, and the nudging of something warm and blunt against your entrance. Your chin is cupped, pointed towards him.

No… why does he look so sad? It hurts your heart. You lean forward, but he pushes you back, head against the concrete. A whimper slides from your lips.

“You don’t want to be the prison slut anymore, do you?” He asks.

Tears collect at the corners of your eyes. That’s… that’s what he meant. Of course. Of course he knew. The facade your Stand allowed. The ability to take anything you wanted, so long as the other felt even a hint of pleasure or pain. But he doesn’t have an ability, you think foggily. You would see it. You would. But that doesn’t matter right now… does it?

“I don’t,” you whisper.

As if you had granted him permission, as soon as you finish your sentence, he shoves the full length of his cock into your wet cunt.

You choke. Fuck. You hadn’t really fucked in a minute— he’s not the longest but just less thicker than a soda can and bullying your insides so hard you know you’ll be sore. Hell, it’s probably worth it. McQueen’s low, heavy moan in your ear almost makes you cum on the spot, the burn of his dick slowly replaced with pleasure as he humps into you with shallow, desperate thrusts.

“Mm, so good, you feel s-so good,” he whines. Strong hands keep your hips firmly against the wall, forcing you to feel the brunt of his movement.

He bullies your pussy, erratic, short thrusts that scrape against you perfectly. The slightest curve of his head has you twitching, nails ripping into his uniform, clutching to him desperately as you cry. Forget your Stand— he was already in heaven the moment he took your pants off.

“Offering yourself to someone as low as me… you really are sad, aren’t you?”

A hand locks around your throat. As the pressure builds your vision blurs, and you scratch at his shoulders viciously, tears at the corners of your eyes. No. No. He couldn’t.

Shaking your head, you cough on your words, half sobbing— “P-please, M-McQueen, s-so good, please—“

“You like me?” He asks, softly.

Barely, you register his words, and nod, crying freely. His dick is fat, stretching you perfectly, your hands shaking on him as he fucks you, the pressure on your neck insistent and heavy-- damn, did you not deserve this, if everyone thought this of you already?

“I l-like you, McQueen… Lub you, you f-feel so good…” you moan. Your head spins. Babble falls from your lips.

“Love me? You… love me?” His voice shakes. McQueen’s voice shakes as he continues. “If you love me like that, I can finish, can’t I?”

Your heart thrums. No. That wasn’t what you meant at all. But his pubic bone slaps against yours, your pussy clenching as he forces himself into you over and over, moaning, whinging, his need to tip over the edge mirrors yours, eyes rolling back.

Clenching around him again, you feel his shaft pulse and throb, warm cum flooding your abused pussy and leaking around the seal where he fills you.

Your eyes roll back. He pushes himself in a few more times; as if to make sure sure he marks you inside and out, white smeared around your insides and forming a cute little pearl as he pulls out, releasing your neck and you gasp for air.

Your brain is fuzzy. Cunt sore. Your limp body slides against the wall— Kiss N Tell isn’t even conscious, you lost yourself in the sensations a while ago. Gods. He needed you like water in a desert, that’s how he handled your body, as he rubs his leaking cock against your folds. McQueen exhales into your neck.

“Mmm… s-so good…”

“McQueen…”

In a fog, you shake your head. Your body is sore, ecstasy slinking through your veins from the after effects of his movements; fucking you like a toy, your pussy dripping his cum as you suck in breaths, looking up at him under dazed eyelids. McQueen’s expression is blown out with lust, attraction, need— your body trembles under his focus.

The money… where even was it… no, that wasn’t important right now. You look down.

“McQueen.. you came inside…”

“M’sorry..” he mumbles, and, your heart jolting, he rubs his half hard cock against you. “I won’t again… just wanna feel it… please, I could die inside your cunt, just lemme fuck it again, please…”

“McQueeeeeen,” you whine. The fat, swollen head of his cock presses against your hole. God, how was he hard again? “S’much, so

Much—“

“C’mon, you feel so good..” he protests, hands sinking into soft skin. “Lemme. Please. You’re the first girl who’s been this nice to me… I could die with you….”

Your head tilts. Hell. Even if you didn’t want him to. You would let him, would that you? It was too good.

You didn’t have to be the prison whore anymore. Maybe next time you’d get the money out of him... you wonder, head all a tizzy.

You only had one Plan B though. It flickers in your head as you cum again, his fingers sliding against you eagerly, rubbing that spot he knows will make you spineless. Twitching. Back arching. Your fatigued body succumbing to the ecstasy again.

You finally meet his eyes— horribly cold. And yet, filled with lust, a need that you can't get away from. You swallow.

“You pay…another pill, do it n I’ll let you—“

But your words are stolen, breathless, as he forces himself into you again, desperate for your warm pussy, his bare cock splitting you again, your head swimming as he moans and pumps into you again

Jolyne Cujoh - She had a interest in Entomology but after deciding to 'straighten up' she dropped it, looking for interests that would be more fitting for a 'well adjusted woman' but she always felt bad about it. Another reason for her dropping it could be that it reminded her about Jotaro too much.

Ermes Costello - She barely knows Spanish, always having trouble learning it and can't speak fluently in it, disappointing her father and Gloria. Although she knows some swears, which she shared with Jolyne of course.

Emporio Alnino - A lot of things in the Ghost Room are gathered from other ghostly spaces inside the prison, like his computer, gun and books on various topics. It was a rare occasion for Emporio to feel joy, when he went on his small treasure hunts, while still being alone inside the prison.

Foo Fighters - As she is the youngest member of the party (in human years at least) whenever she asks a question that is too awkward or others are too tired to answer, they say they will tell her when she gets older, which always makes her pout.

Weather Report - Probably not too groundbreaking, but Weather always uses his Stand, very often subconsciously. Someone in the team mentioned it's too warm and humid, then suddenly a breeze blows through. When it's too cold a sudden blanket of warmth surrounds them. When he doesn't want anyone to approach him, the air around him becomes full of static electricity.

Narciso Anasui - European cars are better. That's what he thinks and he will not change his mind on that, he is quite stubborn about this. Or anything else on that matter.

Enrico Pucci - He dislikes using modern technology and avoids it as much as possible. He types one key at the time, prefers to get stuff printed and would complain more openly about tech in prison, if not for his mask of always friendly priest.

Gwess - She picked up and dropped too many hobbies to count, even before she got sentenced. Usually she gets bored too quickly or something more interesting caught her eye.

Johngalli A. - He had his Stand since birth but didn't realize its true potential until he developed cataract. So in a way he doesn't consider it a hindrance but rather a blessing, allowing him to reach his full potential. Also he was born in New York.

Thunder McQueen - He actually really likes cleaning and his janitor job. He finds it as a simple enough routine and he isn't as easily grossed out.

Mirashon - She knows over 101 bar tricks to scam people and has very nimble fingers. She could pickpocket a guy and they wouldn't notice until they wanted to pay for something and try to find their wallet.

Lang Rangler - He was sentenced for hijacking the tanker AND killing his uni professor, the former was the main reason for him getting arrested and the latter came up during investigation as murder itself happened a while ago by then. Also he was manufacturing drugs as a chemist genius but he covered his tracks well enough that there was not enough proof to connect him to it in court of law. (They probably still suspect Willy Wonka to this day.)

Sports Maxx - He pretends to be Italian-American because someone on his mother's side was of Italian descent. He also sees himself as a modern God Father or Al Capone and wants to become as respected as him, while in heart and soul being a simple thug.

Viviano Westwood - He has a very good training routine and knowledge about muscles. He would scold Sonny for not making warm ups and would criticize some guards for being slobs and not working out enough or at all. 

Kenzou - He is so, so SALTY about Scientology. He can't believe this thing is still running and how much people get sucked into it, compared to his cult which had some real values and people really believed in his bullshit preaching, compared to that pyramid scheme.

D an G - He had a whole bucket list of other things he wanted to do before predicted doomsday. Like watching some classic movies (they bored him), trying new cuisine (not as good as burgers anyway), or visiting Disneyland for the first time (kids there annoyed him to no end). Also he got so many loans to spent on random bullshit he didn't need but wanted to feel 'how it is owning them'. If not for murders he certainly would land in prison for fraud or at least be in massive debt.

Guccio - Whatever happened to him - he deserved it.

Miu Miu - She has whole sets of skirts or pants with different phrases printed on their back.

Ungalo - He really loved watching cartoons as a kid, before his life fell apart and he got into drugs. Also his 'friends' kept him around mostly cuz he was so quick to agitate and it was fun to see him beating up random people or getting beat up by them.

Rikiel - His mother that raised him was an adoptive one and when he learned that, it definitely didn't help him with his anxiety.

Donatello Versus - He is surprisingly patriotic about Florida and hates 'Florida man' type jokes. Maybe this state is a shitty hellhole, but it HIS hellhole, dammit.

Gloria Costello - Most of her clothes are just adjusted and re-sized clothes of her mother, as money they earned went mostly on maintaining her restaurant and providing for Ermes.