#vento aureo imagine

[etherealzx]

Maybe just my own little thought here:

But I feel like Giorno would be somewhat overwhelmed with the task of a Don (he's 15. And the tasks are pretty complicated, aside from him loosing comrades/ friends as well). Could you write Giorno venting to his gn! S/O or friend about it?

ooohhh yes! i couldn't even imagine doing what giorno has done at 15, hell i'm almost 20 and i couldn't even do that shit now 🥲 (also side note, this takes place about a year after golden wind ends)

Don!Giorno Venting to his GN!S/O

You had been dating the Don for almost a year now. He was only 16 years old, yet had such a huge weight on his shoulders. You knew that he loved what he did, and was very proud of it, as he should be. He had worked so hard and endured so much to make it to where he is now. It was incredible, really, to see someone so young have so much resolve and determination. That's what first drove you to him.

One particular night after the two of you had come home from a nice dinner in the city, Giorno was being especially quiet. All night at dinner he had been quiet as well, more than he usually was. He tried his hardest to act normal towards you, placing small kisses on your hand and flashing small smiles your way. But you knew him better than anyone, and knew he just wasn't being himself. He sat on the large velvet couch next to the open balcony doors, staring silently out into the night. The pale moonlight illuminated his golden locks and fair skin, giving him an almost angelic glow.

You walked up behind the couch, reaching over the top to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He smelled like lavender and expensive cologne. "What's on your mind, amore?" You asked gently, face pressed into the soft skin of his neck.

"Nothing much, just admiring the beautiful night," He said quietly. He hated for you to worry, and constantly tried to keep his feelings to himself as not to upset you. However you always saw right through him. Giorno was an emotional person, but wasn't always the best at expressing them.

"Giorno," you said gently, walking around the couch to sit beside him. You grabbed his hands and locked your fingers with his. "You know you can tell me if something's bothering you."

He turned to face you, his emerald eyes meeting yours. He took a deep breath in, slowly letting it back out. "I know I've worked so hard to get to where I am now, and I'm proud of myself. I'm proud of where I am now and the changes I've been making to the organization," he started. "But I just can't help but feel a little overwhelmed. I'm in charge of so many people's livelihoods. I have to make sure all of my men are taken care of and able to provide for their own families. One slip up by me and everything goes South."

"But Giorno," you said, grabbing his hands tighter. "You're doing so great. You're doing everything that's expected of you and more. You always go above and beyond to put others above yourself, without worrying about your own needs. You have to take some time for yourself, and take care of you baby."

He smiled softly and pulled your hand up to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. "I've also been really missing the others lately." He said softly. You felt a twinge of pain in your heart because you knew exactly who he was talking about, without him even having to go into detail. "It's times like these when I really wish Bucciarati was here to give me advice. He's the reason I was even able to get to this point, I just wish he could point me in the right direction,"

"Giorno, Bucciarati would be so incredibly proud of the man you've become. The changes you're making are exactly what he would be doing if he were here. If there is an afterlife, he's watching down on you right now and smiling with the others." You knew that nothing you could say would bring them back, but your words would hopefully bring him some comfort.

He smiled, grabbing your arm and pulling you into a hug. He kissed the top of your head gently, holding you against his warm chest. You could feel warm tear drops falling into your hair. He held you against him, looking off into the moonlit streets outside.

"I promise I'll do right by them. I have to do this for them, and all of the people in my city. I have to do this for you, for me, for us. I promise to restore virtue and honor to this organization." He said proudly, holding you to his chest. Your heart swelled. You loved hearing him talk about his dreams, and how determined he was. You knew deep down that if Giorno wanted something done, he did it. You were excited to see what the future held for the two of you going forward.

[mrsgiovanna]

Soft cashmere sweaters and hojicha hot chocolate brewing at the fireplace, Christmas eve at villa Giovanna is glorious. Far removed from the serious face he wears when he addresses his associates, Giorno is serene and in his element at home with the ones he loves most.

He nurses that hot chocolate a sip at a time after you put too many marshmallows on top and helps you crush up the candy for the windows of your linzer cookies, baking with him is such a treat, he's methodical and meticulous but every so often his inner child pokes out when he licks the spatula or nicks a bit raw cookie dough.

Delicious scents waft through the house as the day grows darker, the house grows brighter with all the fairylights being lit up- he always let you do what you wanted to with the villa during all holidays, happy that you were comfortable to let your creativity run wild. While you always saw his impeccable taste in the opulent furnishings and finishes, he always saw how you turned his cold house into a warm home.

Presents piled high under the Christmas tree, a mix of joy and wistfulness dances in his eyes as he watches you affectionately opening each one. His early years were never as warm as this and while most would think he might be sad and nostalgic for things he hasn't had the fortune of experiencing himself, he is happy to be right there in that moment with you.

Whispers of Christmas wishes through cuddles and kisses and the crackling wood fire. He grip on you is tight but effortless and your mind drifts to how perfectly your hands fit into his and how the dips and curves of your body align into his, like the yin and yang, in perfect balance, neither existing without the other.

[joejoeba]

they're the drugs boys they do drugs (secretly)

[bebegi]

𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

short compilation of texts that they sent you when they think about you ♡

genre: fluff | established relationship & lovers-ish [?]

warnings: none <3

series: kakyoin & ermes | dio [part 1] & narancia | ? & ?

notes: love making mean dudes all grumpy about his feelings tee hee

© bebegi 2024. do not crop the tag or claim it as yours in any way please, do not repost in other sites without asking for permission + credit, thanks !! reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[sage-less]

Sheila E is underrated

[chameleonwritess]

Top 2 petty adults who hate their part’s JoJo more than the main antagonist

[etherealzx]

Hello there, I just came across your blog and I must say I love your writing! With this being said, may I request headcannons with Giorno just enjoying the sunset with his s/o ? I love those kind of activities :")

aww hi anon! this is too frickin cute! <3

Giorno Watching the Sunset with his S/O <3

It's no surprise that Giorno is a huge nature lover.

He loves to be outside and in nature, especially when he's with you

He wants you to enjoy it as much as he does, and show you the beauties of the world

He would take you to a secluded beach, with no one on it except for the two of you

He would bring a blanket for the two of you to sit on, as well as some fruit and sparkling water to drink

He would wrap his arm around you as you watched the waves crashing against the shore and the birds flying across the horizon

When the sky begins to change colors, you can sense his excitement

He gets a smile on his face, and his eyes light up

"Isn't it beautiful, y/n?"

You can't help but smile at his happiness

"It's beautiful, but still nothing compared to you, my love"

He holds you close to him, placing small kisses on your cheek as you watch the sun setting in the distance

As the sun sets and the stars begin to shine, he lays back on the blanket with you to stargaze

"All the stars in the sky together don't shine as bright as you"

He's a little cheesy but you know he genuinely means it, which makes your heart melt :')

[bebegi]

˗ˏˋ ♡𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬ˎˊ˗

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐨 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

genre: daily texts | fluff

warnings: mentions of guns and a couple of suggestive jokes.

requested: yeah, like 3 years ago SORRY

notes: 2nd + 3rd | 4th + 5th | 8th + 9th [bonus]

© bebegi 2024. do not crop the tag or claim it as yours in any way please, do not repost in other sites without asking for permission + credit, thanks !! reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[etherealzx]

I´m kind of in the mood for soft Abbacchio in an Everyone-Lives! AU. could you write just him and his GN! S/O reminiscing about what has happened over the whole week Vento Aureo took place?

I´m sorry if this is too vague-

im so happy about all these abbacchio requests, out of all the bfs i have from jojo, he will always be my number one babygirl

Reminiscing (Abbacchio x GN!Reader Fluff)

author's note: this takes place in an alternate universe where everything is the same, except everyone in the bucci gang survives :)

You heard a sigh come from beside you, prompting you to look up from the book you had been lazily reading. You looked to your left, to see your boyfriend sitting up against the headboard, smiling to himself. It was long past the time that you two normally fell asleep, but neither one of you could seem to get to sleep that night.

"Can't sleep?" You asked him quietly. He turned to face you, still smiling.

"What, you expect me to just sleep nice and soundly after the crazy ass week we just had?" he asked sarcastically. You rolled your eyes playfully at his sarcasm.

"The word 'crazy' doesn't even begin to do it justice," you replied, earning a small chuckle from Abbacchio.

"Can't believe that little bastard actually managed to pull it off. I gotta hand it to the kid, he has earned my absolute respect. I still think he's an annoying piss-ant, but he's got balls like no other." He said as he crossed his arms. You couldn't help but giggle. You knew exactly who he was talking about, even without context. Deep down, you knew he didn't really hate Giorno the way he let on. You would never say this to Abbacchio's face, though.

"Talk shit all you want, but he really is incredible. The kid sacrificed his entire life and took so many risks to get to where he is now. I couldn't imagine doing those things at his age. I mean, he's only 15! He's done a lot in that short life!" You said, feeling a twinge of protectiveness for the new Don. You almost saw him as a little brother of yours, and you felt the need to defend him, especially against Abbacchio.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say," he scoffed. He could be an asshole, but you knew that he was just being sarcastic.

"I still can't believe you guys managed to take out the entirety of The Hitman Team in just a week," you said, smiling at your boyfriend.

"Tell me about it. When Illuso pulled me into that mirror, I thought it was over for me. Good thing Moody Blues came in clutch," He chuckled. "Of course it did baby, you always kick major ass in fights," You said sweetly, subtly trying to make him blush. However your words were true, and you meant them 100%.

A faint pink appeared across his cheeks. You could see it even through the darkness of your shared bedroom. He smiled, wrapping his big arm around your shoulders and pulling you in closer to him. He placed a kiss on your cheek, making you turn the same shade of pink as him.

"I'm serious! They couldn't have done it without you, Abba," you said, looking up at him. "Without you and your stand, they would have never been able to discover the boss's true identity. I'm so proud of you."

He smiled at you, eyes filled with adoration. He wasn't used to getting praises like this, and it made his heart swell. Placing his thumb and his forefinger on your chin, he lifted your face up towards him. He leaned down, pressing his soft lips onto yours. You melted into the kiss, breathing in his musky natural scent. You could kiss him for hours and never get tired of it, especially when he was in an affectionate mood like this.

You peppered his cheeks with soft kisses while he wrapped his arms around your waist. Him being so much bigger than you was so comforting, his big arms almost engulfing you as he held you close. It made you feel safe, like you were at home. You said a silent prayer, thanking God or the Universe or whoever for keeping him safe. You couldn't wait to spend the rest of forever by his side.

[lliminall]

carino

[giorno giovanna/reader]

word count: 6.9k

tags: fem reader, NSFW (minors do not interact), giorno being smitten with you, fingering, teasing, giorno is older than you by about 10 years, sappy sweet sex for the birthday boy. giorno is charming but he’s also a bit of an intense weirdo and I wish we would talk about that more

It occurs to you, as your shoulder is clipped for the third time this night and you almost spill your drink again, that you should learn to get more comfortable with saying the word no.

No, Chiara, I don’t want to go clubbing with you tonight. No, I’m tired and I’ve got work in the morning and I’m really not that thrilled at the thought of spending my Sunday night surrounded by people several tax brackets above me.

Ah, but as your drink sloshes in your glass and you bite back a sharp fuck, Chiara leans against you and laughs wholeheartedly, and you remember why you can’t ever seem to deny her anything. For all the trouble she gets you into, she’s your friend.

And she’s got a credit card with her dad’s name on it that she whips out every time she drags you to these upscale venues. That certainly helps.

“God, your clumsy tonight,” she laughs. “I told you not to wear those shoes.”

“What, and ruin this outfit with my sneakers?” you say, gesturing to your dress and heels. Around you people mingle and dance, wearing clothes from brands you see in fashion magazines. And here you are among them, in your bargain rack best.

“True,” Chiara concedes. “Well. At least you look pretty.”

Before you can thank her, her eyes blow wide and her shoulders go rigid as she catches sight of something behind you.

“Oh, god,” she says with dread, and you follow her line of sight to see none other than her father, seated at a table on the balcony overlooking the floor. She gasps.

“Oh, god,” she says, with even more dread, as her father catches sight of her and waves her over. She whips around to face you.

“Shit. I didn’t know he was going to be here,” she whispers.

“I mean, I guess old men are allowed to have fun, too,” you tease.

“No,” she hisses. “That’s not what he’s here for. Don’t you see who he’s sitting with?”

You peer over her shoulder to look at his table again. Through the crowd you can just make out bits and pieces of men in fine suits, a man in a bright red hat, and…someone else. Someone who certainly stands out from the rest with his long blonde curls and the low cut of his pink suit. The set of his shoulders and the hard line of his gaze as he converses with the man in the hat communicates clearly that he is someone important. Someone who’s used to being treated as important.

“The blonde?” you ask.

“The blonde?” Chiara repeats, incredulous. “The blonde? You don’t know who that is?”

You tilt your head at her. “Uhm, should I?”

She stares at you for a moment, thinking.

“Right,” she says. “I forget that you’re not…well. I guess you wouldn’t know. Just, uh, be polite. Really polite. Like you’re talking to the president.”

She takes your hand and begins to tug you to the stairs.

“Sorry, what?” you hiss. “Who’s up there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll just go up and say hi to my dad and leave.”

“Don’t worry about it?” you argue as she drags you up the stairs. “You can’t make a huge deal out of it and then tell me not to-“ your voice trails off as you realize you’re coming within earshot of the table, and Chiara’s face breaks into a grin as her father waves the both of you over.

“Ah, mia principessa,” he greets her as she leans over his chair to kiss his cheek. “How fortunate to see you here. You never visit your poor father these days.”

“Papá, I told you I’ve been busy,” Chiara groans.

Her father says your name warmly, and offers his hand for you to take. In the few times you’ve met him, Signore Alessi has only ever been kind to you. “A pleasure to see you, as always. I trust you’re keeping my daughter in line?”

“Trying to,” you say, letting him clasp your hand in his. “You know how it goes.”

“Indeed I do,” he says, and motions to two men who immediately pull out a chair for each of you.

“Oh, we don’t want to interrupt,” Chiara says, and tries to wave one of the men away.

“Nonsense,” her father replies. “I was just telling Don Giovanna about you, anyway.”

Chiara laughs nervously and takes her seat. You follow suit.

The seat you’re offered places you next to Chiara, and across from the man with the red hat. At the head of table, beside him, is who you assume is Don Giovanna.

“He had only the best to say of you,” Don Giovanna says with a low smile. Signore Alessi couldn’t look more pleased, and it occurs to you that this man, although younger than him, is clearly the one with the most influence at this table. The honorific title of Don only confirms that he’s someone of great social standing here. Your gut twists uncomfortably with anxiety; Chiara really has brought you out of your league with this one.

“Your father tells me you’re studying sociology?” Don Giovanna continues.

“Ah, yes,” Chiara stutters quickly.

“What would you like to do with it?”

“Social work,” she answers.

Don Giovanna nods his head. “That’s an admirable goal,” he says. “We could certainly use more compassionate workers in the social services.”

And because Chiara is apparently uncomfortable with the amount of attention on her, and because you’re the most convenient victim, she says, “thank you, Don Giovanna, but really I only chose to do it because of my friend.”

She motions to you, and the Don’s eyes, and every other pair of eyes at the table, move to watch you.

“She’s always there for me, even when I don’t deserve it, and she’s the kindest person I know. I just want to be able to become that kind of person for others.”

You think you could cry at hearing such genuine praise, if you couldn’t feel Chiara nudging your heel under the table to shake you out of your headspace. The table full of important men is awaiting your response (and, conveniently, no longer pinning that attention on Chiara).

You don’t know what to say. How do you even respond to such high praise? You don’t know what to say but you need to say something. Anything.

“Oh, uhm. Fuck.”

Ok, well. Anything but that.

The table bursts into laughter. Chiara covers her mouth and snorts as her father claps his hand to his chest in a full belly laugh. The man in the hat cracks the first grin you’ve seen from him yet, and even the Don is stifling a low smile. You don’t know whether you should be relieved or even more embarrassed.

“(Y/n) has been a wonderful friend to my girl,” Signore Alessi says, saving you from having to recover yourself with a response. “I’m grateful that my daughter has such a good influence in her life.”

As Signore Alessi goes on, gracefully rescuing you with a change of subject, the man in the hat catches your attention.

“Is that an accent I’m hearing?” he asks.

“That obvious?” you say sheepishly. “Yeah, I moved here a couple of years ago.”

“Your Italian’s very good, but I can always clock a foreigner,” he says. “And I’m also guessing this isn’t the type of place you usually hang out in.”

God, you’re going to kick Chiara for this later.

“Uh, no. I mean yes, you’re right. This wasn’t exactly my first choice for tonight.”

“Ooh, well don’t tell my boss that,” he says with a teasing lilt, nodding his head towards Don Giovanna, who is listening attentively to whatever story Signore Alessi is in the middle of. “He kind of owns the place.”

Beside you, Chiara sighs. “What she means to say is that she’s a homebody who doesn’t know how to party. Of course the club is lovely.” She kicks you under the table.

“Hey, no shame in that,” the man says. “Between you and me, I’d rather be at home with a beer right now, but duty calls.”

“Oh, are you in real estate like Signore Alessi?” you ask. The man stares at you for a beat. Chiara shifts in her seat beside you.

“Yeah,” he answers at last. “Real estate. We were just meeting about uh, property and shit, you know how it goes. Boring stuff.”

As Chiara is folding and unfolding her hands, you notice that her eyes have flicked to the Don, and you also notice, in your peripheral, that the Don’s eyes have flicked to you. There’s a sense that something is going over your head here, like being on the outside of a joke everyone else is in on, but as soon as the feeling appears the man in front of you is speaking again.

“Anyway! I haven’t even introduced myself. The name’s Mista.”

You offer him your own name, and he orders drinks for you and Chiara, insisting that you stay and chat with everyone. Their meeting has wrapped up anyway, and he would never turn down the company of two pretty girls, he explains.

Mista is easy to talk to. Easygoing and genial, he quickly has you relaxing into a friendly conversation. Your anxiety from before melts away as you tell him about your home country, about the ridiculous situations Chiara has dragged you into (which she responds to with a groan), and as he answers with a laugh and a funny story of his own. You are so wrapped up in conversation with them, that you pay no attention to the eyes watching you quietly from further down the table.

You’re laughing with a half-empty glass in your hand when Chiara tugs on your wrist and excuses you both from the table for a moment.

“Oh my god. He’s checking you out,” she whispers as she pulls you into the bathroom.

“Mista?” you ask, feeling your cheeks warm. “I mean, he’s sweet but-“

“No!” she interrupts, and leans into your space conspiratorially. “The Don.”

Hah. The Don.

“Ok. Sure,” you say.

“I’m not joking,” she says. “God, you’re so clueless. He’s been watching you this whole time.”

“I haven’t even spoken to him,” you say. “And he’s like, 10 years older than us, at least. And rich.”

“And he was watching you,” Chiara huffs. She says your name lowly and levels you with a stare. “I know these things. Remember the last time I caught someone checking you out?”

“The guy who showed up to our date with an ankle monitor on?”

“God, that’s not the point. I told you he was flirting and I was right.”

Sensing that this conversation is not about to go anywhere else, you concede with a halfhearted “ok” and push the door open to leave.

You push the door open into the Don’s face.

He catches it smoothly with one large hand and doesn’t flinch as you squawk.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there,” you squeak.

“No worries, Signorina,” he says. In the small space of the hallway, you notice that his voice is rich, masculine, smooth. “Is everything all right? Your friend seemed to be in a hurry.” Has he sounded like that all night? Has he been looking at you like that all night?

The hallway to the bathrooms is small, and the the placement of his hand on the door has his arm and body hovering over you in a way that’s almost…intimate. You notice, not for the first time that night, that Giorno is handsome. Very handsome. You decide that you’re reading into things too much because this isn’t a romance novel and things like this don’t happen to you, of course.

“Everything’s fine,” you answer, looking over your shoulder to see that the bathroom behind you is empty, which means that Chiara has hidden herself in one of the stalls.

“My friend was just”-you think of telling him she has a headache, and then remember how embarrassed she made you earlier-“throwing up. A lot. I told her she should have eaten something before coming out and drinking.”

Giorno’s brows pinch in concern. “Ah. Is she…all right? I would be happy to call someone over to check on her.”

“Nope,” you answer. “She’ll be fine as soon as she gets it all out. Last time we went out clubbing it took-“

“Actually!” Chiara’s voice rings out behind you, the stall door flying open with a thud. “I think I’m sick, because I can handle my alcohol just fine, actually, so I’d like you to take me home now, please?”

She sidles up beside you and pinches your side, politely excusing the both of you from the Don as you say “ow.” He makes a face somewhere between quizzical and amused as you’re dragged back to the table for Chiara to kiss her father on the cheek and tell him goodbye.

“So good to see you, principessa,” he says, and turns to you. “Tell her to come visit her poor father sometime, and bring yourself along while you’re at it.”

You smile. “Of course, Signore.”

It seems that the rest of the table is ready to call it a night as well, as Signore Alessi and the others stand and begin to give their goodbyes. You down the rest of your drink quickly, finishing just in time to see that Don Giovanna has come back to the balcony—and that his eyes are on you again, for the second before Signore Alessi is calling for his attention.

You decide that you should leave before he can ask about your poor, sick friend again.

The wash of cool air is more than welcome as you step out of the building and into the street. Your skin must have been flushed for half the night, between the embarrassment, the laughter, the drinks, and…whatever that was with the Don.

“Thank god that’s over,” Chiara sighs beside you, whipping her phone out to call an Uber. “I’m remembering why I always skipped out on dad’s dinners when I was a kid.”

“Oh, I didn’t think they were that bad,” you say. “Especially for a bunch of middle aged-“

The door swings open behind you, and Mista strolls out alone.

“Good, I caught you before you took off,” he says. He nods at Chiara and then looks at you expectantly. “I’ve got a little favor to ask. Could I get your number?”

Oh. Oh no. Mista seems sweet, really, but-

“For my boss.”

Oh. Oh.

Over Mista’s shoulder, you see Chiara’s mouth fall open as she holds herself back from giving you an immediate “I told you so.”

Don Giovanna wants your number. The Don wants your number. You have to be misreading this. Maybe he’s just got an open position for an intern that needs filling. Maybe he’s just very polite and wants to check up on your supposedly nauseous friend later.

“He would’ve asked you himself, but he got a little wrapped up, as you saw,” Mista goes on with a laugh.

“Yeah, sure,” you say before your brain can catch up to your mouth. You enter your number into a phone Mista hands you, and he turns to enter the building again as your Uber pulls up to the curb.

“He’ll probably call you sometime tomorrow,” he says with a wave. “Great meeting you guys. Ciao!”

You watch the door click shut behind him. Chiara is going to be so obnoxious about this. You dive into the car before you can see how smug her expression is and look very pointedly out the window. Incredibly, she says nothing as the driver pulls up to her apartment just a few blocks away, and the both of you trudge through the lobby, into the elevator, and through the doors to her apartment. You’re tugging your dress over your head to change into your pajamas when she finally speaks.

“I’m booking you an appointment with my Brazilian waxer,” she says.

You would smack her with a pillow, if you didn’t know that she was also offering to pay. And with the way your nerves are already beginning to act up, it’s an offer you may want to take her up on.

—

The next weekend, Chiara comes over to help you get ready for your date by laying in bed and watching while you put your makeup on and offering such useful suggestions as “are you sure you don’t want my push-up bra? I would want a push-up bra.”

You don’t bother to respond, because you think your boobs look fine in the mirror, and because you still can’t make yourself believe this date will end up in that direction anyway. Giorno, as he asked you to call him, had been nothing but polite over his texts to you. Brief, formal, but polite.

He did specifically call it a date, which defeated your theory of a job offering, but it all still feels so…unbelievable.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Chiara says, as if reading your thoughts. “I mean, of course he’s into you, because you’re beautiful and smart and nice, but-“ she sighs. “God. You have no idea how big this guy is. This is so insane.”

“What, is he the prime minister’s landlord?” you laugh. “I can handle some big-shot real estate mogul.”

Chiara looks at you the way she might look at a dog with three legs. Sweet, but pitiful.

“You are so, so clueless,” she says. “You should probably stay that way.”

You don’t have time to wonder what the fuck she’s talking about, because your phone pings with a text from Giorno. He’s pulling up to your apartment complex.

—

It’s drizzling as you push past the doors of your apartment building. You didn’t think to bring an umbrella down, you hope this doesn’t smudge your makeup—and the worms have already begun to wriggle onto the sidewalk.

Poor things. The skies will be cleared up and the sidewalk will be bone dry again in just a couple of hours. They don’t even know that they’re about to die slowly and horribly.

It’s just as you’re picking up the last one that you hear a car pull up to the curb behind you. You pray that it isn’t Giorno, come just in time to see you crouched in a puddle with a worm between your fingers, but you can’t imagine that anyone else in this grubby apartment block would be driving a Ferrari. He steps out just as you’re placing the little guy into a soft patch of grass.

“Buonasera,” he greets you as he takes in the scene. Your hands are dripping with mud water and worm slime, and suddenly you’re very worried about getting dirt in this car that probably cost more than you’ll make in years.

“Buonasera,” you say. “I was just, um. The worms-“ you trail off as you realize you don’t have an explanation that doesn’t make you feel a bit silly, but Giorno’s face breaks into a soft smile. He produces a handkerchief from his pocket and takes your dirty hands in his.

“I can see that,” he says, rubbing your hands gently between the fabric, brushing it between each finger and over every knuckle. His hands are warm. Your skin is clammy. “I’m sure they appreciate the effort.”

He opens the passenger door for you and escorts you in with a hand on your arm, and your cheeks begin to warm with that familiar heat.

The restaurant he brings you to is easily the nicest you’ve ever stepped foot in. Certainly nicer than the boutique cafes Chiara (and her dad’s credit card) often treat you to. Giorno hands his keys to a valet and leads you up the steps with a hand on your lower back, through a set of heavy double doors and into the lavish building. Elegant decor, low lighting, floor to ceiling windows overlooking Naple’s skyline and the bay…this definitely has ankle monitor guy beat. Regretfully, you do have to give this one to Chiara.

The hostess looks up from her station as you approach, and upon seeing Giorno, immediately gathers a couple of menus and motions for the two of you to follow her. He must be a regular here, you think, or maybe it has something to do with what Chiara was telling you earlier. Something about Giorno being a bigger deal than you understood.

The hostess seats you at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. Quiet, secluded from the other patrons. Giorno pulls your seat out for you and takes the jacket from your shoulders. He orders a bottle of wine with a name you don’t recognize and the hostess leaves you with your menus.

“I hope the restaurant is to your liking,” he says. He must be joking. Everything about it is beautiful, if not a little intimidating for someone unused to such luxury.

“It’s very pretty,” you say, looking out across the bay. The sun is beginning to set, casting vivid red hues across the seawater.

“Do you like to watch the ocean?” he asks.

“From a distance, absolutely,” you answer. “Up close it gets a little…scarier.”

“Scary? Are you not a fan of swimming, then?”

“Oh no,” you say quickly. “I saw Jaws when I was a kid. Never been the same since.”

The corner of Giorno’s mouth quirks. “I can assure you no one here has died in a shark attack for a very long time.”

The waiter returns to set a wine bottle and two glasses on the table, pouring it out for both of you. Giorno takes a slow sip of his and you pick up your glass to do the same. You aren’t usually one for wine, but you’re not about to offend him by rejecting it. You take a sip and try not to make a face that says “ew.”

“Do you enjoy wine?” Giorno asks.

“Yes,” you lie. “Your friend said you own the club we met at?” A smooth change of subject.

“I do, as well as a couple of others in the city. My business partners and I often hold meetings there, as you saw.”

“Meeting about uh, real estate things?” God, you’re bad at this.

Giorno smiles. “No, not quite. We were actually discussing an upcoming charity fundraiser.”

“That’s nice. Chiara always said her dad’s coworkers were-“ you realize you’re about to put your foot in your mouth yet again, and change course. “-great people. Really generous.”

Giorno takes another slow sip from his glass, and fixes you with a look you can’t quite place. “That very kind of her, but things haven’t always been this way. I do try to keep them in line now that I’m in the business.”

“What charity are you fundraising for?”

“A few,” Giorno begins. “Most of them supporting children and families affected by substance abuse.”

Ah, Naple’s infamous addiction issues. From what you’ve heard, the problem has lessened in severity since the last decade, but an issue with roots so deep can only be uprooted so quickly.

“I’ve heard about the addiction rates here,” you say. “Is it something you’re passionate about?”

“Absolutely,” Giorno says, and his gaze becomes intense, even more so than it always seems to be. “You could say that my life’s work has revolved around it. To threaten the well-being of these people, to pollute these streets with drugs-“ he turns to gaze through the window, at the sidewalks and people below. “-it’s unforgivable.”

You aren’t sure how to respond to such a speech, at first. Giorno’s intensity is brilliant to the point of intimidation, firm and absolute in this conviction he’s shared with you. You realize that this is the same assuredness you’ve seen in him since you met him that night, in every small interaction you witnessed (and shared) with him. In the way he’s looked at you, even after only just having met you. An absolute certainty in what he wants, and the absolute confidence to pursue it. You have no doubt, somehow, that he’ll have it.

“I like that,” you say simply. “I mean, you must be very proud. It seems like all your work is paying off.”

“I am,” he says, with that intense gaze fixed on you. Bright. Brilliant. “Thank you. You would be surprised at how much…resistance my work has been met with. It isn’t something one receives thanks for often, in my circle.”

You can’t imagine an apparent philanthropist being so deprived of something as basic as genuine praise, but the look on his face is achingly close to something you’ve seen before. In kids who were never told enough how good they were, in quiet classmates who’s work never seemed to be noticed. It’s uncomfortable, almost, to see pieces of those people in the man in front of you. It’s intimate, too intimate, and Giorno is still pinning you with that look, so you decide now is a good time to veer the conversation onto a different course.

“Well, if your whole real estate business doesn’t work out, I guess you could always ask the local mafia for a job,” you say.

Giorno’s mouth quirks again. “Oh?”

“My friend says they’ve really cracked down on the drug trade around here,” you explain. “I bet you’d fit right in. Be like a real Dark Knight type of situation.”

“Was Batman in the mafia?” Giorno says, matching your playful tone.

“Uh, maybe? He broke a lot of laws, right? So basically the same thing.”

“Mm,” Giorno hums. “Yes, I suppose it is.” Something in his smile is unplaceable to you. It reminds you of the night in the club, when you were pricked with the feeling that something was going over your head. That Giorno is in on some private joke you’re oblivious to.

“But if I was spending my evenings fighting crime,” he begins. “I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting you.”

Warmth spreads through your cheeks, now from more than just the wine. Giorno is easy to talk to. Charming, witty, polite. The food he orders for you is delicious, of course, and you don’t realize until your plate is cleared and the sun has set that Giorno has managed to keep you talking for the entire evening. To think that you had been so anxious about this date, and just a few hours later here you are, chatting like you’ve known him for months.

When Giorno leads you outside the moon has already begun to rise, cool night air brushing past your flushed skin. His hand is warm on your lower back as he escorts you down the steps, firm under your fingers as he helps you into the car. When he slides into the driver’s seat and his own door clicks shut beside him, the bustle of the street and chatter of the crowds melts away, an intimate silence filling the small space of the car.

“Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?” Giorno says, his eyes dipping briefly along the curves of your face, your neck, your…they flit back up to meet yours. Your skin prickles.

“Mm, maybe a couple of times,” you say.

Headlights from passing cars bathe Giorno in fleeting streaks of light, glinting off the rings on his fingers, illuminating his face and the skin of his chest where his unbuttoned shirt parts. He brushes his fingers over the soft skin of your hand, watching your face intently, as if testing the waters for your reaction. You curl your fingers into his, feeling the warmth of his palms, the slick metal of his rings.

“Thank you for taking me out,” you say softly.

“The pleasure was mine,” he says, his thumb making slow drags across your knuckles. “You’ll have to allow me the chance to do it again. After all, I need to redeem myself with a drink you actually enjoy.”

You huff sharply at the mischievous edge to his words. “You noticed.”

He smiles, teasing as his fingers brush up and down yours. “It was very kind of you to try to spare my ego, but I did notice.”

“And you were just going to let me suffer through it?” your smile back.

Giorno leans into your space, your twined hands close enough to his face that you can feel his breath on your fingers.

“Do you know that you scrunch your face when you drink something bitter?” he says. You’re suddenly very aware of the drool pooling underneath your tongue, and swallow hard. “It’s very endearing, (y/n).”

You can’t seem to push a response through your lips. The two of you sit in a charged silence, watching each other, feeling the warmth radiating from his body.

He says your name in a low voice. “May I kiss you?”

Oh, he may. He absolutely may.

“Yes,” you breathe. His hand untangles from yours to slide up your shoulder, your neck, under the line of your jaw and into the thick of your hair. His fingers curl into it there, the pressure on your scalp tilting your head back and pulling a sharp exhale from your lips.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, his breathe fanning across your mouth. You answer with an “mm,” too woozy with anticipation to put together anything more.

“How long have you wanted me to do it?”

Oh, he is cocky. Most frustrating is the fact that you can’t say it’s undeserved; Giorno is gorgeous, and charming, and right in front you, and you do want it. You have wanted it since…you think back to the first time you felt this familiar heat around him.

“Since you cornered me. Against the bathroom door in the club,” you tell him.

From this close, you can see the tiniest pull of a smile on his lips. “Hm,” he says. “That long?”

He’s finally worn out your patience. Your hands fly to his face, cupping the sharp lines of his jaw, threading into his hair and tugging him into you, covering his warm mouth with your own. He hums into it, returning your kiss with equal pressure, and as quickly as you’ve kissed him you realize he’s already taken back the reigns.

Giorno’s mouth works against yours slowly, surely. You cede control to him happily, letting your hands slide down the hard lines of his neck and shoulders. The fabric of his jacket is like butter under your hands, fine and delicate over his sturdy form. You nudge it to the side as your hands wander, the skin of them pressing into the bare skin of his neck where his muscles work as he takes your mouth over and over again.

His other hand presses into your waist then, encouraging you over the center console and closer to his chest. You let him pull you wherever he pleases, one hand dropping onto his leg to steady yourself as you’re dragged nearly on top of him. With the distance closed, his hand slides to wrap his entire arm around you, pulling you further into his chest, close enough for his mouth to wander down, down to your neck and the sensitive space where it meets your shoulder.

Your breathing has picked up. Enough that the window in front of you is beginning to fog, and you can feel your chest brushing up against his with every gulp of air. He runs a hand down your back in soothing strokes.

“Easy,” he coos. “I’ve got you.”

He pulls away just enough for you catch your breath, but close enough still to leave his grip in your hair and his arm around your body, making steady, steady strokes. It isn’t like you to get so worked up so quickly. But then, none of your dates before now have been…well, Giorno.

“Giorno,”you breathe. Your fingers find the skin of his shoulders again, scratching lightly them, and the sharp breath it pulls from the man pressed up against you is delicious.

“I’m here,” he says. Is his voice getting huskier? “Is there something you need?”

There is, but it isn’t something you normally ask for. Not on a first date, and certainly not from a man your hardly know.

But Giorno has made you feel nothing but safe in the short time you’ve spent with him. It’s irrational, how much you want to trust him despite practically being strangers, but you cannot deny this quality about him that just makes you feel…safe. That coaxes you gently into placing your faith in him.

He says your name again. “You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I can take you home now, if that’s what you want.”

But you do want it. You do want him. The hard part is asking for it. Giorno is older than you, wealthy, gorgeous, wildly successful, and a dozen other things that make insecurity coil tightly in your gut. But he watches you so patiently while you deliberate, his gentle hand making circles on your back, and to assume that he would look down on you for any of those things feels as if it would be an insult to his character.

You swallow hard. “No, I want it.”

That smile on his lips again. “Want what?”

Your head drops to his shoulder and you groan, taking a fistful of his undershirt. “Please don’t tease me like this.”

Giorno tucks his head into the space between your neck and your shoulder, his breath fanning over your ear. “Tell me exactly what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

You whine into his shoulder and only feel a bit embarrassed at the childishness of it. “I can’t,” you tell him.

He places one of his hands into yours and you take it in your grasp. “Then show me.”

Splaying his hand out on your ribs, he waits for your guidance. You intertwine your fingers again, feeling the size of his hand under yours, the metallic edge of his rings. He squeezes your fingers back, but makes no other move. He really is going to make you ask for this.

You let out a long, shaky breath. You want this. You want him. Tentatively, you begin dragging his hand across the plane of your body. Up your ribs, just underneath the swell of your breast, where his thumb brushes curiously over the underwire of your bra. You linger there, moving his hand in short arcs under the curve of your breast, breath hitching as his thumb travels closer and closer to the stiff peak of your nipple…and then you drop your hand, dragging him away from the soft flesh.

His mouth curls into a smile against your shoulder. “Teasing me?”

You laugh breathlessly as you guide his hand over the dip in your waist. “Only since you seem to like it so much.”

His hand slides appreciatively over the meat of your hip, kneading it firmly. You follow the cut of your hipbone inward, underneath the plush of your belly, to the crease between you thigh. Blood rushes hot through your ears, making you almost dizzy with want. Anything you ask for, he said. Anything you ask, he’ll give.

The heat of his mouth attaches to your neck again, and the feeling is so wonderful against your buzzing skin that you feel your eyes flutter close. He’s encouraging you, you realize. Gently coaxing you into confidence. He wants you, too.

Inching him down, you guide his hand to brush over the mound between your hips. Your breath catches. You’ve never had to ask for this before.

You think of the men you’ve been with in times past. How they practically threw themselves at you, taking absolutely anything they could get from you, hungrily, without restraint. This is foreign. It makes you feel almost desperate with need, to be so close to having what you want, but to be so nervous to reach out for it.

Sensing your hesitation, Giorno opens his mouth and presses the wet heat of his tongue flat against your neck, dragging it up along the line of your jaw to the sensitive skin below your ear, and this time your eyes do roll back. The wet trail he leaves on your skin chills in the night air, and you moan for him.

“Che brava ragazza (what a good girl),” he praises you. “You can have it. Just ask me for it, you can have it.”

He squeezes your hand gently, reassuringly, and you don’t have the patience to be bashful anymore. You slide him down to the bunched up hem of your dress, under the fabric, and flat against your aching core. The meat of his palm is firm against your folds and he rewards you immediately with a strong grip around your pussy.

“Good, good girl,” he says, making short strokes with his whole hand up and down your center. He pulls away from your neck only to drag you into another kiss, harder than the last, and you abandon his hand against you to fist both of yours into his hair. The moan you let into his mouth is wanton, embarrassingly so for someone who’s only barely been touched. You can’t bring yourself to care. The pressure between your legs is so, so good.

Deft fingers slip under your panties and you gasp as he slides the pads of his fingers along the wet of your lips.

“All this? Already?” Giorno says airily.

“You make—fuck,” your voice clips as the pads of Giorno’s fingers dip into your entrance, dragging your slick up to the nub of your clit. “Mmmm fuck, you make me feel good.”

Giorno groans, a low rumble in his chest, and you drop your head to his shoulder as his fingers make quick circles around your clit. His pace is steady, pressure firm, as he works you closer and closer to a peak that is quickly approaching.

You take the hand still tangled in your hair and drag it to rest flat on the meat of your breast, which he kneads greedily. The temperature in the confined space of the car has risen, high enough that you can feel sweat starting to gather on your skin and dampen your clothes, but you don’t care. You might be about to squirt all over the interior of Giorno’s nice car, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that either when he’s pulling you so diligently to your climax.

“You’re so worked up,” he says, and his voice is definitely shot now. Deep. Gravelly. A little bit desperate. “Are you going to cum for me?”

You are. You are you are you are, and his fingers pick up their pace under your panties, and the hand on your breast finds the soft peak of your nipple underneath the pad of your bra and pinches, and you squeal. The pressure between your legs is hot, hot, hot.

“Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna cum, please please please-“ You collapse into his chest, thighs shaking underneath you, and moan into the fabric of his suit as the pressure in your hips finally releases. With the arm around your waist Giorno holds you upright while you go practically boneless against him, hips stuttering into his hand as he works you through the length of your orgasm, his chest rumbling against you as he praises, “brava, brava ragazza, proprio così (good, good girl, just like that).”

As the rush begins to sizzle out, his fingers continue in their persistent slide against your clit, until you’re pushing at his hand with an “ah, ah” that has him laughing airily. The car is filled with the sound of your fluttering breaths, and of the quiet, soothing noises Giorno makes above you.

“Good thing I don’t have a night job fighting crime,” Giorno teases you.

You laugh breathlessly. “Yeah, good thing.”

You wrap your arms around his broad chest, sinking into the warmth of his body, and he envelops you in his arms. Stroking your back as you shiver, carding fingers through the tangles of your hair. As the fuzz begins to clear from your head, you feel the faintest warmth in your belly again as you realize you aren’t quite finished. Your fingers slide along the edge of his belt, playing with the buckle before he scoops your hand into his and brings it to his lips for a kiss.

“Not yet, amore,” he says. “Not here.”

Your shoulders slump with your disappointment and he laughs against your hair.

“When I fuck you,” he speaks into your ear. “I’m going to do it properly.” You shiver against him.

He lets you rest against his chest until you’ve caught your breath. “Do you have work tomorrow?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then come home with me,” he says with a smile and a kiss to your head. “And I’ll let you have whatever else you want.”

You pull back to look at him. Cheeks flushed. Hair tousled from the work of your fingers. The collar of his shirt pushed wide open against his chest. You want, you want, you want.

“Ok,” you answer, and press your lips to his warm cheek. The car starts with a low rumble, and you fix yourself in your seat. Your skirt is bunched around your waist, your hair a mess, your makeup smeared, no doubt. Giorno pulls away from the curb and you roll down the emptying Naples streets. “But only if I get to tease you this time.”

He meets your eyes with that look that promises absolutely nothing good. “Of course,” he says, pulling your hand to his mouth for another kiss. And another.

“Anything you want.”

[bebegi]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞? ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶

genre: forced confession [?] | fluff — gn!reader

warnings: mentions of death [no one dies<3]

series: jonathan — joseph — jotaro — josuke — giorno — jolyne — johnny — gappy — jodio

🎧 abbey by mitski | bitter and sick by one two | klk by arca & rosalia | vent by baby keem

notes: yeayea i recicled the gc from mista's post, enjoy!!!

˙⋆.˚ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵:

˙⋆.˚ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴:

© bebegi 2024. do not crop the tag or claim it as yours in any way please, do not repost in other sites without asking for permission + credit, thanks !! reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[cinnbar-bun]

The Outlaw Torn

Pairing: Risotto Nero x GN!Reader

Summary: "The more I search, the more my need for you / The more I bless, the more I bleed for you."

Risotto Nero reflects during a rainy day, all while trying to avoid the way everything reminds him of you.

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.3k

Notes: Risotto Nero you will always be famous <3 enjoy some pining Risotto who broods for you. Title based off 'The Outlaw Torn' by Metallica. No spoilers, pre-VA, reader is GN.

AO3 link here!

Napoli during this time of year rains plenty. The smell of the rain against the stone roads makes him pause and inhale deeply. A young child accidentally brushes past him, clinging to her hat as she carries a roll of bread from the nearby bakery. He glances to the other side of the road and notices a businessman holding an umbrella and jogging while he clings to his business papers, some of which were flying behind him. 

Napoli is full of life, even in the rain, something you taught him. Every lesson he learns from you, he keeps close to his heart. He closes his eyes, just letting the rain drench him. A bike bell rings as he feels a draft of air zoom past him. A young boy swears at him in Italian for just standing there, but he does not move or even flinch. 

Napoli is beautiful, but it will never be as beautiful as you. It will never be enough, not in the way you were. 

But he knows why you are not here, by his side, with him, for him. He opens his eyes and looks at his reflection in a window on at a small jewelry store. 

Black sclera… red eyes… those are his most standout and defining traits. You said they were entrancing, that you wanted to look at them for a long time- something he didn’t usually allow. But for you, he could spare the time and have you appreciate his form. 

The jewelers were releasing a new type of ring and diamond cut for the season. A teardrop shape to recognize the rainy season in Napoli. 

Would you like something like that?

His mind wanders briefly before he turns away and continues to walk back to the hideout. 

Patience. Don’t think of such things yet. 

It’s rather selfish, really. It is because of him that you did not get closer to one another. 

Risotto Nero knows better than to let his emotions get the best of him. 

But you, you are an anomaly that ruined him, took parts of him and held it hostage, refusing to give them back. 

He almost wished for you to keep them so you could remember him, at the very least. 

Risotto knows it’s in poor taste to pursue you, after all, what assassin would ever keep a living trace of their existence somewhere? Who would ever allow for someone to get so close to them? Who would allow a piece of their heart to be free outside and possibly get injured as collateral? 

Selfishness, really, is what keeps him thinking about you. If he was the same 18 year old who mercilessly hunted and killed his cousin’s murderer, you wouldn’t even be on his mind. He wouldn’t have ever entertained such a thing. But twenty-something Risotto has admittedly grown softer- perhaps due to a combination of La Squadra and your continued presence in his life. 

He knows you would wait for him forever if he asked. He knows that you love him too deeply, too much for him to ever deserve. He couldn’t have found a more devoted and loyal person in all of Italy if he tried. He knows that and it kills him in more ways than it has any right to. 

But the Risotto in his twenties knows something his younger self would never know.

You shouldn’t be with him. 

You should be free, loved by a man who can offer you safety, comfort, and an easy life that does not put you in danger at every turn. 

Even though every drop of blood in his body rushes for you, even though he would gladly bleed out for you- you don’t deserve his bullshit, he reckons. Even though he yearns to hold you close, prays for a chance to call you his and his alone, he knows it’s for the best you’re not beside him. 

He can’t trust himself around you. You make him want something beyond revenge or money or territory. You’ll be a distraction. 

That’s what he tells himself over and over, because Risotto is a selfish man who only has one thing on his mind- power. 

He’s too good at his job, too good at killing and ending lives for the sake of his mission. And yet, here he is, untrusted by that very same boss who orders him around, no territory to claim for his squad, and hardly any money from the drug trafficking in the streets. It pisses him off that due to his success, he cannot reap the rewards from his completed assassinations. 

If he allowed himself to be swayed by you, he probably wouldn’t mind this arrangement and would continue to do as told. 

But it’s quite a headache, he has to admit. He knows a few of the leaders even live in mansions by the shore or expensive penthouses and can overlook their territory. He has none of those, and it’s apparent with every passing day how little his boss thinks of him and his squad. 

I don’t even need a mansion… I need that villa near the gardens and the shops below. 

That villa has been your dream for a long time. He can remember the first time you absentmindedly pointed it out to him, wistfully sighing as you admitted you wanted it. 

“My dear grandfather was friends with the owner, so we’d visit sometimes. It’s the most beautiful house ever.” 

Risotto hadn’t ever cared about houses or decorations much, but after a curious look around the place at night, he had to agree that it is a nice home. It would be a lovely place to call his own, but more than that, it would have you, and that immediately made everything better. 

Would you be happy in that home? Would you like to walk beside him to the marketplace below? Would you enjoy sitting on the veranda with him while you two drank cappuccinos in the morning? 

These questions and the many what-ifs he would conjure up plagued him like this every day. He didn’t feel the cold rain pour down on him continuously, only thinking of you smiling at him in your shared villa. It was sunny in that dream, warm and loving. He didn’t mind the terrible weather now, even with how it soaked his clothes and chilled his bones. 

He exhales and lets the rain wash over him more before he decides to continue walking back to the hideout. 

He couldn’t see you yet. Not yet… he wasn’t ready. He didn’t have the influence he wanted- needed- to offer you what you deserved. 

The walk to his place is somber and silent as Napoli is sheltered inside warm houses from the rain. He curses himself for encouraging you to stay away. The farther you are, the closer he wants you. The more he tells himself to stop, the more he wants to go. The more he tries to shield himself from these feelings, the more he falls deeper into these desires. 

Just as he is about to cross the street, he glances to your house. It’s right there, a mere block from his hideout. So close, yet so far. He stops in front of your door, unsure if he should take the risk or make such a jump. 

He’s torn, torn between protecting you from his lifestyle and keeping you bound to him as his love. 

He aches for you, desires you, needs you. But he can’t say that without complicating everything. He swallows, ready to turn heel and continue to his home, to La Squadra and his dirty life. 

Yet, for some reason, he finds himself stepping toward your door. It’s as if his body is on autopilot, forcing him, magnetizing him to you again. He sighs and makes a fist, rapping his knuckles against your door. 

…Well… a few moments away from the rain is never a bad idea. Especially in Napoli, where life is beautiful all around.

[sanjisluvbot]

⋆˙⊹MASTERLIST˖⁺ 🪼

Extra disclaimer : I will not do smut for minors, I can give you a little kiss or something but that’s it.

SERIES:

Isekai Yandere Strawhats 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Strawberry fields josuke x black fem reader Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 ( maybe )

Miguel O’Hara x Black Fem Reader Pt1 Pt2?

Isekai Yandere Strawhats CH 2 1

As Above So Below Raian Kure x Black Fem Reader 1 2 3

ONESHOTS:

Sanji x Black Fem Reader GOOD DAYS

Isekai BNHA x Black Fem Reader

Don’t Drink The Tea

Nami x Black Fem Reader Time well spent

Zoro x Black Fem Reader Time apart

Yander Josuke x Black Fem Reader ( Aged up )

Portgas D. Ace x Fem reader live

Isekai Yandere Strawhats x BNHA Black Fem reader

Isekai Platonic Yandere Strawhats

Getou Suguru Hopes And Dreams

HEADCANNONS:

Platonic Yandere Todoroki

Bakugo X black Fem realtionship HC

Bucciarati x Black Fem Reader relationship HC

Isekai Yandere Strawhats x Distrustful reader

JOJO:

One piece:

My hero academia:

Naruto:

Chainsawman:

AKI X Black Fem Reader

SPECIFIC CHARACTERS:

Katsuki Bakugo:

Todoroki Shoto:

Jotaro Kujo:

Josuke Higashikata: Strawberry fields

AKI:

Gojo Satoru:

Fushiguro Megumi:

Nanami Kento:

Sanji: A prince’s wish

Zoro:

Eustass Kidd:

Killer:

Trafalgar Law:

Portgas D. Ace: Live

Hatake Kakashi: The student becomes the teacher

Shikamaru:

Raian Kure: series

[dreamsfulblues]

Bruno is adopting another child

(A.k.a me continuing to give my favorite characters bunnies)

[whos-hotter-jjba]

Hottest Stand Battle - Second Round Match 8

Stand abilities under the cut:

Soft & Wet: Soft & Wet generates star-embedded floating bubbles. The signature ability of Soft & Wet's bubbles is to temporarily steal and contain physical properties, objects and substances. If a bubble pops on contact with an object, it will take away a certain property from the object for a short amount of time. If it doesn't, it will store the property inside, allowing Soft & Wet to pop the bubble later and transfer that property to another object. 

Moody Blues: It possesses the ability to imitate the form of individuals and reenact past events with precision.

[etherealzx]

Can you do hcs of reader being Risottos kid, and he's comforting them after they just gained a stand similar to his? :33c thank u <3

aww the thought of dad!risotto is adorable to me! probably because i want to have his children

Dad!Risotto Comforting his Kid with a Similar Stand Ability to His

risotto wouldn't be surprised that his child is a stand user, however he would be surprised that their stand manifested at such a young age

the child would probably be really confused, maybe even a little scared of their new ability. since it's so new to them, they probably don't have much control over it yet. they probably do things completely on accident, like if they get a cut, they might accidentally turn the blood into weapons. this confuses them, and causes them to fear their own ability

risotto would see when they did things like this, and instantly recognized it as a stand ability

when he noticed that his child was fearful of their ability, he decided that he needed to talk to them about what stands were, and how to control them

he would teach them little exercises to practice control over their stand with, turning it into fun little games. this way, they would see their stand as something fun and useful, instead of scary.

when they started to get good at using and controlling their stand, he would start to make the exercises more challenging

he would be such a proud dad to see that their stand is so much like his, and how well they use their new ability

he would praise his child so much for their accomplishments, always making sure to tell them how good of a job they were doing and how proud he was of them.

he would also take them out for ice cream or treats when they learned how to do something new :')