#fem fugo

[ambyandony]

Fem Fugio as part of an art trade with @rapscallionrabbit from last year,,, teyryee on the frroggy couch h…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39257619 <- the fic they wrote as their part of the trade which is super awesome and you should read it rn!!!!!!!!

[sapphicadventure]

[ex0toxin]

🍰

[inkpot909]

The Entire Group Having Feelings for the Reader Headcanons (Bucciarati’s Gang)

↳ Fem!Reader; pronouns aren’t specified but is written as a girl. Reader is around Bruno and Abbacchio in age. Their sexuality is undefined, but is written as liking women. It’s made clear the Reader is not interested in anyone on the team/doesn’t reciprocate anyone’s feelings.

Summary: Having once been the newbie on Bucciarati’s team, a certain amount of unwanted attention was to be expected from your peers. However, the reactions to your inclusion on the team were more than you bargained for.

Warning(s): None.

The first one you’re going to catch harboring a little crush is most likely Narancia. Still young, he heard there would be a girl joining the group and his interest was immediately peaked. Weirdly enough, Bruno was quite keen on brushing past that fact.

One small comment from Giorno- feeling the need to point out how Narancia was considerably less friendly towards him his first week -and it was soon obvious to you what was going on here.

In all honestly, everyone knew right away and no one took it seriously. It was difficult for the others to not notice, considering Narancia would follow you everywhere and take every possible opportunity to include you in something.

The dismissiveness of his feelings also came from you yourself; to the point where it only ever crossed your mind if someone else made a jab at Narancia’s expense.

You did scold the others for making comments about it though, finding it insensitive. Sure, the age gap is a clear enough indication nothing will ever come of it, but you don’t go out of your way to be rude.

Only once did you have to not-so-subtly turn him down. He never really acted on it, but he did have the tendency to showing off for you whenever he could.

One particular occasion of him doing so, Fugo had made a snide remark at Narancia’s expense. “Oh, please, you’re only doing this because you like her. It’s embarrassing,” he told him outright.

Sensing a possible fight, you laughed it off and said affectionately, “Leave him alone! He’s just being sweet. Besides, nothing’s ever gonna happen. He’s like a brother to me.”

Could you have handled it better? Probably. Was that a blow to Narancia’s confidence? Definitely. Did it articulate your feelings in manner he could understand? Most certainly.

He’s a nice kid, you recall thinking on the matter, Someone’s gonna fall head over heels for him someday. Guys like him always find genuine love.

Little did you know at the time, there were other reasons as to why no one else took Narancia’s affections all too seriously.

The next one you noticed catching feelings was Mista. However, this time around the realization was abrupt and much more difficult for you to brush off.

Sitting next to him on Bucciarati’s couch, you’d been relaxing together one afternoon.

It was the first time you two ever had done so; much to your excitement. Your heart swelled with hope, internally eager to soon be considered a part of their little family.

Then he just had to try putting an arm around you.

Your attitude over responding to Mista’s advances is notable compared to the others, because he acts very specifically towards you. He openly and clearly flirts. And a forward approach warrants a forward rejection. It’s an attitude you remember Abbacchio positively commenting on.

You turned your head, hands motionless on your lap. Yet your eyes were fueled with firm resolve, a slight squint to them.

“No thank you,” is what you simply said, more than enough for him to remove his arm and even put a few more inches between the both of you.

That honesty is respected by him, though. It causes him to change his approach for a while. And at some point, he likely realized you’re not looking for anything like that from him.

Regardless, both him and Narancia still continue to follow you around like lost puppies. Clambering for your attention and approval.

The closeness at least formed a genuine friendship with the two, one that you truly hold dear. And if the lack of any confessions is any indication, they appreciate it as well.

And where those two go, Fugo is usually following close behind them with a sour look on his face.

You just had to laugh; the trio was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Narancia and Mista welcomed you with open arms, much to Fugo’s clear annoyance. He was put off by their quick acceptance of you, likely being one of the first to point out that it’s ‘because you’re a girl.’

What really seemed to set him off initially was that they started including you in the three’s tiny click within the group as a whole. Now it isn’t just the three of them anymore, there’s a forth person taking up space.

Wouldn’t suggest mentioning it to Mista or he may genuinely consider kicking Narancia to the curb.

Eager to please, as well as apologize for disrupting this friend group’s dynamic, you tried your hardest to see eye-to-eye with Fugo.

Fortunately, the only difficult part was finding things to talk about after some time passed and he begrudgingly accepted that you were there to stay. After that, it was a slow but natural progression.

Soon, he seemed to tolerate your presence much better. Then, he started instigating conversations with you instead of it strictly being the other way around. Once enough of a bond was established, you’d started getting the impression he would much rather spend time with you than the other two.

Like with Mista, the realization hit you while sitting right next to him. It was out of the blue, as Fugo hadn’t said a word to you that day. No, your mind was just wandering and happened to connect the dots.

Well, shit. You had laughed out loud, earning confused looks from the three around you.

You were honestly concerned; more so than with the others. You couldn’t brush it off as easily as you could with Narancia, as Fugo’s timidness on the matter could mean he’d just become upset. Couple that with his short temper, and you feared you could lose his friendship over it.

Your worries were proven to be unfounded, luckily. After some discussion with Narancia and Abbacchio, you learned Fugo doesn’t actually want anything from you.

You’re silently thankful, happy to coexist with him just as normal. He could have his little crush, and still hold onto a very real friendship. Quite mature of him, but never something you’d never compliment him on directly.

In fact, thinking of Fugo makes you reminiscent of Giorno’s admittedly weird style of approach.

By then you had said… what, maybe two or three sentences in total to the kid? But out of the blue, one morning, you passed him while leaving the house.

He stopped you in your tracks, holding out his hand in front of you and keeping you still. For a moment, he was silent. But before you could open your mouth and ask him “What’s wrong?” he beat you to the punch.

You… admittedly don’t remember exactly what he told you. Something poetic about your beauty… yeah. It was the type of sentiment that was thought out thoroughly beforehand.

Still, despite feeling guilty over not remembering, it’s easy to assume it doesn’t really matter. Considering he completely went radio silent on the subject afterwards.

Perhaps he just felt like he really needed to say something before moving on, you figured.

And honestly, credit where credit is due, both Giorno and Fugo kept their distance. Enough to express it was a simple crush and nothing more. You were glad you never had to vocally turn them down, because they already understood you weren’t the one for them.

You entertained the idea of them maybe bonding over it. Talking about girls while they braid each other’s hair, you giggled to yourself, amused by the thought.

Speaking of bonding, through almost it all, Abbacchio was your rock.

It was a rough start with him, no question. For the first couple of weeks he was very critical of your decisions on missions and outside of them rarely gave you even a passing glance.

But he gradually became your scapegoat when the others were tripping over themselves for your time. Even Bruno insisted on getting his far share of time with you.

You had came to Abbacchio first, confinding in him and taking his advice very seriously. That was something he appreciated. Abbacchio’s casual attitude was a breath of fresh air when you really needed it, and was surprisingly understanding of your viewpoint (The prospect of possibly upsetting Giorno’s got to factor into that, right?).

The two of you mostly spend time together one-on-one, whether in deep conversation or comfortable silence. The foundation of your friendship was born from complaining, but you found other subjects to focus on as well.

It was, with hindsight, the most shocking development yet. Out of everyone there, you weren’t expecting to become close to Abbacchio… ever, really.

The closer you got, the more you were able to appreciate his character. He’s got a surprisingly good sense of humor, and looks after everyone on the team more than he’s given credit for. Most of all, he’s a really good listener if you’re completely h-… Are you… are you kidding me? What is happening?

You actually doubted your guess this time around for a good while; it’s far too absurd! Abbacchio’s a reserved individual, so it wasn’t as noticeable after all.

But conversations with the others made it all too clear. They knew him better than you, and when it comes to Abbacchio, no one is going to lie about his feelings just for the sake of it.

Regardless, like Giorno and Fugo, he kept his lips sealed whenever you’re around.

You felt a good amount of guilt having vented to him in the past, but if he wasn’t saying anything, you weren’t going to either.

By the time you one day received word that Bucciarati wished to speak to you in private, you seriously contemplated ditching him entirely. However, you respected the man too much to do so.

It’s an ungodly hour, you point out helplessly to yourself. I have no idea what on earth he wants to talk to me about right now, and at this point I don’t even want to know.

Your mental ramblings pause in tandem with your feet, stopping firmly in front of your boss’s office door. You shiver, pulling your robe over your front to the point of overkill. Peaking between the bottom of the door and the floor below, you smile upon seeing light still illuminating from within.

Yes, it’s an ungodly time. But both Bucciarati and I work late at night often anyways, you reason. With that in mind, you knock gingerly.

You hear a gentle “Come in,” from within the room. Smiling, you already feel Bucciarati’s aura of comfort. Entering, you spot him hunched over behind his desk. A laptop sits open on its wooden surface, but his attention’s been turned away by now.

“Apologies for asking you to come here so late,” he chuckles, returning your pleasant expression.

“It’s not very professional of you, Capo,” you jest lightheartedly. Moving swiftly, you sit yourself down on a chair placed opposite to him.

“Fair enough,” he decides, crossing his legs. “How’s your day gone, tesoro?”

You hum, contemplating his question. It’s sweet; something he always asks whenever he can. Thinking of Abbacchio, then everyone else in turn, you barely give yourself another chance to breathe while you lay out all that you’ve experienced thus far.

You loved the team, but you’d be lying if you said everyone’s affection wasn’t getting to you a little. Most of all, you worried how their feelings could effect the team as a whole. And ever since discovering how Abbacchio feels, you haven’t had anyone to discuss it with anymore.

You weren’t sure if Bruno could really do anything about it. Hell, you didn’t know if you really wanted him to. Just to talk about it unfiltered was enough weight taken off your shoulders.

Minutes pass before your voice dies down, taking in short breathes. With wide eyes, you stare at Bucciarati expectantly. However, much to your discomfort, he remains silent. His head is tilted away from you and down at his desk, pupils remaining fixated in one position. It’s a clear sign he’s in deep thought, something you’re wary of disturbing.

A moment is too long for you to wait, quick to become self conscious over your word-vomit.

He clears his throat, catching your full attention once more. Adjusting the front of his collar, his eyes were glued to your own. During a mission it would be grounding, or maybe even a little intimidating. Any other time it would be comforting. Now, the nervous energy pouring from his person offers the exact opposite.

Quietly, he simply says, “…Maybe we should talk another time, then.”

At that point, you didn’t know why you were shocked. Leaving his office, there was no doubt.

Bruno was fair, not the type to ever play favorites with anyone on the team. But upon reflection, you realize he dotes on you in a special way.

Not only did he accept and voice your place on the team almost immediately, but he seemed to request your presence during peaceful moments just as much as anyone else in the group.

And by the time you new about everyone else, that should have been a dead giveaway.

Fights or arguments had over you is never something you’ve seen for yourself. According to Narancia and Abbacchio, they do happen. The how and why is kept so vague you almost believed they were just pulling your leg.

The last time it was talked about, there was no more room for doubts on whether or not they actually occurred.

Bruno happened to be present when Narancia was talking to you about it. He was quick to step in, downplaying whatever goes on during those arguments. After that, he silenced the discussion entirely.

You were a little disappointed the subject suddenly became taboo after that day, but was also quite grateful. It was clear he took your worries very seriously, considerate of your comfort with the rest of the team.

But time marches on, making the first year with Passione feel like a lifetime ago.

You long became a part of their found family, and the idea of the others crushing on you hardly ever floats around in your brain anymore.

And when it comes to the members you’re close to in age, all thoughts of “What if…” or “Just maybe…” eventually fizzle out from their minds as well.

How could they persist? Especially after one day, when you came home from a lunch out with an old friend of yours. Smiling wide and blushing from head to toe, you couldn’t help but cheerfully tell the group about the person you now happily call your girlfriend.

[la-principessa-della-squadra]

Serial Killer!Ghiaccio X Fem!reader (Part 1/?)

TW: NSFW content, Yandere, sexual harassment, kidnapping, violence, blood, gore

PLEASE NOTE: The reader of this story is not going to have much control on her surroundings.

SUMMARY: Fem!reader is invited to a laurea (graduation party) and finds Formaggio, Illuso and finally Ghiaccio. After a flashback explaining how fem!reader and Ghiaccio met, She decides to head to her dormitory with him. That was a poor choice.

Il Santo Bevitore bar,  00:31

“DOTTOOOOREEEEE…DOTTOOOOREEEEE!!!!”

October, Graduation month.

This was the third time you heard that chant.

“...Dottore nel buco del cul! VAFFANCUL!VAFFANCUL!”

The chanting was followed by the popping of a Prosecco bottle and a flying cork rolling at the feet of some random students, who probably weren’t even invited to the party.

However, that was never a problem from the start. After all, having gatecrashers at your graduation party is so common that it is now a tradition.

The foamy neck of the bottle, still steaming from its own coolness, slips into your plastic cup supported by Giorno’s quivering hands, who is once again in charge of pouring the alcohol for every single guest. From his rosy cheeks and shaky steps, it was clear that Giorno would not be able to keep himself upright much longer. 

“Grazie Gioà, sei sicuro di non dover vomitare?”

(Thanks Giorno, Are you sure you’re not feeling sick?)

You ask him sheepshly and with a slight note of worry, but before the blondie could answer you’re interrupted by a loud voice.

"UAGLIU!"

Your head quickly turns back. It’s Guido Mista, Giorno’s best friend.  He's also kinda drunk...Guido doesn't waste no time and after catching a big breath he starts shouting at the top of his lungs to give an additional toast.

“AIZ AIZ AIZ, ACAL ACAL ACAL, ACOOST ACCOST ACCOST, A SALUTA NOST!!!”

The rhythmic chant ignites a roaring wave of excitement throughout the bar, fueling Giorno's enthusiasm to the point where he eagerly presses his lips against the giant bottle. The poor guy started drinking since early in the afternoon, and the blame undoubtedly fell on Guido.

As a matter of fact, Guido kept filling up his friend’s glass with whatever alcoholic concoction was within arm's reach. Giorno had finished his graduation speech at 3:30 p.m. By 3:37 p.m. Guido had already made him chug half a bottle of shoddy Tavernello, all complemented by the bursting of confetti and colorful streamers.

Since you knew what a dangerous mix of cheap alcohol was broiling in Giorno’s stomach, you swiftly step back as an anonymous blonde boy decides to intervene by firmly confiscating the bottle of Prosecco. He looked a little concerned. However, you’re pretty sure you’ve seen him before, what was his name again?

“UEEEE PANNAAAA’ààà!!A’Pannacotta!! Ué fra, pcchè nu staj bvenn?"

(PANNACOTTA! Why aren’t you drinkin’, brah??)

You hear Guido shouting, while Giorno’s perfectly bowed laurel wreath had already fallen on his delicate, red face, messing up his golden locks. 

“Mannagg a miserij Guido, ma t'e sciumunut? se m mett a bev pur ij, aropp chi a guid a machin?! comm v port a cas? Nun me facc' ritirare la patente n'altra volta."

 (For fuck's sake Guido, have you gone nuts??If I start pounding drinks too, then who the hell's gonna get your ass home? I ain't letting those bastards revoke my damn license... again.)

Replies the friend in annoyance while adjusting the laurel wreath of a drunk and smiling Giorno.

“E ij che n sacc, stu bar è chin r ingegner autoveicolo, fatt costruì na mongolfiera. vann a naft no?”

(That sounds like a you problem, this bar is full of automotive engineers, ask them if they can build you an air baloon .They run on gasoline don't they?)

“Tu staj proprij a for.”

(You can’t be that stupid.)

At least Guido isn’t wrong, the bar is swarming with engineers looking for one thing and one thing only.

“...Aò, ma’ndò sta la figa??”

(...Yo, Where the bitches at?)

A strong smell of Menabrea invades your nostrils before an anonymous arm swiftly sorrounds your shoulders and traps your body against a men’s chest.

You quickly recognize the man’s voice.

“Formi…”

It’s Formaggio, your favourite drop-out engineer. 

A legend among your faculty for being the ultimate judge of the nightlife, Formaggio lags two years behind you. Throughout the entire semester of you two chilling together, you've taken an oath that you've never laid eyes on him cracking open a book or even getting close to one.

Formaggio's library visits are solely reserved for bugging his buddies, making quick pit stops at the restroom, exploiting his student discount on vending machine goodies, or diving into his favourite pursuit: charming the ladies.

Since it was common knowledge that Formaggio had a preference for freshmen, he very often did not hesitate to physically show you  his affection in front of other people.

“Zì. Questa festa è per i laureati in biologia, non scienze della formazione.”

(Dude. This party is for biology majors, not education majors).

That saccharine yet disinterested tone could only belong to Illuso. You don’t know much about him except that he lives with Formaggio somewhere in the centro storico and that he's majoring in architecture.

It is common knowledge that architects and engineers are natural enemies, like engineers and mathematicians, engineers and physicists, and engineers and other engineers…Damn engineers! They ruined STEM...

Despite all that, these two seem to get along perfectly.

“Mecojoni...”

(DAMN.)

While immersed in your own thoughts, your left check is refreshed by the condensation of Formaggio’s Menabrea as he tries to hold you closer to his chest. He drank too much, and therefore he’s getting even more touchy.

“Ti vedo accaldata chicca, ti prendo qualcosa da bere?Lulù perchè nun vai dall’oste e ce piji quarcosa? Tiè, prendite ‘no scudo e facce fa’ due gintonic.”

(I see you're sizzlin' up, babe. Need a drink to cool those flames? Lulu, hit up the bar, grab some stuff for us. Get a couple of gintons in the mix)

“Oh no no…sto apposto!”

(UH,Nah…I’m fine!)

Panicked, you encounter Illuso’s sight, who immediately gives you an almost disgusted look, as if it was your fault if his friend is drooling all over you. His eyes narrow above a tight and twist smile, and Formaggio gives him a flickering smile back.

"Facciamo che ci vai tu fino al bancone dato che stai preso bene."

( Why don't YOU go to the bar and get us something?)

"Sei propio da' a Lazio, Lulù."

(You're a fucking cunt, Lulu, you know that?)

“ Immaginavo di trovarti qui.”

(I knew you were here.)

Your body is shaken by a sudden shiver. At first glance, you connected that chill to the Menabrea freezing damp glass, but you soon catch on that the bottle is no longer grazing against your cheek.

It’s his voice that made you shiver.

It’s too familiar.

“Oh, Ghiaccio,ce stai anche tu.”

(Oh Ghiaccio, you’re here too.)

Formaggio turns his head behind his shoulders while still keeping his hands on you. His smile fades and his friendly tone vanishes, now resembling Illuso’s.

Regrettably, you know exactly the reason behind Formaggio’s sudden change. It’s no secret that Ghiaccio is an expert in ruining the mood with his bad attitude. In the past, Formaggio tried to warn you many times about Ghiaccio's sudden violent outbursts. 

You found it hard to believe since Formaggio never looked really concerned for his friend but rather preoccupied about his 'party pooper’ attitude.

According to him:

If sober, Ghiaccio would kill the buzz. 

When drunk, Ghiaccio would kill people. 

Even if you seriously doubted about the 'killing' part, everyone on the faculty thought that Ghiaccio was a bit of a weirdo. 

Not that engineers in general aren’t labeled as ‘weirdos’. However, Ghiaccio was giving all those signs of someone you shouldn't approach. After all: ‘ quale persona sana di mente si iscriverebbe a ingegneria, per di più a ingegneria chimica?’

Every time someone actually took the courage to come up to his desk and try to have a word with him, his responses were always dry and blunt. Hunched over his computer and with a MATLAB tab permanently open, not once had he raised his head to engage in conversation with his interlocutor. 

As a matter of fact, it was only his eyes that tried to move.

The gaze behind those thick glasses became suddenly glacial and sinister, accompanied by a tone so saccharine and dismissive that it would have put anyone off.

Ghiaccio sat stiff and still like a taxidermy animal, looking more dog than human.

Ghiaccio sat there, rigid and lifeless, more canine than human. In fact, he often stood as alone as a rabid dog.

Right now, his friends felt his gaze - that of a rabid dog.

“Qualche problema Maggio? Non hai qualche matricola da seviziare?”

(Any problems Maggio? Couldn’t find any freshman to harass?)

Ghiaccio’s sharp tongue brings you back to reality. The blue-haired boy appeared out of thin hair behind Illuso’s back, startling him. He stands there with his glasses slightly fogged up from the air humidity. His right hand clutches a plastic cup that filled with ice, just ice. Weird.

“Cristo Ghiaccio mi hai quasi fatto prendere un infarto. Sembri un morto che cammina.”

(Jesus Christ Ghiaccio,you almost gave me a heart attack. You look like a walking corpse.)

Comments Illuso, glancing in Formaggio’s directions as he lifts his arm from your shoulders and starts loudly chugging the rest of the Menabrea. This visibly annoys Ghiaccio who instinctively shows his teeth, clenching them in a crooked and forced smile.

“Ciao Ghia, come ti vanno le cose?”

(Hello Ghia, How is it going?)

The smile fades. Ghiaccio starts purposely ignoring the two men, and instead he focuses on you:

“Secondo te, tosa? Domani ho Analisi 2.”

(What you think, tosa? Tomorrow I got the Analysis 2 exam.)

“Non sei preparato-”

(Did you stu-)

“Che domanda der cazzo fai chicca, dove pensi che è stato fin ora, se non chiuso in biblioteca?”

(What a damn dumb question, babe. "Did you study?" Like, where the hell do you think he were just a sec? In a freakin' library, duh.)

Formaggio cuts you, mocking your girly voice.

You cautiously raise your hands, waiting for Ghiaccio to burst out for being interrupted, but that doesn't happen. The blue-haired man just shoots Formaggio a death stare, head slightly cocked, eyes piercing through those thin brows. You notice him instinctively baring his teeth and gums at the man like he's about to bite his neck.

It's a warning.

Formaggio takes the hint and casually peers into the bottle, scrounging for any last drops. Meanwhile, Illuso's ego is so massive that he flat out brushes off Ghiaccio's response and jumps right into schooling his buddy.

“Dove pensi che sia. SIA. Il congiuntivo l’hai lasciato al Quadraro?”

(Where do you think He was. He WAS.)

“Lulù stai cercando una capocciata o una bottigliata? Posso dartele entrambe. Te lascio scegliere l’ordine.”

(Listen Lulu. Do you want to catch these hand or the bottle? I can give you both. Just say a word.)

Formaggio's tone takes on a slurred edge, like he's got a bit too much booze in his system for fooling around. Illuso catches wind of this and takes it as the perfect chance to blow off some steam. Weirdly enough, Ghiaccio stays dead quiet, sitting this convo out.

Now that's a twist.

Still, you catch a little something. Even though the guy's zipped his lip, you spy the plastic cup in his grip utterly squashed.

Why's he holding back? You can read it in his expression, he's just itching to unleash his piece.

“Ziofà facciamo che se sei ignorante non è colpa mia.”

(It’s not my fault you’re ignorant)

Replies the tall man while stiffing up and crossing his arm to feel superior. Now Illuso is not even glaring at Formaggio anymore, and he's perfectly aware this is going to drive him mad.

“Ma chi credi de cojonà a' Pariolino?Ignorante lo dici a tua sorella.”

(You did not just call me ignorant.)

“Ignorante nel senso che ignori la grammatica italiana.”

(Don’t take it personally. I said Ignorant because you're ignoring the Italian grammar)

“Allora tu sei un imbecille perchè Imbelle”

(Then you’re an imbecile because you're imbecilin')

“BOJA FAUSS QUELLO CHE HAI DETTO NON HA UN CAZZO DI SENSO, ZI.”

(That doesn’t even make any sense! You just MADE UP. A FUCKING WORD.)

Finally, Illuso comes down from his pedestal and starts hatefully staring at his friend.

"CHICCA!"

(BABE!)

Formaggio turns towards you for half a second and hands you the empty Menabrea before turning his gaze back to Illuso.

"PIJATE STA MENABREA. MO' TE PARTO DE CAPOCCIA!"

(HOLD THIS FOR ME. THIS FAG IS ABOUT TO CATCH THESE HANDS!)

Formaggio's voice blares like a damn siren, catching the attention of everyone in the joint. A bunch of folks, wreaths atop their heads, swivel around, and others in the joint follow suit. In the midst of the mob, you spot Guido secretively trying on Giorno's laurel wreath while the dude's occupied with some pink-haired girl, fussing over his fancy-ass braid.

"Ragazzi non fate gli stupidi. Non potete fare a botte qui- Ci stano guardando tutti..."

(Guys. Stop this nonsense. You can't fight here. Everyone is looking-)

You make a move to put a stop to their antics, when a chilling voice sneaks into your ear...

“Vieni.” 

(Let's go.)

Freddo.

This sensation is familiar, it’s like being in one of those deep, paralyzing sleeps where the weight of the bed covers feels like a boulder. But this time your body seems as if covered by a light sheet. A cold sheet, as if it had never dried. It’s wet and icy, a cold so sharp that starts biting into your skin.

Your head starts spinning, even though you are sure you haven't moved. 

You remain motionless, unable to do anything but inhale icy air.

You feel as if my whole skin is covered with frost.

Your memories are confused and jumbled...you cannot make sense of them.  Under your clenched eyelids, lights, sounds and colors from llast night mix in a continuous spiral, causing you to feel nauseous. After taking a few breaths, your head finally stops throbbing like the speakers of a disco. Your back hurts as it's lying on a hard surface that is even colder than the surrounding air. The unpleasant sensation given by your skin attached to the icy surface challenges you to move your muscles.... But something is wrong. 

They won't move. They can't move.

You sense your hands resting next to your body, the tips of your fingers numb with cold... However, when you flex them in order to warm them, they do not respond to your thoughts. Panic suddenly makes you lucid. you open your eyes.

Your eyes snap open, only to be assaulted by a blinding white radiance. It's intoxicating, that brilliance. A sea of white stretching to every horizon.

A single source of light reigns, the ceiling lamp above you. You lie atop a slab of metal, nothing but gravity pressing you into its unforgiving surface.

“ah...ah…”

Your breath begins to shorten.

White smoke lazily rises from your lips, disappearing into the neon. The light illuminates your figure yet denies you any heat. You look around, trying to figure out where you are. Your neck slowly begins to loosen, allowing you to get a better look around the room...

Beyond, darkness reigns, a domain devoid of form or presence. Yet, something sinister looms along the walls, whether furniture or pillars, they crawl from floor to ceiling.

Your vision drifts downward, over your frozen feet, past the table's edge, until a glimmer dances at the periphery.

A door? 

“C-C-C’è…c’è q-qualcuno?”

(is-is anybody there?)

Your voice is hoarse, cracking when you try to speak. The icy air scratches your throat, your skin quivers.

The tips of your fingers have now lost sensibility, as if they have become one with the table. You cough... then you try to speak again, louder.

“Pe-Per favore!!COFF! AIUTO!! Sono qui!! Non cè nessuno?!”

(Anyone! Anybody!!Please, some-Cough-SOMEONE HELP!!)

After shouting, you wait panting for an answer... a sign...any sign. 

Suddenly you hear footsteps approaching, slow and measured. A shadow obscures the narrow glimmer coming from the door. The sound of several locks being opened echoes in the room. 

The door slowly opens, letting a much stronger light invade the room, revealing an unknown figure.  A man is watching you from the threshold but the light beyond him prevents you from recognize him.

Your eyes flicker as the light sound of your chattering teeth signals you've just regained control of your jaw muscles.

The expression you’re making seems to amuse the man. A soft chuckle escapes him as he strides into the room, sealing the door in his wake. He drags in a cart, and upon its enigmatic cargo, your gaze falters, unable to discern the details.

“Non ti conviene sforzarti così tanto…rischi di farti male.”

(Oh dear, you shouldn't push yourself too hard...you'll end up hurting yourself.)

His voice slices through the air, sharper than the chill. Dread claws at you, its grip tightening as his teeth catch your attention more than his eyes do. A grin stretches across his face, a gruesome expanse that reveals his gums. His gaze remains unaltered, a predator's stare, unrelenting and piercing.

Behind those glasses, his eyes undress you, baring your vulnerability as if you weren't already stripped bare.

“G-Ghiaccio?”

 “Shhh..ti fa male da qualche parte?Come va il respiro?”

(Shhh. Does it hurt anywhere? is your breathing okay?)

All of a sudden, the man puts on a genuinely concerned face, and seems to be focused on your face.

"C-Che è successo??...Ci siamo schiantati?”

(what.... what happened...where am I? did we crash?)

Your voice tremble, it’s stuttering. You gasp as you notice his hand resting on the table, beside your ankle.

" Non c'è niente di cui avere paura...concentrati e rispondi alla domanda: ti fa male da qualche parte?"

(don't worry about it now.... take a breath, stay focused and answer me: does it hurt anywhere?)

The situation is surreal.... what happened? Perhaps you're in a hospital? Did you have an accident? Are you paralyzed because of that?

"n-no. Non c'è niente che mi fa male...ma non riesco a muovermi...h-ho così tanto freddo..."

(n..no.... nothing hurts.... but I can't move..p..I might have something d- to put on...I'm so f-ing cold...)

You murmur, your voice trembling from both cold and unease. Shivers run through you, the icy fingers of anxiety now accompanying the chill. The man's lips curve at your hushed words, his face inches from yours. Your cheeks burn, tainted red by a mix of emotions.

"In un attimo, chicca."

(In a moment, babe.)

He purrs, his tone velvety. However, that ' babe' part is filled with venom and resentment. You quickly notice he's making a sloppy imitation of Formaggio's accent.

His face inches closer, his gaze locked onto yours.

"Sto controllando che sia tutto apposto...dimmi..."

(I must make sure everything's alright... tell me...)

His hand touches the sole of your right foot, a warmth you haven't felt since you woke.

"Senti le mie dita?"

(Can you sense my fingers?)

"Sì..."

(Yes...)

You're aware of his index finger trailing over your skin, a sensation that sends ripples through your body. Past your knee, ascending your thigh, the warmth causes both your form and fear to tremble. His other fingers join the index, like sinister accomplices, tracing your flesh. With a creeping exploration, his hand moves until it firmly presses against your inner thigh.

"Dimmi quando non le senti più."

(Let me know when you can't feel them anymore.)

"a-ah!F-fermo!"

(a-ah! Stop!)

You attempt to resist, but your defiance only manifests in the frustrated shake of your head...

"Rilassati..."

(Relax...)

He coos, his voice a syrupy assurance.

"Non ti farò niente...per ora. Non sei contenta di ricevere un check up gratuito?"

(I won't do anything... yet. Isn't a complimentary check-up something to be glad about?)

His hand still lingers on your inner thigh, its touch a languid caress that ignites a warmth, craving coursing through your body. You relinquish the sensation, only to be met once again with the unforgiving cold of the table.

"C-Che cosa è successo?"

(What... What's happened to me?)

Breathless, you gasp, your chest heaving. The man's features retain an eerie calm as you sense his touch upon you once more. His fingers slip under your right hand's palm, lifting it, while his other hand blankets your back.

"Solo un attimo chicca, devo finire il chek-up...Poverina, le tue mani sono congelate."

(Just a moment, babe. I need to finish the check-up... Poor thing, your hands are freezing....)

 He smiles as his warm hands rub against yours, giving you such relief that a sigh of pleasure escapes you.

"oh-"

This time, his 'babe' doesn't feel as a mockery.

You catch the sight of his tongue darting across his lips, a prelude to him exhaling gently onto your fingers. His warm breath works its magic, coaxing sensitivity back into your once-numb digits.

"Ti piace, non è vero?...lascia che ti faccia stare meglio..."

(Feels good, doesn't it? let me do something special...) 

Before you can say anything, his mouth is pressed on your fingers as he starts to kiss them, slowly.... how can those lips be so warm.... the gesture is so unexpected that leaves you speechless. You feel your head dipping into a fog-you are still dreaming. You are definitely dreaming. There is no other explanation, 

-ah-

Your index finger slides into his mouth, encountering the sensation of his warm, wet tongue caressing your nail, descending to its very base. It's a repulsive, slimy sensation, made eerier by the expression he wears—a perverse delight akin to a child sucking their favorite treat.

"M-ma che fai? S-Smettila..."

(N-no... no, stop...)

You stammer, horror clenching at your chest, urging him to cease.

Your gaze locks onto the dreadful scene unfolding before you. Slowly, he extracts your index finger, his lips gripping its tip. Behind the thick lenses of his glasses, Ghiaccio gazes at you, his eyes holding an unsettling glint. As terror courses through you, his teeth begin to close deliberately, his molars biting down, the pressure intensifying with every passing second.

"No-C-Che cosa-AHI. AHIA!! MI FAI MALE! L-Lasciami!! SMETTILA!!"

(No—what are you doing? Ah!AHH! YOU'RE HURTING ME!! It hurts! NO!)

Recognition dawns as you comprehend his sinister intent. The sound that echoes from him—a chilling crunch—is oddly familiar, like the memory of your grandmother offering freshly harvested, crisp carrots from her garden when you were a child.

*CRUNCH*

A scream rips from your throat, pain blurring your sight. His jaw locks around the bone with an aggressive grip.

In a split second that catches you off guard, Ghiaccio tears two of your phalanges away, wrenching your finger free in a swift, brutal motion. The forceful snap of his head results in a gruesome sight—a gushing surge of blood spraying forth.

Your hand remains locked in his.

The vile squelching of his chewing churns your stomach. He's like a rabid dog ravaging his prey.

"Mmh... sapevo ne sarebbe valsa la pena"

(Mhh... delicious... just as I'd imagined.)

Your shrieks of torment transform into violent retches. You twist your face aside, desperate to avoid vomiting, yet there's nothing left to expel. The sound of his swallowing grates on your ears. More convulsions wrack your frame, forcing your eyes to shut.

You can hear him dragging the cart closer, your gaze drawn to the crimson smears that now stain his scrubs. You can't muster the strength to confront your mangled hand.

"Ci vuole calma e sangue freddo, tosa."

(Baby, it's cold outside.)

[fuckmachine42069]

i have been converted to fugirl nation, i love her so much!!!

anyways here’s them talking about boy problems lol

details under the cut :33

[3am-silence]

Newbie has no manners nor does fear God

🐞: What are you looking at?

🍓: Give it back...

🐞: Give you back what? Your dignity?

🍓: My fucking wallet, sassy

[smol-tactician]

Hi welcome to jojo doodles I might not take seriously

[cloverque]

paper heart (prosciutto)

masterlist, ch 1: panic at the gala

shortly after you were assigned the mission, giorno cordially invited you to a gala. seeing as how you'll be away from the group for a while, you decided to take part, just this time.

5174 words

After we moisturise, the next step is to apply sunscreen. I use this brand from Dior– the latest Diorsnow sunscreen with UV protection!

You sat on your bathroom counter, swinging your feet. With a Youtube video playing on your phone, you gently patted sunscreen into your face. The girl in the video– a young lady with rich pink hair– showcased a white tube. Yours sat on your lap while other products were scattered on the counter.

I'm a huge fan of this brand. I always buy their best sellers and give them to my best friends.

You smiled knowingly. As the girl on the screen rambled, you began touching up on your face. Just the bare minimum, seeing as how you were already late.

During your meeting with Giorno, which occurred a week ago, he invited you to a party he was hosting. He had handed you a formal invitation, like always: a letter stamped with a wax seal. To attend or not to attend– you sat on the fence until the last minute.

When he first took over, you happily turned up for his gala. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened that day, but you swore off the rest ever since. The reason was simple: you didn't want to work overtime. When you showed up, you quickly realised you had to socialise with coworkers outside usual office hours.

Rest was important! How else would you stay in tip top shape? So there was no way you would sacrifice your precious down-time over fancy parties. Even if they were hosted by Don Giovanna.

So what implored you to accept his invite? Soon you would be deployed for your mission; possibly far from home for a while. With that in mind, you wanted to hang out with your friends for a bit. But besides that, there was another driving factor. You stared at your reflection, stroking your lashes with mascara.

Curiosity, it was curiosity.

"I'd like you to be there. There's... Someone I'd like you to meet," he said that day. He pushed the envelope towards you with a faint smile.

You took it in your hands and blinked. "An important person?"

He fiddled with the ladybug brooch on his chest. A faint tinge of red dusted his cheeks. With a solemn nod, he planted a seed of curiosity in your mind. You never knew he was capable of being abashed.

"I wonder who he's talking about," you pondered as you checked your work. What kind of person were they for him to make that sort of look?

A knock on your bathroom door derailed your train of thought. "(y/n), you've been in there for an hour. What's taking you so long?"

"Oh, Fugo," You carefully swept a balm against your lips. "You should know by now not to rush a lady. Especially when she's in the bathroom."

"Give me a break. I've been standing here waiting like an idiot for thirty minutes."

"Some gentleman you are..." You muttered begrudgingly. It was him who volunteered to chaperone you to the party in the first place.

After his redemption– when he defeated the Narcotics Team for Giogio– he managed to tone it down a notch. The therapy he sought worked out too. His anger management issues had gotten better, but there was still a limit to his patience. And once that figurative thread broke, it would take more than apologies to placate him.

With that in mind, you hopped off the counter. You took one last look in the mirror. Tonight you were dressed in a satin backless dress. Its spaghetti-thin straps criss crossed behind, showing your supple back. The dress also had a side slit that teased your thighs. To complete the look, a silk shawl draped over your shoulders and around your arms.

Your outfit was a perfect mix between sexy and chic. A smile crept up your face and you blew a kiss at your reflection. Feeling like you could take on the world (and a furious Fugo), you were about to leave when you jumped up.

"Ah! I almost forgot," you chuckled and picked up the pin on the counter. It was a hair pin, a metallic accessory fashioned into a unique heart shape. You clipped it onto your hair and hurried out the door.

Standing outside was none other than Pannacotta Fugo, dressed in a custom tuxedo. His hair was pushed back, with a few strands hanging over his knitted brows. The strawberry blonde had his arms crossed, fingers tapping impatiently on his bicep.

"Are you finally done?" He muttered through clenched teeth.

"Gee, thanks for waiting," You rolled your eyes and walked past him. He trembled with frustration, and you almost felt bad. Tardiness was one of his biggest pet peeves, and for him to be late, without meaning too... Well, you had better head out, fast!

You swiftly packed your purse and the two of you left your apartment. At the entrance awaited a squeaky clean limousine. Fugo settled into a seat across from you, muttering about how embarrassingly unpunctual he was. You glanced out the window and as the car's engine revved to life again, you began to drown him out. The car picked up speed and zoomed to its destination: Giorno's mansion.

✶

By the time you arrived, it was nearly ten. An hour had passed since it had started. The car stopped outside the mansion's grand gates. An armed guard approached the driver's side and after a swift identification check, he opened the gate and the car pulled into the front yard. The chauffeur stopped the limousine outside the front door, where a pair of butlers stood. Wordlessly, they opened the doors for you and Fugo, and led you two up the stairs and into the mansion.

A red carpet was rolled out in the hallway. Sculptures, marble heads and oil paintings lined the walls, archaic pieces that Giorno attained for who-knows-how-many lire. Soft music lingered in the air whilst you began your ascend up a flight of stairs.

The long, winding staircase led the two of you to the second floor, which was decorated with more relics of the past. A few guests stood idly in the hallways, talking in hushed whispers. A couple swayed drunkenly beside a portrait of Don Giovanna. A glass of wine jangled from each of their hands. Hopefully they would not splash it on the painting.

After twisting and turning in the hallway, you finally found the source of the music. Another pair of butlers opened the doors for your friend and you.

The once muffled tunes converted to melodious harmonies, courtesy of a live orchestra. Violins, cellos and brass instruments and a piano were at their disposal. Situated on one end, they played a classical piece. On another side was a buffet spread, with cakes and delicacies a group of women were fawning over. You were soon to be one of them.

In the center people chatted idly while some danced to the lovely music. You caught sight of Mista, chatting with a lady in earnest. He was free of his sweater and instead dressed in a wonderful three piece suit. As for Giogio, who stood by the gunslinger, he was clad in stunning white and gold, wearing a soft primrose pink dress shirt. His long hair fell in voluminous waves behind him.

You searched the group they were with. Everybody maintained a fair amount of distance from each other. Which one of them was his special somebody?

You were about to greet them when your companion grabbed you by the end of your shawl. Fugo lifted up a finger, "I have some business to attend to, so I'll be back later. Remember, if you want to leave let me know. I will accompany you back, you hear me?"

You pried your accessory from him and rolled your eyes. "Yessir. See you later, sir."

The strawberry blonde exhaled, possibly from annoyance. He disappeared into the crowd and you gazed over at the dessert table. You visibly gasped and placed your hand over your heart.

It was radiant! In your sights were numerous three-tiered stands. An assortment of fairy cakes, with different frosting and toppings sparkled and shone on the stands. You licked your lips and rubbed your hands together, all goblin-like.

"Hehe... You can tell me about your special someone later, Giogio. Right now it's chow time!"

. . .

"Are you ladies seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Indeed... How can she pig out during such an elegant event like this?"

"The real question is how did she end up here in the first place?"

You turned to the women standing a few feet away. Just like you, they were dressed elegantly in gowns you saw on fashion runways. You chewed on your tenth fairy cake.

Even under your watchful gaze, they continued with their not-so inconspicuously whispers. You blinked innocently.

Rosa Romano. Caro Bianchi. Helen Bellomo. Daughters of high-ranking officials in Passione.

Rosa, the first born of Capo Romano. He dabbled in the gambling sector, a notable stand user. But unlike her father, she had not inherited a stand. Caro Bianchi. Born out of wedlock, her parents were faded aristocrats. They had history with the group, before Giorno took over. Also not a stand user. And Helen, daughter of a tycoon. Her family and her were sworn members of the gang. None of which were stand users.

In short, they were nothing to be concerned about. And from their ignorance, they didn't know you were part of the Passione's Escort Team. Excellent.

You finished the last of your cake and began on another. As you ate, you tuned them out and focused on the rich creamy treats. It mattered not how others perceived you, so long as you were happy. And with nothing but years of successful missions under your name, not even the Boss had a right to deny you of sugary, gastronomic delights.

"I can't believe you're actually here! You, who stays away from all of the Don's parties. Who would've thought?"

You blinked and a woman came into view. A familiar face had appeared. Fifty-something, the woman had her silver hair in 1940's waves. She wore a vintage cocktail dress, with matching elbow length gloves. A unique heart-shaped mole rested above her cupid's bow.

Your eyes lit up in recognition, "Signora Lucia?! Capo, I–"

"Nuh-uh! Today I'm not your Capo, my dear." She put a gloved finger to your lips. You fluttered your lashes, cross-eyed as you looked at her finger. She smiled cheekily. "Tonight I'm just a regular old lady."

You tilted your head, confused. She waved a waiter down and cherry-picked a glass of wine.

This lady here was none other than the Escort Team's capable leader– Signora Lucia. She was an aged and loyal member of Passione, and had served as the team's chief for years. Even during the period when you betrayed the old boss, Diavolo.

Giorno managed to trick everyone into thinking he had always been their leader, but you suspected Signora Lucia knew better. But even if she did, her loyalty never wavered. She was just as dedicated to her new Don just as she was to her first. And she was benevolent to you when you became branded as a traitor, later accepting you back with open arms.

Signora Lucia is a strange person. Even I have a hard time guessing what she's thinking half the time... You ruminated.

Gingerly swirling its contents, she gazed at you through hooded eyes. "This gala is swarming with the rich. I'm guessing today's a special occasion."

Your eyes flicked to the group of girls, still standing nearby. "Now that you mentioned it, there's also an unusually high number of women present today. I wonder if something's up."

With that in mind, you scanned the crowds for Giorno and Mista. They were preoccupied with another group of people, though this time a lady was between them. Her arm was looped around the blonde's, a dazzling hair pin in her bun. She wore an elegant cheongsam, and like her dress, you guessed she was from the East.

Who is she? She wasn't there a few moments ago. Could she be another woman Giorno has bagged tonight? Geez, talk about suave.

You looked down at your plate, piled with stacks of paper cups. The trio from earlier were now looking in your friend's direction. Like you, they ruminated over the unknown stranger attached to him. Subconsciously, your eye twitched. Signora Lucia took a tentative sip of her wine, watching you.

"I need some fresh air," You whispered to yourself. Leaving your Capo behind, you made your way to one of the many balconies in the room.

When nobody was looking, you pushed open the door just enough to slip through. You quietly closed it behind you and approached the railing. Leaning against the cold stone, your gaze instantly fell on the courtyard below. Even in the darkness of night you could see a table, the only furniture in sight. You and your friends would enjoy tea parties on that same table, sharing snacks and stories with one another.

An image of a certain blonde, smiling, swiftly surfaced in your mind. An unknown sadness bloomed in your heart. You already knew what it was, but you didn't understand why.

When did these feelings start? You weren't sure. They certainly weren't there when you first met him; back at the hideout in the vineyard many years back. Nor was it when he saved you from the persistent stand in the plane to Sardinia.

A gentle breeze tousled your tresses. Gently, you tucked some hair behind your ear. "Maybe I don't actually like him. Maybe I'm mixing up admiration with this."

Crrk...

The doors creaked open and you turned around. A man slowly stepped onto the balcony. He was dressed in beige and cream hues, a tweed jacket hanging over his broad shoulders. Champagne yellow hair was waxed back neatly, secured in little notches tied behind his head. A cigarette rested between his lips.

"Oh, I didn't know this place was already taken," His voice was a deep rumble. He held the little stick between his fingers. "Do you mind?"

"No, not at all," You gestured at the space around you. "There's room for more."

He joined you, back pressed against the stone balustrade. With a fancy little lighter, he lit up his cigarette. The blonde man took a long drag before puffing out a cloud of smoke. The scent of tobacco was sure to cling to your clothes, even if you kept your distance. Its dark tendrils began billowing in the balcony. Silently, the two of you stood together, watching the stars twinkle.

You knew who he was, and perhaps he knew who you were too. But your objective today was to find out who Giogio's special someone was, not to exchange formalities with him. You opted to stay quiet until he spoke up.

"I overestimated the crowd today," he muttered, and you glanced at him. His brows were knitted together, fingers in a little v-sign as he held the cigarette. "The last party wasn't as busy as this one."

"It's been a few years since I last attended, so I can't comment," you half-heartedly stated.

He raised a singular brow, "A few years, huh? Hm. I believe I've never seen you before. Is this our first meeting?"

You crossed your arms on the railing and glanced up at him. A finger rested on your lips as you exhaled nonchalantly. "Who knows? But I know who you are. You're an assassin from La Squadra Esecuzioni."

Quiet resumed between you and the man. Without warning, the man swiftly crushed the cig against the stone. You straightened up slowly, holding his gaze. He was a man of average height, a head taller than you. He glared down at you as you peered up at him indifferently.

"Should I be worried about you, signora?"

"'I'm nothing more than what you actually see, but I am also the complete opposite.' A famous singer, Keren Ann, once said that," You answered, crossing your arms. The tails of your shawl fluttered in the cold breeze. An unassuming smile graced your lips.

"With that said, please decide that yourself, signore Prosciutto."

"Ahem. I hope I'm not interrupting something."

You froze at the sound of a familiar, buttery voice. Your face fell as you slowly turned. Giorno stood at the entrance, his brows furrowed in uncertainty. The lady from before stared curiously at you and Prosciutto. Your eyes fell on their intertwined arms.

"Giogio," you cleared your throat. Why were you suddenly feeling restless? You fiddled with your purse. "Um, no. You're not interrupting anything."

You ignored Prosciutto's questioning gaze as he side-eyed you. Giorno visibly relaxed and he smiled faintly.

"I'm glad that you could make it. Fugo told me a while ago that the two of you had arrived safely, but I was busy attending to some guests. Forgive me."

"Yeah, you were real busy back there, huh?" You teased half-heartedly before swallowing. "So um, who's this beautiful lady over here?"

He gestured to the both of you, "Let me introduce you two. This is (y/n l/n), a close friend of mine. She's like family."

You placed a hand on your chest and bowed slightly, lowering your head. These were pretentious formalities, but you didn't want to embarrass the head of Passione. Your nails dug into your dress discreetly.

"And this lovely lady here is–"

An awful sound cut him off. Screams of terror filled the ballroom and you peered past them. Your eyes widened, the sea of people were moving in different directions all at once. A familiar friend shoved past a couple and burst into the balcony.

"Fugo!" Giorno met him halfway. His voice was steady yet demanding. "Tell me what's happening, quickly."

"It's a stand attack! We need to evacuate everyone, Giogio." He panted, gripping his arm. Something pitter pattered onto the floor, and you realised Fugo was bleeding.

A gunshot rang out, and you hoped it was Mista firing. Giorno laid a hand on Fugo's arm, and his stand materialised beside him. A golden glow surrounded his wounded appendage, and you glanced over to the lady beside the guys, looking lost like a lamb in the wilderness.

More screams erupted and you whipped your head around. Fugo sucked in a pained breath and gritted his teeth. "We have to do something about these people. Most of them aren't even stand users– they're defenseless!"

"That's where I come in," you held Giorno and Fugo's confused gazes. Conviction shone in your eyes. "There's no time to evacuate, so I'll be taking them to safety myself."

Passione's Don nodded solemnly. He placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed it. "I'm counting on you." You nodded and Fugo and him rushed into the fray.

Prosciutto and the lady remained with you and you turned to them. "This is gonna get freaky, so stick close to me." Obediently, they shuffled close as you opened your purse. You fished out a notepad, one of the many you kept within your little bag. With a flip of your wrist, you whipped it open.

"Paper Heart!" A (colour) aura enveloped you and the heart-shaped pin in your hair. The metal eroded away and became an origami-like texture. "Transport all the guests into this piece of paper!"

Fwoop!

The three of you were sucked into the notepad. It fell onto the ground and began changing its form to a paper heart, shaped much like your hairpin. Transported into a realm of blank whiteness, you stood among a horde of confused and panicked people. With a quick head count, you estimated about a hundred or so were present.

The three women from the desert table stood together, clinging to each other. They were almost pitiful with their panicked rambling. You cupped your hands and bellowed, "Don't worry, the Boss will take care of things from here. I've brought you to a secure place, the enemy can't come here. You're safe now!"

Heaves of relief filled the space. Luckily most in Passione knew what a stand was.. So it took little brain cells to put two and two together. You gazed up at the blank ceiling.

"So you're a stand user," Prosciutto drawled. You had forgotten the man existed in the heat of the moment. He glanced around, curiously. "Interesting."

You chose not to respond. Crossing your arms, you stood quietly, thinking. Only you could allow a person to enter and leave this paper realm. Even if somebody discovered the paper heart in the balcony, there was no possible way to enter. And if they ripped the paper to shreds, Paper Heart would transport everyone to one of the many notebooks stashed away in your purse.

As for what laid beyond this world, you had willed for Giorno and his personal guards to remain. Mista and Fugo included. Your stand wasn't the confrontational type, unlike theirs. Hoping this was enough, you looked up at the colourless ceiling.

A bead of sweat slid down your cheek. You wiped it away and realised your pulse had spiked. You held a hand over your chest. Transporting this many people at once was taxing on you, a feat you just recklessly pulled off.

Good grief, what fools would challenge the boss during an event of such a large scale? You sighed. It was a good thing you chose to attend the party.

"Um, I hate to be that one person... But what's happening, (l/n)?" The lady in the cheongsam muttered. She gazed around curiously and frantically. "Where's Giorno...?"

You watched her from your peripheral. Based on her concern, you figured she was a non-stand user. It wouldn't make sense if you shared your stand ability–not like you wanted to– to a complete stranger, even if she was close to Giorno. That was a secret, like your identity. So you decided against it.

"He's probably neutralising the enemy as we speak. He'll be fine. But, uh, are you feeling okay?"

She nodded meekly, and you breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing you'd want was for her to be hurt. She seemed like someone special, after all.

Wait, hold that thought...

"Miss," she turned to you with her big doe eyes. You swallowed nervously and pointed a finger, "Could you be... His–"

A shrill scream pierced the air. You whipped your head around as your heart pounded anxiously. A beady-eyed man held a woman in a headlock, his bicep rippling underneath his suit as he choked her. She squirmed against him, raking his arms. The other guests were pressed against the walls of Paper Heart, trembling like mice cornered by a cat.

He's one of them...!?

You reached out and he spun to you, pointing a gun. A Beretta, standard police edition. Squinting your eyes, you lowered your arms.

"I'm guessing you're one of those freaks with abilities!" He practically dragged the lady with him. The thug stood face to face with you, so close that you could feel his lukewarm breath. "I'm taking her hostage. I have no clue in hell where I am, but I wancha ta bring me back ta my buddies."

He pressed the barrel against the lady's head. Tears streamed down her makeup-caked face. Mascara smudged against her wide eyes. He sported a shit-eating grin as you frowned. "If ya try anything funny, I'll blow her brains out, ya hear?"

"P-Please... Help..." croaked his victim. Now that you were up close, you realised it was Rosa, Capo Romano's daughter. You bit your lip.

Was her father not here today? Where was a powerful stand user when you needed one? The fear in everyone's faces told you everything you needed to know: you were alone. Clenching her fist, you narrowed your eyes.

I need a plan. But what do I do?

You looked around for ideas and when you met the eyes of the guests, they screamed pleas of help with just their stares alone. You locked eyes with the Eastern lady too, and she was gazing at you with hope and anticipation.

You inhaled deeply and tried to gather your thoughts. The man hollered about something in the background as you began drowning him out.

Don't forget, you have the upper hand here. This is your world and stand ability, after all.

"Fine. I'll take you out. But first, I have a question for you," You placed a hand on your hip and pointed at him, jutting your chin out. "Tell me. Do you wipe yourself after a dump, or are you the kinda guy to use the bidet?"

The man cocked an unkempt brow. He bared his teeth, "Huh?! What the hell are you asking, bitch?!"

A barrage of his saliva and spit landed on your dress. You wiped it away and frowned. "C'mon, just answer the question," You tilted your head mockingly.

He hesitated before rolling his eyes, "I wipe myself after, duh. I don't like the feeling of water on my ass– Huh?"

The thug glanced around, gun in hand. He looked under his arm questioningly; his hostage had disappeared. Everybody else had too. Then he realised he was in a toilet cubicle.

"W-Where am I?!"

"You're slow. Slow to realise the predicament you're in, I mean."

Your eyes met his as you stood at full height before him. He, who was stuck on the surface of toilet paper, squirmed in his confines. He pounded his fist against the tissue. However, as if he was trapped behind a concrete wall, the paper refused to give way. The man began sweating profusely.

"You conniving woman! I told you to bring me back to my friends!"

You smiled sweetly and lowered yourself to eye level with your tiny captive. "Did you forget what I said?" Your orbs darkened as your lips thinned.

"I said I'd take you out myself."

He hollered profanities as you began unrolling the toilet paper. With a bundle in your hand, you crunched it into a ball and tossed it into the toilet bowl. Wordlessly, you flushed the man down. His garbled curses faded out and disappeared.

You walked out of the cubicle and washed your hands. Paper Heart allowed you to utilise anything as long as it was a form of paper. From bamboo paper, recycled sheets, newspapers... Teleporting from one source to another was child's play– and for those that remained in the paper realm, they were bound to it forever.

"That's what you get for thinking a woman is an easy target." You mumbled before summoning yourself back into the previous realm.

People fussed over Romano's daughter, who had coughed up a storm since you left her. A nasty bruise had formed itself around her neck. A cut traced her nape too. Everyone parted for you, and you kneeled beside her. She gazed at you with gratitude, a far different expression from your first encounter earlier.

"Thank you for saving my life. I don't know how you did it, but thank you..."

You managed a smile. As you rummaged through your purse, you took another notepad and ripped out a page. Carefully, you placed it over her cut. Like a regular bandaid, you plastered it to her skin. It gently fizzed into her skin, and the fleshy part of the wound was overlaid with paper.

She tenderly held her neck and you stood up. People rushed to help her to her feet, and you stepped aside. Suddenly, you heard a squeaky voice echo around you.

"(y/n), you're in there, right?" A hiccup followed after. You knowingly smiled. It was Number Five, one of Mista's Sex Pistols. "Mista and the others have dealt with the enemies! You can bring everyone out now."

"Roger, will do." You responded before turning to the guests. "We're busting out of here, everyone! Make sure not to leave anything behind. Once we leave this world, anything that remains will vanish."

You counted to ten and the pin on your hair glowed brightly. Everybody shimmered out of the notepad and returned to their original places. Your heels clacked against the balcony floor, along with the Eastern lady and Prosciutto. She leaned against the railing, cross eyed and with wobbly knees. The guests held their heads in their hands, groaning.

The after effects of entering and leaving the paper realm gave most people vertigo, but you overcame this ages ago. You expected the same wooziness from the champagne blonde hitman but to your surprise, he was perfectly fine. You held his gaze, confused. Was he a stand user all along?

An irk mark formed as your eye twitched. Then why the hell did you not help out earlier? Maybe this was his way of payback for my snarkiness earlier... Ugh. You clenched your teeth.

With a sharp exhale, you turned away and searched for your notepad. It had morphed back into a regular block of paper after everyone left it, and dusted it clean. Your hairpin had returned to its previous appearance as well. You slipped the notepad into your purse when a dishevelled Giorno burst into the balcony.

Running past you, he enveloped the lady in a hug and squeezed her. She disappeared in his larger frame, her lithe arms wrapped around his back halfway. The sight would've been funny if it weren't for the jealousy brewing in your chest.

After he got his fill of her, he turned to you. Gratitude shone in his viridescent gaze. "Thank you for protecting my fiancé, (y/n). You did well."

Your mouth slipped open as you gaped in shock. With your eyes shifting from him to her, to her to him, your mouth hung open silently. An ugly bitterness bubbled within your stomach, threatening to spill out of your oesophagus. Its claws raked into your heart, a stinging pain growing within.

Smile. Do it for him, a voice chastised you, and you snapped your mouth shut and smiled. You smiled brightly, so radiantly as if your heart didn't shatter into millions of fragments like glass.

"Your fiancé? Oh man, that's crazy!" You exclaimed as your insides grew numb. With a hand behind your head, you guffawed. "So she's the one you wanted me to meet all along! I guess I should've known, silly me."

"I hope it's not too sudden. I meant to tell you but the right moment never arose," Giorno looked apologetic. Was that a faint blush on his cheeks?

The blonde and his partner exchanged looks: they were beaming. You mustered your courage, but your heart was cold and your fingers dug into your palms. With all of the goodness in your heart, you bowed once more and spoke softly.

"Congratulations, Don Giovanna and... La Madrina."

[mousemousiee]

GALSSSS

Can u tell I think they’re neat

[ambyandony]

just for the record i cannot fathom giorno giovannas relationship with gender hes not cis but i dont know what the fuck he is. i dont even know their pronouns half the time. had a dream she was transfem and i was very very sure of it once. do still tend to lean towards using he/they in most cases even though my giornos are ostensibly fem-presenting in style because she's just some pretty guy. i could use any pronouns for giorno and they'd all be right

[andiaquarium-moved]

lyrics posting. anyways

:////

[tangytiramisu]

Bucci Gang Reacts to Narancia Saying Reader Would Make a Good Wife

Note: Just a cute idea I had today. Enjoy!

Fem Reader!

Warnings: None!

Edits: 1 dialogue error correction

On a cool Saturday morning, you and Buccellati’s gang relaxed in the hideout while you served breakfast. They always enjoyed it when you were on cooking duty for the day, since you, along with Buccellati and Giorno, were one of the most talented cooks in the gang.

Your fellow members conversed amongst themselves as you prepared the dishes, each of them pausing to thank you as you set their respective plates down in front of them, before continuing with the topic at hand. You smiled and nodded at each expression of gratitude before arriving at the last member, Narancia, who patiently waited with a grin on his face that reminded you of the morning sun.

You smiled back at him, setting down a plate of mouth watering pancakes with sweet syrup and orange slices, along with a glass of his beloved pulp orange juice.

“Wow, pancakes? This is exactly what I wanted! Thanks so much (Name)!” He cheered.

“It’s no problem at all, Narancia,” you said, giggling. “I hope you like it!”

“I’m sure I will,” he replied, taking a bite before speaking loudly without a second thought. “You know (Name)? You’d make a great wife.”

The calm chatter in the room suddenly dissipated and you were left with a face as red as the strawberries on Fugo’s pastries.

Bruno Buccellati

The moment those words came out of Narancia’s mouth, Buccellati turned his head to look at the boy in shock.

“Huh? Narancia?”

He immediately chuckled and shook his head, giving you and the boy a knowing smile.

Narancia wasn’t wrong. You truly would make a great wife; you were beautiful, caring, and generous. What more could a man possibly want? And Narancia wasn’t really the type to filter his words. He clearly appreciated you.

He decided not to comment any further in fear of further embarrassing you, calmly taking a sip of his coffee as he watched everyone else’s reactions.

Leone Abbacchio

He scoffed before sipping his coffee.

What was Narancia thinking when he said that? That isn’t something you just spew out for the world to hear.

Kids…

Though he would be lying if he denied that the face you made was funny.

Guido Mista

“Woahhh, Narancia,” he said, giving his friend an incredulous look. “You can’t just say that out loud!”

“Well it’s true!!” Narancia fired back.

“Yeah but you still can’t say that out loud!!”

They continued bickering back and forth, making you even more flustered.

Pannacotta Fugo

He just awkwardly looked around the room, making eye contact with Buccellati, before looking back at the scene in front of him.

He, too, didn’t understand how Narancia had the guts to say that out loud, especially to your face.

Then again it’s Narancia, he says what’s on his mind.

Plus, everyone in the gang, including Fugo, knew how sweet you were, especially to Narancia. And being his friend, Fugo knew how much kindness meant to Narancia.

If anything, he was actually quite happy for his friend for finding someone he liked, regardless of whether his feelings were romantic or not.

Giorno Giovanna

He was also dumbfounded as he watched the scene unfold, observing with wide eyes.

Though despite his expression, he quickly understood.

Like Fugo, he was keenly aware of Narancia’s appreciation of your kindness towards him.

He wouldn’t be surprised if his raven haired friend had a crush on you either.

Though he was quick to notice that Narancia and Mista’s bickering was causing you discomfort and quickly mediated it. Not without giving you a supportive smile and nod as a way of silently urging you to cease your worrying and join them for breakfast.

Trish Una

She was just about to eat a bite of the delicious waffles you had made her but immediately paused to stare at Narancia.

“Narancia!!” She whisper yelled in shock before covering her mouth.

She couldn’t help but giggle. Not only was this so surprising but she also couldn’t help finding it adorable.

Like Giorno, she wouldn’t be surprised if Narancia had feelings for you. Besides, she thought you would be great for eachother.

She watched the entire scene, still covering her mouth with excitement and exchanging a knowing glance with Buccellati.

[inkpot909]

Got to Get You Into my Life #1: Giorno Giovanna

↳ Fem!Reader; she/her pronouns are used. Reader is also musically gifted and described as clumsy.

A/n: This is the first of a series of one-shots I have in mind specifically for JoJo’s. Each about a character’s first time meeting their s/o. I will accept requests for other characters. Currently, requests for such are open, but I appreciate also checking my description to be certain.

Warning(s): None

Bucciarati had, at numerous points after finding common ground with one another, given Giorno a heads up about his team.

And Giorno listened. He drank up the words offered to him by a man who’d previously been trying to kill him not 24 hours before. Unquestionably adaptable, once his mind is made up about an individual’s moral and effect on himself, Giorno ceases all hesitation. And in seemingly no time at all, he’d come to the conclusion that Bucciarati’s undoubtedly a man who deserves respect.

Giorno is well aware of himself too, unwaveringly observant regardless of who’s the subject. Furthermore, he can tell Bucciarati sees it too. After all, why else would he be dragged across Naples just to be fed moderately delicious food that could, honestly, be found anywhere else? Such a question hardly passes the blonde’s mind; not even needing to ponder it too much. Instead, Giorno’s heart races with understanding- knowing full well that Bucciarati’s opening doors towards a greater goal.

“This way,” Bucciarati mumbles, waving his hand.

The pair weave around Bruno’s restaurant of choice. The dark-haired man leads the way with Giorno trailing close behind. Patrons and employees alike greet Bruno along the way. The blonde teen keeps silent, soaking in his new leader’s charismatic reputation. Further cementing his belief that he’s someone to be trusted.

Soon, the two reach a more secluded section of the restaurant after passing through an open doorway. Four men are seated around a circular table, each of them either making a ruckus or enabling it with dismissive ease.

Giorno’s gaze trails over each of the men, before turning his body towards a window and piano sitting diagonal of the group.

Sunlight pools through the glass, adding to a soft ambiance that would fill the space if it weren’t for the rambunctious group. Also contributing, is a sweet tune coming from the smooth, black piano. The tune manages to cut through the yelling erupting from the table, and reach Giorno’s ears. Just hearing it, he could simply close his eyes and envision a pair of hands dancing on its keys knowledgeably.

Only the top of someone’s head is visible from Giorno’s point of view, standing just far away enough to hide their face from him.

The song is played delicately, yet with confidence. A care for sound so pure that a song feathery and light is played with strong devotion- one that knows to hold back.

Bruno lectures his team without a glance towards Giorno or the piano player, most likely harboring embarrassment over bringing a new recruit to a less than favorable scene. “Great him properly!” he goes on and barks, snapping Giorno out of his own distraction.

Finally whirling his body towards the piano, Bucciarati rubs his temples together before calling out, “Y/n!”

An immediate crash of keys follow, loud and annoyingly off-key. The image Giorno conjured of hands playing a charming tune contort instantly. He instead can infer they’d slammed down on the keys without direction.

Giorno’s face visually cringes, yet he cannot help but follow Bruno’s gaze curiously. Such an ugly sound cutting off a beautiful song… the blonde nearly holds his breath in preparation for the worse.

“Yes! Y-Yes,” a voice squeaks in a feminine tone, making Giorno’s eyebrows raise. The tiny view he had of the person sitting behind the piano is shattered all at once- as well as his expectations of the individual, given the other members of Bucciarati’s group.

A girl around the same age as Giorno pops up from the piano stool she’d sat herself on. In doing so, the back of her legs knock back the seat. The little chair falls backward, knocking down onto the building’s harsh flooring. The girl’s lips shut tightly, and body tenses momentarily.

Glancing behind him, Bruno sighs when his presence is gently requested by an employee. Turning back to her, he continues, “Please, just-… make sure that he’s welcomed. I will be back shortly.”

Nodding, the girl scoots from behind the piano and makes her way across the room towards Giorno. His heart skips a beat, momentarily wondering if he should assist in picking up the chair.

But as she draws near, such a thing is mentally disregarded. As he takes in her appearance, Giorno swallows. The curve of her face… and sweet glimmer of her eyes; it’s decided in his mind that the pleasant song she played is only an extension of her own apparent loveliness. To think the soft tune came from the talent of a cutely clumsy girl… he couldn’t help but find it endearing.

“Y/n L/n,” she introduces herself, a shy but genuine smile playing on her lips. Reaching out a hand, Giorno glances between it and her face. Going off first impressions of her and everyone sitting at the table, there’s little doubt as to why Bucciarati left his introduction up to Y/n.

Putting on his best smile, he takes her hand in his own as if holding a precious piece of porcelain. “Giorno Giovanna… you play beautifully,” he comments, before bending down gracefully at the waist. Planting a short kiss to the back of her hand, a blush visibly plays on the girl’s cheeks.

“O-Oh… thank you,” Y/n stutters, placing her free hand on her warming cheek. Looking at him intently, her smile merely grows softer. In turn, Giorno’s own grin reaches the twinkle in his green eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak, but the harsh sound of a teapot smacking against the table’s surface snatches Giorno’s attention away. He drops her hand, but Y/n’s gaze lingers on the mysterious blonde for a moment longer. Biting her lower lip, she glances down at the floor before slowly turning towards her white-haired partner.

“Oi,” his gruff voice hums, “‘Giorno,’ was it…?”

[ddarker-dreams]

hc of bucci gang reacting to sr reader getting hit on/flirted with while she’s out and about? Or maybe when they’re on a date or smth but the npc doesn’t realize it? It’s totally fine if you don’t wanna write this, thank you!

i'm always weak for ideas like this ... reader here is fem!

[Scarlet Ribbons Index]

Giorno

The Brando genes are ready to come out in full force. Giorno is just looking for an excuse to unleash untold horrors upon the soul who saw fit to flirt with the one he holds most dear in the world. This little debacle gets him thinking about the diamond ring he has for you in his blazer’s inner breast pocket, an item he’s been waiting ever so patiently to reveal at the right moment. Surely, that would help serve as a deterrent for unpleasant scenarios such as this. No one in their right mind would be so brazen as to flirt with the wife of a Don. In the meantime, he commits himself to being borderline passive-aggressive, settling his hand on your waist and wondering aloud who this person might just be. Any onlooker might consider Giorno the epitome of self-control, but you see past the façade. The charming smile on his face doesn’t meet his eyes. If this guy doesn’t want his clothes to be turned into a swarm of hornets, he’d do best to swiftly depart. 

Bruno

Naples’ sweetheart may be able to handle a lot, but something like this would really test his patience. He knows he should be the better man and take the high road, it’s just... seeing another make such clear moves on you really gets to him. It’d be so simple to unzip the perpetrator’s hand that dared place itself on your arm and watch the horror that’d ensue. Alas, Bruno is better than that, and comes to your rescue with a smile that feels as strained as it looks. He’ll peel the hand off with a touch more force than necessary and ask if everything’s alright. The menacing aura Bruno exudes should be enough for the unwanted third party to depart. Any lingering resentment melts away the moment you start laughing at how oblivious that dude was, your warmth thawing away at his frozen heart. He’s quick to move on so that your date can proceed as intended. Upon later reflection, even Bruno is surprised with himself over how quickly his thoughts got dark. His love for you borders on worship. 

Fugo

Fugo is internally seething yet does his best to shove these tumultuous emotions down. Purple Haze is roaring with dissatisfaction within, practically begging to be released so it may wreak havoc. Fugo’s a peculiar one. He would actually have an easier time dealing with/processing an aggressive interloper than someone half-decent who apologizes for overstepping and leaves it at that. In the case of the former, Fugo feels his explosive rage is justified, whereas in the latter... it’s more of a quiet insecurity that starts eating at him. He’s the type to dwell on these things for days on end without telling you what’s bothering him, because he feels it’s so petty and almost embarrassing. Would you think less of him if you knew how prone to jealousy he is? It isn’t that he doesn’t trust you, but more that he doesn’t understand why you chose to be with him of all people. With enough graciousness and gentle persistence on your part, you’d eventually get to the root of the issue. The subsequent heart-to-heart is very important for your relationship.

Mista

Mista is probably the most relaxed out of everyone regarding situations like this. He gets it, he has eyes too, he knows that you’re the catch of the century. He honestly can’t blame anyone for wanting to shoot their shot because wow. Every time he looks at you he’s in disbelief that you chose to be with him. Mista will apologize to the dude for his loss and genuinely mean it, because he couldn’t imagine how much it would suck not to have you for a girlfriend. What’s even the point of living at that point honestly. However, if the dude starts getting aggressive, Mista’s ready to change his tune real fast. He’ll showcase his revolver on the sly and ask if this is a conversation that’d be better off continued elsewhere. For the unfortunate guy’s sake, it’d be best if he took the hint and ran off with his tail in between his legs. If not, then well… Mista isn’t above roughing him up for a nice lengthy stay at the hospital. Mista’s a chill guy, but when it comes to someone bothering you, he’s got a very low tolerance.

Narancia

He’s ready to fight at the slightest provocation, this time is no different. Although anyone who has the gumption to flirt with you is considered a major infringement, so they can expect to be met with unmatched hostility. Narancia doesn’t pay much mind to your surroundings; you could be in a dingy alleyway or a Micheli-star restaurant, it’s all the same to him. He’ll flick out his knife and start uttering threats before you can blink. It’s not so much that he’s thrown into a fit of rage from jealousy — although that definitely plays a small part — it’s more that he’s extremely protective of you. Almost to a fault. You’re the best thing he’s got going for himself! Following a lifetime of being cast aside, he’s grown sensitive to the mere thought of losing you. This fella obviously doesn’t know who he’s messing with and how feral Narancia is willing to get if need be. It’s up to you to de-escalate the situation. Because no matter how far he wanders, you’re able to reel him back with just a few reassuring words.

Abbacchio

Abbacchio doesn’t even waste his time with a pretense of cordiality — he outright tells the dude to fuck off. He doesn’t understand why you bother doing a whole song and dance to avoid upsetting a complete stranger, who by sheer probability, you’ll likely never encounter again. He wouldn’t admit it, but it makes him worry about how you’d handle these situations when he isn’t around. It’s an odd paradox of knowing you’re capable of handling yourself yet acknowledging how people may take advantage of your benevolent nature. Abbacchio doesn’t have the mental capacity to get jealous in the moment, since he’s so preoccupied with ensuring your well-being. Regrets not pummeling the dude later though. The shmuck needs to go find his own ray of sunshine — Abbacchio worked hard to win you over!

[3am-silence]

“Got dishonor in your eyes and betrayal in your soul, Amore”

Seduce & Destroy