Hello, I would like to make a request that Alejandro from Total Drama X Fam Reader also have the same personality as Heather, which is why Alejandro also fell in love with you the first time he saw you in Total Drama Island, but the more the show goes on, the more he finds out you're actually the sweetest and kindest person; you are just inside but not outside, which is why he teases a lot.
Take your time to write this since I loved how you wrote Total Drama for Alejandro last time, so I was hoping you would make one again. :D
"The More You Know" • Heather-like Reader
pairing(s): Alejandro Burromuerto (TD)/Fem Reader
— summary: Alejandro falls in love with a soft reader who seems similar to Heather at first
— no y/n use, slight references to being female, slight use of gender stereotypes (it’s so minor dw), reader grew up in Canada, (kinda) slow burn, kissing, PG bed sharing.
— Hey! So this took... forever. Sorry y'all, I was not on social media and I had a major case of writer's block. Got it done though! Eventually! This is longer than my usual stuff and totally experimental. I think it works though and I had fun writing it. I do really hope you like this. Hopefully, I'm back on top of things again lol.
this request was made by @derya1409
The airport terminal was brimming with rowdy passengers, each tied up in the preproduction of their own trips. This, of course, was not unusual. Even less so for Alejandro, as he was so used to these trip that his father brought him on— observational opportunities, his father called them.
What was unusual was Alejandro's inability to focus. His eyes lingered on the novel in his hand. It was classical, pretentious, something he could normally find himself drawn into with little effort. However, somewhere between the commotion of the airport and a distant paragraph, his mind drifted.
Eventually, he found it pulled towards a TV in the corner of the terminal, propped up as a mediocre attempt at entertainment. On it: a Total Drama Island moments reel. He had heard of it months before the show was even airing.
It came up as a cheap advertisement that some of his peers had seen going around. A tacky reality TV show run by a burnt out celebrity heartthrob. The ad was directed at kids his age, asking them to sign up.
He laughed, back then, at the passing thought of it. He almost pitied the poor souls who would degrade themselves for money, but he supposed, it was a self-inflicted punishment. Only an idiot would do something so desperate, he thought. And that was that.
Here, however, he found himself pulled into the screen, attention totally fixed. Not because of the show, itself. No, it was awful. Full of exaggerated drama, potty humour, and colourful personalities.
Instead, the pull came from a contestant that stood out to him. One that was in at least half of the shots. For good reason too.
You seemed to act as a sort of gasoline, soaking into every crevice of the show and waiting for a not-quite-unplanned match to spark. Even a fraction of the clips you weren't in seemed to have come to be through your actions.
He watched as you began forging alliances before anyone else, from those who were most vulnerable to your wits. You spoke to their insecurities and their wants. It was far too easy.
Outside of your own new ties, you managed to pull those of others apart. He felt his lips curl with a strange satisfaction as you gripped onto the leather balanced diary of another contestant. Overdramatic teenage lament fell from your lips and yet, you made it sound so sharp. So beautiful.
The horror on the other girls face as you did so was just the cherry on top.
He almost laughed as you made a dictator out of yourself during team challenges. Berating, cutting, vicious. And in a horrifying, fleeting little thought that he refused to ever acknowledge, wished that you might speak to him in the same vein.
He wanted nothing more than to stay, to see more, but he was pulled away by the clearing of a throat. His father, peering down at him with a look Alejandro only saw when he was behaving too much like a child. The look made his lips pull into a line. He wanted to pretend he hadn't been watching TV. That he was deeply engrossed in his book and that he had only looked away for a moment. Or, to tell his father that a few minutes of television weren't going to lead to the end times.
He instead shut the book, stood, and followed his father to boarding.
The show, which hadn't taken any space in his brain prior to the airport, would no longer leave his mind for more than a couple hours. Over the following weeks, Alejandro found himself tracking the competition. Not quite watching episodes, but keeping note that you were still in the game.
Your win had felt inevitable.
After all, you were the first one to latch onto any real advantage. Where are the other contestants seemed to be looking for fun, for a potential summer fling, for friendship— you were looking for reward.
Looking out for yourself. You never shared a deeper meaning to it— never cried over sick family and hospital bills, or a longing for higher education. You just wanted the money, the fame, the feeling of power. Maybe that wasn't true. Maybe there was something more to it but you never let on.
That was undeniably what kept his focus. The pure ambition.
It certainly didn't hurt that the producers liked you enough to give you an obvious leg-up.
And then, against all apparent odds, you lost.
Just like that, you were off the island and left tightly under lock-and-key, as were the others who had been disqualified. It should have meant nothing to him— you were a distant stranger. Of the same age, of the same country, of a similar spark. But a stranger, nonetheless. But he felt the loss.
That draw to you. The humming inspiration that seemed to settle under his skin at the sight of you, ever scheming.
It was a weak reason to pay so much attention to you in the first place. And now it was gone.
He wouldn't search for your name after the show ended. It was over, he resolved.
He tucked the thought of you into the back of his mind and resumed his life as if it was never there in the first place.
Time moved forward, though he hadn't forgotten about you. To say that would be a lie.
Still, hearing your name over mindless lunchtime chatter caught him off guard. For as prominent as you had been, you faded out of conversation almost immediately after your loss. It was by nature of the show: you lose, you fall into radio silence, and the audience speculates, instead on who will win rather than those who are gone.
It had been a been a bit over two months since the show ended.
Ever sociable, Alejandro quickly found out the show was starting up again. Almost as quickly as it had ended, another season was greenlit, and the majority of the cast returned for a chance at even more money.
He found that you had lost, worse than the first time.
The show made it clear that contestants would return yet again, for another exciting season. Though, the website in all it's low-budget glory was decorated with an invitation for further application.
He thought of his former amusement at the prospect of signing up.
He thought of your mean smiles and cruel words, made to get ahead in an impossible game.
When he first meets you, it seizes his breath and he almost loses his silver tongue and smooth composure. That charm that makes women and far more men than would admit fall to his whims. Almost.
He flirts and tries to make you feel like the prettiest girl in the room. Little things like saving you a snack from first class and lending you honeyed words. Things he finds himself wanting to do a little more than he should.
Of course, you see right through it. You don't say it outright but the way that your eyes narrow at the sight of him is telling. The way you keep trying to put Sierra, that chatty little stalker, at your side is even more so.
You're all but baring teeth at him and he can only imagine what your confessionals look like. A flush falling over your features and you run up your own adrenaline, thinking of him. Ranting and raving because "Why can't anyone else see what I'm seeing?" Maybe you fumble over your words with an accidental slip of how he's just "So goddamn handsome." It may be silly but the thought had a smile pulling at his lips.
That spark he saw in you through the screen was even more present in real life but then, you nearly seemed… two-dimensional. A caricature that he had been sure was only created by reality show editing.
It's one night, when the others are asleep that he finds the Dr. Jekyll to your Mr. Hyde.
Alejandro exits the washroom, trying to slide the door back with causing a disturbance. As he hears the soft click of it closing, he turns on his heel and trails back down the cabin to the faux-first class lounge.
He pushed inside on light feet, careful not to wake anyone. It was one of those days before competitions, where the cameras were off and Chris could let them roam as they please. As a result, most of the remaining cast was piled up somewhere between cushioned plane seats and soft, if a bit dirty, carpeting.
His eyes linger on the lights as he first enters. He never quite finds himself up at this hour, needing his rest to keep things on track, and when he first awoke, he was in too much of a rush to take in the scenery. Now, however, he finds himself wide-eyed at the soft blue light lining the ceiling.
It's not that he's unused to it. He's been on far more planes than most his age. Though, to see something so gentle created out of a flying death sentence made his chest feel light. He means to return to his side of the bench, though he's so drawn into the sight that it takes interruption to break through to him.
"You need an invite to sit down, Al?" You call out to him, low but notably still attempting to get on his nerves.
He has to resist the urge to scrunch up his nose in distaste. Ever since you had noticed his hate of that nickname, it became something of a favourite phrase to you.
"Of course not," Alejandro paces easily back to his spot, though his gaze stays fixed as it lands on you. Your sat with a book neatly in your lap. He can only suspect that you had swiped it from Chef's collection, though you would never confirm that. He finds himself studying how the soft blue lights paint your skin. Particularly the trailing shadow it lays across your face, tracing the curves of your cheeks and just lingering on your cupid's bow.
As his eyes follow the light, he notices the rounded shape of your shoulder. Your posture, for a rare moment, is arched and soft as if you have no worries at all. Alejandro's tired and he should really try to get some rest before the next challenge but,
"It's pretty, isn't it?" He really can't help himself.-Your brows tense and your lips pull thin. In all honesty, you look like you might hit him, now that no one's watching. Maybe tell him to shove it or something equally as unladylike. Instead, your face relaxes with a soft exhale and you murmur, "Yeah, guess so."
"Do you…" He pauses, a question only half-baked in his head.
'Not sleep well?' Feels too heavy handed
'Stay up often?' Just as bad. You would see his digging a mile away.
'Want to talk?' What is he even thinking?
He settles for something like 'Do you like the book?' so he can ease into your grace, even the slightest bit. Whittle away the walls that keep you aware of what he is.
Except, you beat him to it. A quiet, "You doing alright?" Alejandro sees the way your chapped lips purse. Sees the way your attention flits away from your book and lays entirely on him. You swallow lightly, "You left in a rush, were in there for a while. And your eyes seem red."
No louder than a murmur but it has a warmth rising on his face. He hopes you don't notice the change, though you saw the difference in his eyes, even in this light, so he doesn't hold out hope.
For a moment, his chest feels heavy with pressure,
He takes a breath and then, "I'm perfectly okay. I appreciate you asking. I simply had to use the washroom and rubbed my eyes a little too hard to get the drowsiness out." It's admittedly a weak excuse but at the very least, you don't get anything out of it.
He strains a smile. "It was unsuccessful, though, I suppose. I'm still tired so I think I'll get back to sleep now."
"If that's all it is." You agree, though your eyes stay tight at the edges. "Night, Al."
"Sleep well." Alejandro eases down on the stiff bench, his mind still lingering on you. He had been watching you closely and it seemed you had been doing the same. When he thought of the concern on your face, he wasn't entirely sure he minded.
That night seemed to have opened the proverbial flood gates.
As if it had humanised him to you, a calm settled over your relationship. You weren't so outwardly hostile. He was competition, yes, but he found that the fight stopped there.
From then on, change came in the form of small in-betweens.
A brief moment in the Louvre where your eyes caught and with it, your body, right in front of a large painting. Though he wanted to run ahead, he found his steps following. He tilts his head to find the glint in your eyes, amusement that's likely tied to the torso of Michelangelo's David pressed into your arms.
"You do know that they aren't real, yes?" He asked with a soft lilt to his voice.
You snicker a little, "What? Don't think Chef was crazy enough to deface real art?"
Alejandro pretends to weigh it for a moment with a quiet 'hmm' noise, "I don't think even Chris has enough money to cover that." He settles.
That makes an ugly snort escape you and finally, you meet his gaze. "Once this is all over, you should talk to Noah about Chris' finances." There's a knowing look in your eyes as you turn on your heel. "See if your still so sure about that after." With that, you take off, only clutching the piece of statue closer to your chest.
He catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches you leave. Even Chris couldn't afford to desecrate these pieces of art history, he was sure.
But it was a funny thought.
Athens come with what he can only describe as teasing:
An offhanded wink as he put half his hair into a ponytail.
Grinning as you pant on the other side of relay race's finishing line, "You sure are flexible, huh?"
Your quiet voice behind him as Cody stands in a woefully inaccurate set of wax wings and a hardly modest harness. "You would have looked good in that."
You began to let little things slip.
Long after the challenge in Niagara Falls, you're all still there, taking in the quick falling streams of water just below you. There was a pair of interns set to watch the group as Chris and Chef were refueling.
Most of the remaining cast was tired and mildly annoyed by the pit stop there of all places. By what was practically Canadian rite of passage, the majority of you had already been to Niagara too many times to count.
Alejandro, however, had no complaints as he watched you lean into the rock border overlooking the falls. It was getting colder, the longer you were there but you hardly seemed to notice as you recounted an old family trip to him. The words, practically falling out of your mouth, have a wide grin playing across your lips.
What he wouldn't give to be in your head at that moment.
Later, as you were all back on the plane and under those blue lights once again, he would tell you about that dream he had weeks ago. About the voices of his brother and his dad, ringing out his head. He would call it a favour returned, though those words sit entirely too heavy on his tongue.
By the finale, things had shifted entirely.
Admittedly, Alejandro may be having a bit too much fun with the songs the past few episodes. "This Is How We Will End It", last episode was groundbreaking. It practically cemented you two as the final two for the producers. You were suited to duets, it seemed.
And anyway, they thought it would create the most tension and serve as "the most plausible outcome." In order to get there, however, they blew up a plane, had you dancing on the top of an actual moving train, and made you sing and dance throughout it.
You… don't seem enjoy it quite as much as he does. There was a noticeable thrill, your eyes setting alight whenever you get really into it. You laugh and the grin. Maybe you would love this if you were with someone else but as the cameras go down, your worry becomes clear.
Wordless tugs to triple-check both of your harnesses before shoots, as if the technicians didn't already do so. Tight-lipped check-ins after you pass under tunnels that might leave your decapitated if you didn't move fast enough. You eyes lowered and on his planted feet each time the train got moving again.
Harnesses and emergency staff be damned, anyone who looks at the set up for the finale could tell you it was doomed from the start. It 's practically a miracle that you both make it to the volcano alive and well.
Then again, can you really can it a miracle if you still have to climb a volcano?
Who actually won, that was the only real surprise left.
By the time he makes it to the top, it doesn't look like he could lose. Yet, standing over the edge with his statue in hand, he hears your voice. Some PG-13 cursing falls from your mouth and he turns his head to see you panting at the end of the trail. Sweat clings to your skin as you slide onto your knees and yell at him.
Not for winning, but because you don't want things to end. "You're gonna get the money and we're never going to see eachother again!" Your desperation becomes clear as you latch onto the statue's ankle. "I have worked so hard for this! Three seasons." Your eyes look wet and it makes his heart squeeze. "You don't get to come in and take it from me when I'm this close! You don't get to take it and leave!"
You were angry about the loss, obviously, but it almost sounds more like...
"Well, what are you more upset about losing?" He steps forward, a smirk loudly playing on his face, "The money? Or me?" It might be cruel, but he really does want to know.
He expects red cheeks and over the top anger, but instead you seem to falter. Your eyes go from dewy to spilling over and the camera tech behind him races forward to get a closer shot.
"Does it matter?" You say, nearly quiet enough to have him straining his ears. You lip wobbles, "Just toss in the statue— stop taunting me!"
He should go for the win. He should but instead, he offers you a hand, only long enough to pull you up before dropping it again. The smirk falls from his face and in its stead is a pensive expression.
"Answer the question, will you?" He tilts his head, and buries himself in your eyes. They become a little stony as you peer at him.
For a second, the blistering heat behind you both becomes apparent. He takes in the sound of bubbling and the sheen across your forehead. Anything, to distract from how the world seems to be taking a breath in your silence.
You open your mouth and the illusion shatters, "And if I said you?"
"Well," He considers for a moment, his father and the disappointment waiting for him. Alejandro says it anyway, "I don't think you would be alone there."
Without a word, you close the space between you, reaching to hold onto your face. Your fingers are clammy and warm as they cup his cheek and quickly after, your lips meet his.
They're chapped, and he can just barely taste of salt and metal under the chaste kiss.
It's- he wants— his hands abandon their hold on wood to meet the curve of your waist. One slides up the side of your body to press against the top of your back, feeding his desire to be melded.
Skkkkrrrk
The distant noise of something sliding against gravel has him reeling back. His head spins in confusion and he tries to find answer in your wide eyes. Your lips curl just at the corners and your eyes flick behind him. His head snaps to meet your line of sight and he catches the tail end of your statue falling into the volcano.
His lips part and he looks at you quizzically, throat feeling painfully dry. Just barely he registers Chris' voice calling out your win.
You stunt the beginnings of hurt by letting the hand on his cheek slip down to his heart. His hand comes up to touch it, to steady himself.
"I do mean it," The smirk takes full form around the words, "Still had to win though."
A laugh startles from Alejandro and he shakes his head. "Well played, mi corazón." He leans in to let your lips just barely brush against each other, "Well played."
He pulls back, steadying his shoulders and turning to the camera, though his eyes never leave you. "Go get your money."
There had apparently been some plans of a fake eruption and the return zombified Ezekiel to boost ratings. Chris decided that wasn't necessary after "the big rivals to lovers finale." You only find this out at the hotel later, long after the excitement has died down. Each person in the cast, loser or not, has their own room and yet, the two of you find yourself huddled up together in yours.
Nothing happens, it's purely innocent. Just a need to be close after so much stress.
As you curl up under the comforter, Alejandro mumbles, "You do know that your reputation is ruined, yes?" The amusement is stark in his tone. "Not such a terrifying threat anymore."
You only pull him tighter toward you. "Worth it."
These are my guidelines: here.
These are my other works: here.
— "mi corazón" = "my heart" in Spanish
— Okay so this was long and I was playing around with a different format for it. This honestly ran away from me and I don't know my own feelings on it. I guess I'll see if it's actually any good through engagement lol. That aside, a couple things are referenced here so for the sake of citation: Alejandro references the novella "Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde" by Robert Louis Stevenson, the statue Heather is gathering pieces of is Michelangelo's David, and the costume Cody wears in Athens is that of Icarus.
— And of course, as of posting this, requests are open so feel free to send something in y'all.
