#and stick their nose up at giorno | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theragethatisdesire · 11 months

Text

dall'inizio - eren x reader, 18+!!!!

welcome back to the ti penso universe everyone!!!! this is a continuation/prequel of the little series we've followed from my first eren x reader fic. i was really interested to see how they met and ....unsurprisingly, it's a one night stand that doesn't turn out as planned. this one is also super fun because we get to hear from both eren AND reader alternatively, plus reader is a confident, bad bitch and we love that for her. this one goes out to @philliam-writes bc ik you love this eren as much as i do!!!!!! here's ur part 3 bestie >:)

if you'd like to catch up and meet our eren x reader, find them here:

(1) ti penso ogni giorno

(2) nel bene e nel male

pairing: eren x afab reader

wc: 6.7k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut (duh), consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol/drug use (just weed nothing crazy), cussing, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a lovestruck idiot (and so are you if you're being honest)

title (as always) means "from the beginning" in italian i'm obsessed with them <3

“You look like a whore,” Ymir says bluntly, dragging her eyes over your outfit– or, lack thereof.

“It’s not that bad,” you wave her off, turning back to the mirror to tug at the hem of your little black slip. You do look like a whore, but it’s intentional. You haven’t gotten laid in three months– your friends have been calling you dramatic, but that’s a lot, okay? You’re in college, you’re supposed to sleep around, right?

On top of that, your last few situationships just haven’t quite…well, they weren’t bad, but they didn’t scratch the itch. You desperately need a fuck– not just a fuck, a good fuck, and you have a feeling tonight’s going to be the night. It’s Halloween, the international holiday for running around in basically zero clothes, and you’ve taken great care to adhere to that tradition.

“Are you a mouse?” Historia wrinkles her nose at you from her spot at the vanity in the corner. She’s in a dalmatian costume; cute, spotted ears sticking up from her blonde hair, blue collar tinkling when she cocks her head at you.

“I’m a fucking cat,” you mutter, drawing a black triangle of eyeliner on the tip of your nose, “I didn’t have time for a real costume.”

“She just wants to get laid,” Mikasa announces, pushing through the studio apartment door with a huff, arms laden with plastic bags that are making a tell-tale clinking sound, “it’s been like, two whole weeks.”

“Three months!” You correct her, defensive.

“I understand,” Ymir, appropriately dressed as Cruella de Vil, grins, “it’s been…what, Stor? Two hours?”

“Ymir!” Historia, scandalized, flushes a furious red. Both you and Mikasa are unphased; in the last four months they’ve been together, the three feet they’re sitting from one another now is the farthest apart you’ve seen them.

“I’m not a whore,” you turn around, hands on hips, “I just…it’s been awhile since I had good sex. Floch was–”

“The worst?” Mikasa finishes for you. You hate how well she knows you; even after less than two years of knowing each other, she can practically read your mind.

“Yeah, you may have mentioned that once or twice,” Historia turns back to the mirror, immediately disinterested. “Or a thousand times.”

You throw your hands up, turning back to the mirror to finish your whiskers. “So none of you can blame me.”

“While you two,” Mikasa points between Ymir and Historia accusingly, “have been screwing like rabbits, and you,” her black-painted fingernail finds its way to you, “have been trying to figure out how to sleep with half of Manhattan, I took the liberty of actually making plans for us.”

“Jean’s?” You raise a knowing eyebrow at her, grateful to put someone else in the hot seat for the night. Mikasa’s cheeks tinge pink. Busted.

“He’s throwing a party, yeah,” she answers slowly, trying to talk her way around her obvious attraction to him, “but it’s not those douchebags he usually hangs out with. My best friend from home, Eren, just got into town, and,” she looks at you pointedly, “some of his friends are actually cute.”

You’re unconvinced. “Pictures?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Mikasa bites her lip mischievously, “but if you take a few tequila shots with me, I might be persuaded to show you one or two.”

You’re dubious. Mikasa’s definitely shown you a photo of these guys before, and you don’t remember a standout in the lineup. This Eren character, however…Mikasa has a framed picture on her bedside nightstand of them in high school, and you remember him being sort of cute. Dark, short-cropped hair, big green eyes so wide and earnest that he almost reminded you of a movie character. That picture was three or four years old now so…who knows? Maybe he’d grown into his features.

“Eren’s a no-go, though,” Mikasa continues, knowing your exact train of thought of course, pouring out shots of lukewarm, cheap tequila. Your stomach gurgles in protest at the smell as you accept yours. “He’s a nightmare to women, trust me.”

“Who knows,” Ymir pipes up, nodding her head towards you, “she’s a nightmare to men, so.”

“I am not a nightmare,” you narrow your eyes, “I just don’t like to be tied down, that’s all.”

“You’ll have to be at some point,” Historia argues, smiling when Ymir slips a hand into hers. You wrinkle your nose, uninterested.

“It’s 2018, Stor, not very feminist of you,” you tut, throwing back your shot and practically choking it down. Ick.

“I’m a lesbian, how much more feminist can I get?”

“Touché.”

“Just promise me you won’t get wrapped up with him?” Mikasa eyes you, still not trusting the glint of curiosity in your eye.

Ymir crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you positive you like Jean and not this Eren dude?”

Mikasa makes a fake retching sound. “Eren’s practically my brother. I’ve seen his bare ass more times than I can count. Way past the attraction threshold, trust me. I just…I know him. And I know you,” she glares at you, “it’s a toss-up as to who would do more damage to the other.”

“I’ll behave,” you placate her, throwing your arms around her shoulders, “…maybe.”

Eren might puke. No, wait, he’s going to puke– oh, no, just an unbelievably loud burp. Eren smiles contentedly, feeling much better even as it stinks up the entire taxi. Connie leans over Armin, scrunches his nose and squints his eyes.

“That fucking reeks, dude!”

“Sorry,” Eren shrugs, turning his head back to the window and ignoring Armin and Connie’s complaints. They were all a few beers deep- what did they expect?

Eren’s lived a few hours outside of New York City all his life, but he’s never been, except maybe once or twice for field trips as a kid. He never remembered it looking like this, though: each little apartment twinkled like a star, giving the wall of skyscrapers the appearance of the night sky. Even as the cab screeches and jerks in the Lower West Side traffic, Eren feels like he’s in a spaceship, free and flying amongst the stars.

Maybe he could talk to Zeke, convince him to move their little operation out of their garage and into the city. There was money here, right? And plenty of musicians who weren’t quite good enough to get signed by any major labels…

“Mikasa says she and her friends will be over in five,” Armin squints at his phone screen, holding it far away from him like an old man to type a response. Eren nearly rolls his eyes.

“Would you just get some fucking glasses already?”

“Annie said they made me look nerdy,” Armin shrugs. Connie groans.

“You two broke up like, a year ago–”

“Six months,” Armin corrects him, eyes growing sadder by the second.

“Okay, six months, whatever, we’ve got to get you laid tonight, dude.”

Eren lets the two slip into an argument about the “appropriate amount of time” to wait to sleep with someone after a breakup, much preferring his unusually contemplative mood to Connie and Armin’s bickering after their four-hour train ride together. He smiled to himself; God, it would be good to see Mikasa again. He wouldn’t have admitted it at gunpoint, but she was practically his mom growing up, and she’d been gone for over a year, only visiting for Christmas. Rumor had it that she’d been spending a lot of time with Jean as of late, so he needed to see what that was all about, too.

And who had Eren been spending a lot of time with lately? No one but bar rats and slim pickings from the frat parties at Trost University near his hometown. When was the last time he’d even gotten laid? A month? Two? Her name had been Jenna…no, Jenny? Josephina? Fuck, he should remember that. Eren needs to get laid, regardless, but if he dares to step near any of Mikasa’s friends, she’ll kill him, he knows that from experience. Then again, maybe this weird-ass Jean situation would come in handy. If Mikasa ends up distracted…

“Excuse me!” Armin disturbs his thoughts once again; Eren scowls. “Excuse me, sir? I think we’re here.”

Eren pays for the cab. Armin had bought the train tickets and the chain-gang costumes they were all currently sporting, and Connie was always flat broke, insisting his music career would work out soon. That could be Eren’s fault, though: Connie was one of his and Zeke’s first “clients”. None of them even bothered keeping up with the money exchanged between each other anymore; Connie had been in their kindergarten class, Armin’s mom had changed all of their diapers, Mikasa’s parents were the “cool parents” that let them smoke weed in the backyard, Jean’s mom made the best potato salad. They were a little family, separated by life and college at the moment, but a family all the same. Eren felt a little tingle of appreciation in his stomach as they climbed the stairs to Jean’s walk-up.

“Jaeger!” Jean was dapping him up and smacking a fist against his back before Eren could even properly look around the dark apartment.

“Kirstein,” Eren returns his embrace and has to shout over the music, suddenly smacked with a wave of homesickness at the familiar smell of weed and Jean’s tacky Hugo Boss cologne.

“Make yourself at home, dude,” Jean’s nearly inaudible over the thumping house music. He’s got some stupid mummy costume on that exposes his lean stomach, basically just shirtless and wrapped in toilet paper. Eren stifles a laugh, looking around the apartment for any other familiar faces.

Reiner approaches him next, a goofy, drunken grin splitting his face wide open, tackling Eren in a bear hug. Most of the greetings go like that; I miss you! How are you? How’s the business? Are you still in Shiganshina? It makes Eren’s chest tight, makes him miss the closeness of the people he loves. He was just always fucking working, helping Zeke with paperwork, running around town talking to clients, pulling at his face late at night looking over the finances of everything. He feels wound up, ready to burst, but the blunt and beer Bertholdt just handed him should fix that, at least somewhat. He needs…fuck, he needs to get laid.

His eyes search the room, looking for the one person he’s looking most forward to seeing, but he doesn’t find Mikasa where he expects.

She’s perched on Jean’s lap, giggling over her drink as Jean waves his arms wildly, telling her a story. That bizarre sight only holds Eren’s gaze for a moment, though, because there you are beside her, grinning wickedly with one of those stupid vapes between your teeth.

Eren stops dead in his tracks, speechless. Where do they even make women like that? He goes bottom to top, letting himself be impressed with how well you’re balancing on those high heels, ravishing every naked inch of your exposed legs until he reaches the hem of– fuck, is that just lingerie? Whatever little black thing you’re wearing, it makes his heart race, makes his pants tight. It’s low-cut in the chest enough to tease, a little collar around your neck, and your face…even your face makes him hard, so beautiful in the low lighting, eyes glimmering. You look evil and fun and sexy all at once, and Eren’s sold within the first ten seconds of seeing you.

Before he can make a beeline in your direction, he realizes he’s taken his gaze off of Mikasa and Jean long enough for them to approach him, Mikasa throwing her arms around his neck.

“Eren!” She squeals in his ear, clearly already drunk. Eren chuckles, trying to rein himself in enough to hold a stable conversation. The little black dress flashes behind his eyes as he smiles down at Mikasa.

“Hey Mika,” he ruffles her hair, making Mikasa grumble and reach towards her head to right what he’s ruined. His eyes wander back to you; you’re watching him too, sizing him up. He wonders if you like what you see, pulls at the zipper of his orange jumpsuit to inch it down, reveal some of his stomach. Eren’s not conceited per se, but he spends an unhealthy amount of time in the gym, and he knows it shows. As your gaze travels down to where he holds his zipper, Eren can’t look away, knows it must be obvious that he’s distracted.

“Bro,” Jean snaps his fingers in front of Eren’s eyes, looking over his shoulder to see what Eren’s staring at. He turns back with a smirk. “Yeah?”

Fuck, now Mikasa’s looking off in the same direction, returning her eyes to him with a scowl. Drunk or not, she never fails to scare the shit out of him. “No. No fucking way, Eren.”

“What?” Eren sips his beer innocently, shrugging. He was only staring…for now.

“She’s my best friend, Eren, no,” Mikasa says, firmer this time.

“Thought I was your best friend?”

“Didn’t she just break things off with Floch like…” Jean trails off at the withering glare Mikasa shoots him, turning red.

“She’s off-limits.” Eren nods, her words going in one ear and out the other. Mikasa’s scolded him before, and she won’t stop anytime soon, so what’s one more? She can read his mind, evidently, because she reaches up and pinches his cheek, yanking him down to her level.

“Ow!”

“Off. Fucking. Limits.” Mikasa seethes. “Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah I- fuck, let go! I hear you Mika,” Eren rubs his sore cheek, frowning. He can see you laughing at him, eyes barely visible over the edge of your drink. Great, Eren thinks; getting a talking-to from Mikasa like a child was not the first impression he wanted to give you.

Mikasa’s grabbing Jean’s hand and pulling him back towards the crowd, presumably to play guard dog for you, but before she can get him too far, Jean leans back towards Eren, cups a hand around his mouth.

“She’s single, bro,” Jean manages to get out before Mikasa pulls harder, “go for it!”

Eren grins. If Mikasa wanted to bite his head off for this, now he could blame it on Jean. What the hell was he supposed to say to you, though? You’re leagues above the girls he’s been pursuing. If Eren’s honest with himself, he’s intimidated by you, but his only solution is to throw some more of his beer back for liquid courage. He’s always loved a challenge.

When he pulls the cup away from his face, you’ve appeared in front of him, smiling demurely and nearly making him jump out of his skin.

“Hi.”

The second you saw him, you were hooked. He was gorgeous, dark hair pulled into a little half-bun on the back of his head, pretty eyes, and tall and broad to boot. He was almost stern-looking, dark eyebrows shielding his eyes. Dark and mean, just the way you like them.

Mikasa had given him a massive hug, interrupting the clear eye-fucking you were engaged in across the room; so that was Eren? Her long-lost best friend that was always too busy to visit? The happy kid from the picture? You watched her scold him, giggling to yourself at how childlike he became, crumbling under Mikasa’s pinch and pouting when she let him go.

You had no choice, really. Your promise to Mikasa had flown out of your mind the moment you saw those full lips pursed around the blunt, blowing out a puff of smoke, stretching into a wide, dangerous smile. You’re an only child and admittedly, a bit spoiled, so when you want something, you get it.

“Hi,” you can’t manage anything more clever, not face to face with his bare chest. Jean’s apartment is stuffy, and you catch the gleam of sweat on his chest in the LED lighting. You lick your lips.

“Hi,” Eren responds stiffly, looking as surprised as if you’d just punched him in the gut.

“You’re Eren, right? Mikasa’s friend?”

Eren hits his blunt again, nods slowly. “I don’t think we’ve met though, you’re…?”

You give him your name. He smiles and repeats it, rolling it around on his tongue and getting a taste for it. You can already see little hearts in his eyes, it makes you grin to yourself. You had expected him to put up more of a fight; there’s a dozen girls in this room alone that would fall all over themselves to get him in bed, but he’s enraptured by you, eyes never leaving your face. You’ve got him.

“A cat, huh?” Eren addresses the costume, dipping his head in the direction of the little black ears on your head. You’re suddenly embarrassed, feeling a bit silly.

“I, uh, didn’t really have time to shop,” you shrug, pulling at the hem of your dress. Eren’s mouth quirks up. “A prisoner?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get to pick. I like yours, though, it fits you.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “A cat fits me?”

“Yeah,” Eren says, growing surer by the second, “I don’t know. Just fits. S’cute.”

You’re embarrassed by the giddy flutter in your stomach. God, he’s delicious. “You think I’m cute?”

“I think lots of things about you,” Eren replies, voice low and sultry and hardly audible over the music. His eyes widen like he hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud, but it’s too late now. You grin, all teeth and bad intentions.

“We just met,” you point out. Eren’s confidence has returned, he boldly brings a hand to the spaghetti strap of your dress. His fingers are hot– why do men always run so hot? His touch almost burns.

“You wore this,” he rubs the fabric between his fingers, “and expect me not to have a few thoughts on it? Wasn’t that the point?”

The breath leaves your lungs. Your confidence fizzles at the same rate as your arousal grows. There are plenty of hot guys here, but you might have jumped into the deep end with this one. Something flickers in his eyes, something hungry.

“Why don’t you tell me about these thoughts of yours?”

“I will,” Eren nods, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, “later.”

“Later?”

“We’re at a party,” Eren takes the empty cup from you, replacing it with his own, much larger hand, “shouldn’t we at least dance a little?”

Before you can argue, he’s pulling you out into the center of Jean’s obnoxiously spacious living room, into a jungle of sweaty, gyrating bodies. You’re close enough to the speakers now that the bass pounds through your body to the same rhythm as your heart thudding in your chest. The crowded, makeshift dance floor pushes you into Eren, skin against skin. You have a fleeting moment to be grateful that you’re likely now obscured from Mikasa’s view before a pair of strong hands around your hips prevent any more conscious thoughts from taking shape in your brain.

“One of my thoughts,” Eren’s right beside your ear now, voice echoing in your brain, “is that I like you. Like this body.”

“T-thank you,” you stammer out, wanting to facepalm at not only your stupidly simple response, but the weakness in your voice.

“Move it for me.”

You obey him, letting your body move with the music, trying not to get too caught up in whether or not you look ridiculous with how you’re pressing your body into his, arms thrown around his neck. Eren seems to like the way you move on him, pushing and pulling your hips in the rhythm you’ve set, looking down his nose at you with bloodshot eyes.

Your panties are growing wetter by the second; he’s intoxicating, the feel of him against you, firm and tacky with sweat. His hands are tracing up your sides, dragging slowly as if he’s memorizing the curves of your body. You haven’t known him long enough to want him the way that you do, humiliated by the carnal desire simmering in the pit of your stomach, but you’ve had enough tequila not to care. The whole thing is too similar to what you really want, and you make it through a solid seven or eight songs before you can’t take the stifling tension between the two of you any longer, thick enough to cut with a knife.

You lean up on the tips of your toes, wobbling in your heels, and grab him tight around the neck, pulling him to you. Your lips finally meet; Eren’s slow to respond as you’ve caught him off guard, but he catches on quickly, lips falling open so you can kiss him deeper. His lips are softer than you expect, supple and giving as they move with yours. You trace your tongue through his teeth, hardly suppressing a whine. He tastes good, like cheap beer and weed and lust. You drink him in, a satisfied hum buzzing in your chest.

Without warning, Eren practically rips you off of him. “Not here.”

He’s dragging you through the people around you, knocking them out of the way and not stopping to apologize when he gets offended looks. He pulls you into what you know to be Jean’s room, wastes no time in shoving you up against the door and blocking you in with his wide shoulders.

You swallow hard; you’ve underestimated him.

“Another one of my thoughts,” Eren mouths at the area beneath your ear, makes you groan, “is that you’re pretty. Like, very fucking pretty. Bet you’re twice as pretty under this dress.”

“I think you’re pretty, too,” you manage to say, forcing the words from your mouth. Eren chuckles, smiling against the shell of your ear.

“C’mere,” he tilts your chin up, kissing you again. It’s troublingly gentle, long and languid as your mouths move against one another. He kisses you like he loves you; the thought makes alarm bells ring in your head, and you nip at his bottom lip to break up the emotional momentum, sink your teeth into it. Eren pulls back, chuckling down at you. “You’re mean.”

“Only a little.”

“Is that what you like?” Eren thumbs at your mouth, slipping his finger between your lips. You suck greedily, rubbing your tongue against the roughness of his fingertip. “Like it a little mean? Between you and me, I like ‘em a little mean, too.”

You nod, gently biting on his thumb. Eren groans, a low rumble deep in his chest. “Oh, I’m going to have fun with you.”

He’s pulling your dress over your head before you can stop him, sucking in a sharp breath when he gets an eyeful of your lace-clad breasts, the tiny thong you’ve slipped over your hips. Stronger than you’d expected, Eren pulls you up to wrap your legs around his waist, slamming your back against the door with a loud thud and knocking your stupid cat ears to the floor. You can hear a few sounds of surprise from outside; surely that got a few people’s attention, but you’re lost in him, whimpering at the feel of his jumpsuit costume rubbing against your clothed center.

Eren’s sloppy, placing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to suck a bruise underneath your ear. You gasp, canting your hips into his stomach, desperate for friction. You’re normally not so uninhibited, but Eren’s doing something to your head, has your mind spinning. He’s carrying you over to the bed, dropping you down onto Jean’s sheets. Eren leans down to pull your heels off, a sweet gesture if you could find the presence of mind to acknowledge it. You feel a flicker of guilt about doing this in Jean’s bed, but when Eren starts sliding a hand up your thigh, it flickers away into nothing, swallowed by your bottomless want.

“Look at that,” Eren smirks, rubbing his fingers over your panties, “soaked. This all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, hips jerking up towards his touch. It is for him, it was from the moment you laid eyes on him, and you both know it. His hands are everywhere: unclasping your bra, pulling your panties down, palming at your tits. You arch your back up to him, offering him your chest; he responds by closing down on one of your nipples with his teeth.

“So pretty,” Eren’s murmuring around the mouthful of your flesh he’s got, twisting the neglected nipple of your right breast between his fingers, “so pretty.”

“Eren,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair, pulling it out of its bun and wrapping the hair band around your wrist. His mouth is hot, scalding, even, but you pull him closer to you anyway, pressing his face into your tits. Eren doesn’t seem to mind, letting you move him this way and that, show him what you like and how to pull those pretty moans out of your mouth. Before long, he’s kissing his way down your stomach, hands gripping your hips like a lifeline.

“Want a taste,” Eren sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to you, “need to taste this pussy.”

“Eren,” you reach for his hair, trying to pull him back up to you. While you’d love to see what the mouth that had just kissed you breathless could do between your legs, the thumping music outside is an annoying but consistent reminder that there’s an entire party outside and you’re in Jean’s bedroom. The clock’s ticking. “Want to feel you, we don’t have time for–”

“Don’t have time?” Something wicked lights Eren’s face up as he shimmies your panties down your legs. “Believe me, it won’t take long.”

“Eren,” your protest is feeble but earnest, and you make another attempt to reach for him when a long, thick lick up your center renders you near-unconscious. You moan, a little louder than you would have liked to.

“See? Gonna make you feel so good, trust me,” Eren’s punctuating each word with a little kiss somewhere on your pussy: your clit, your lips, right over your fluttering entrance. You have no choice but to whimper and nod, canting your hips up towards him. You look down, immediately regretting it: Eren’s wiggled out of his costume, naked and beautiful and staring up at you from between your legs. You’re hardly able to swallow the inhuman sound that threatens to rip from your throat.

Where he’d been cool and calculated pulling you onto the dance floor, you quickly learn that Eren eats pussy like he can’t control himself, like his life depends on it. His massive hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, securing you against his face as you try to squirm away. He licks into you enthusiastically, moaning against you at the taste, sending a succession of vibrations through you that go straight to the fire in your stomach.

When his lips close around your clit and suck hard, you have to slap a hand over your mouth to stop a wail from reaching the ears right outside the door. Eren takes the opportunity to sneak a finger into you, curl it right against that gummy spot in your walls that has you seeing stars. As he works his finger in your cunt, he kisses his way back up to your mouth, greeting you with a sloppy kiss.

“Feels good, right?” Eren’s face is literally dripping with you, a sharp-toothed grin barely visible in the dim light.

“Feels good,” you whimper, daring to look down to where he’s grinding his palm against your clit. You can see the veins of his muscular arm straining as he pumps in and out of you; it’s a lewd sight, one that makes your head spin. “‘S so much Eren, I— fuck.”

“Yeah?” Eren’s smile grows darker, another finger slips into you easily. You’re practically dripping onto the sheets at this point, rolling your hips against his hand with your mouth hanging open. It’s humiliating but too gratifying to stop. “Gonna cum for me? You can do it, give it to me.”

“God– close, so c-close,” you can barely find the words to respond, the pressure in your belly swelling at an alarming speed. You’re going to squirt, you know you are, should move off of Jean’s bed or warn Eren or do something, but it’s too late.

You thrash in Eren’s grip, cumming so hard you think you can taste blood where you bite your lip. You can feel the wetness spraying from you, soaking Eren’s hand and the sheets and your inner thighs, can distantly hear your pitiful cries, but you’re powerless to do anything about it until the mind-numbing orgasm’s run its course. Eventually you do settle, babbling incoherently into Eren’s shoulder about Jean’s ruined sheets, about how you’re sorry for making a mess. Eren shuts you up with his mouth on yours; you can hear the distant rip of a condom wrapper.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he laughs, rolling on top of you and lining himself up, “gonna have to keep you.”

Before you can even think to offer to return the favor or make a sarcastic remark about how you’d never let anyone keep you, Eren’s pressing into you, and your mind short-circuits. Shit, maybe you’d let him keep you.

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the darkness, but he’s big, bigger than you’ve ever had before, and big enough that you realize this when he’s not even halfway in.

“Eren…it’s so– s’big,” you hiccup into his shoulder, fingernails clawing into his biceps.

“Is it too much, baby?” You hate pet names, hate them, but from the greek god splitting you open right now, you love it, want to lick the word right out of his mouth and taste it on your own tongue. The genuine concern glittering in his eyes, the little furrow between his brows as he pauses, frowns down at you, fuck, you might be in love.

“No, not too much– feels good.”

Eren’s grin is feral. “Yeah? Tell me.”

“Feels so fucking good,” a little giggle sneaks out from your clenched jaw, Eren smiles wider and cups your face to kiss you again, far too gently to match the way he’s stretching you, bullying your cunt into the shape of him.

“Feel full?”

“Mhm,” he’s bottomed out now, impossibly deep, and you give him a little roll of your hips to show him just how okay you are, that you’re ready to see what he can really do.

“You’ve got–” Eren rolls his hips experimentally, punches a moan from your chest– “the best fucking pussy. So tight for me.”

Ordinarily, dirty talk makes you cringe, but something about the way he words things, as raw as if his inner monologue is spilling out of him, turns you on, makes your cunt clench down around him. That makes him happy, he sucks in a breath of air and starts pounding into you hard enough to make tears well in your eyes, hard enough to make you squeal in a way no one else ever has.

“Taking me so fucking well, baby,” Eren’s hands are grabbing your face, his lips pressing into your forehead, “never gonna let this pussy go.”

You grant him a long moan of agreement, so cockdrunk that for now, you’re more than happy to sign your freedom away to stay in this bed, pinned underneath him for all of eternity. He’s fucking into you so deep he’s practically in your throat; your breath comes out in short little huffs, choking on the brutal pace of his fucking. And god, he’s so big, but you’re taking him somehow, like you were made for it.

Eren moves one of his hands away from his face to swat your fingers away from where you’re digging into his arms, surely close to drawing blood.

“Fucking hurts,” he hisses, “just as mean as you are pretty, y’know that?”

He easily manhandles your arms above your head, pinning them above you by your wrists. The way he stretches his body to do so changes the angle he’s fucking into you at; now he’s hammering into the spot inside of you he’d found far too quickly with his fingers. Your eyes shoot open at the change, and Eren doesn’t miss it. He smirks.

“Right there?”

“God, yes, please– right there,” you sound pathetic, the few surviving rational brain cells you possess are laughing at you, but there’s no help for it. He’s already got you spiraling towards cumming again, the wetness from your cunt creating a sucking sound where he’s moving in and out of you.

“Fuck, m’close. Think you can cum again for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, tilting your head up to nip at his neck, a tear or two running down into your hairline. You can do anything he asks, you think, anything in the world just for him, for how he’s making you feel. Eren practically growls, pistoning his hips faster.

“Need you to cum for me, okay beautiful? Cum right now.”

“S-so close– I– Eren, oh my god,” you’re babbling, eyes rolling back into your head. Eren smashes his lips to yours, grinding his hips into your clit and shoving you over the edge for the second time that night. You sob and convulse around him, back arching desperately and pressing your chests together. You’re seeing stars as he fucks you through it, grunting in your ear and growing sloppy as you tighten around him.

“Fuck!” Eren bites into your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, stilling his hips as deep inside you as he can manage. Your fucked-out brain wants the condom off, wants to feel the full warmth of him as he cums inside of you, grinding his hips against yours. Before he’s finished, Eren moves back to your mouth, kissing you deep and slow, a kiss that means a whole lot more than what you’ve just done together as a party rages just past the door.

As you’re panting beneath him, trying to ground yourself and come back to reality, Eren rolls off of you, whips the condom off, and to your surprise, takes you into his arms, pulls your head to his chest.

“You okay?”

You’re so blissed out right now that it’s a laughable question, and you giggle, watery and light into his chest. “More than okay.”

Eren laughs at that, a real laugh from deep in his stomach. The sound of it makes something warm and happy spark in your chest. “That good, huh?”

“You’re alright.” You’re trying to keep your eyes open, more than aware that your teeny tiny thong is on the floor and you’re naked in the arms of a stranger in Jean’s fucking bed, but Eren’s so warm, so comfortable, your eyes are fluttering despite your protests.

“Oh?” Eren’s voice raises in pitch, gets breathy. “Yes, Eren! Right there, Eren! I’m cumming, Eren!”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You smack at his chest, cheeks burning, but you make no move to roll away from him, preferring your snug little hovel against him to the loud, smoky party that awaits you should you leave.

“S’okay,” Eren presses a kiss to your hairline, “I like that you’re loud.”

“Not loud,” you grouch, resolving to let yourself enjoy just a few minutes of keeping your eyes closed before you return to the party. The last thing you remember is Eren humming, tracing circles into your shoulders with his fingers. You think you recognize the tune; it’s a love song.

–

“Jaeger!”

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god, is that Jean? What time is it? Eren!”

Eren’s first peaceful sleep in months is disturbed rather rudely, in his opinion; he shields his eyes from the brightness of the overhead light, peering through his fingers to see you, hair a rat’s nest and smudged makeup in rings around your eyes. He scowls at the warm, empty spot next to him in the bed that you’ve already leapt out of, frantic with energy even through your hangover. You’re alternating between running around the room naked, trying to find your dress, and shaking him urgently. He bites back a grin; so you are real, and just as hot as he remembered.

“Chill the fuck out, Jean!” Eren shouts, using far more energy than he can afford to expend if he’s leaving the bed anytime soon. The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 7:01am. Shit. “We’ll be out in a second!”

“Get your ass out here, Eren!” Shit. Mikasa’s here too? Oh, he’s dead the second he leaves this room. All the better to stay put, then.

“Get up,” you hiss at him, looking every bit of a pissed-off racoon as you scrounge around on the floor.

“Need my hair tie back if you want me to get up.”

“Ugh, here,” you fling it at him, hitting him squarely in the forehead. Eren chuckles, pulling his hair off of his neck and into its usual bun. He feels empty, feels alone, realizes that he wants your touch, the same body-to-body contact that he’d enjoyed last night..

“They’re fine,” Eren grumbles, hoping you can’t see the amusement written on his face, “we’ve got a few more minutes.”

He reaches sleepily for you, pulling you back into the bed with him amidst your whispered protests, pulling your lips back to his where they belong. He kisses you slowly, indulgently, convincingly. Your skin against his does wonders for the soul-crushing anxiety he’s been putting up with over the last few months. You’re like a drug to him; just one hit and he feels worlds better, feels like he can actually get through everything weighing on him for now. Jesus, even your morning breath doesn’t turn him off; his cock twitches in interest beneath the covers. Cute when you’re angry, he thinks to himself. He has a feeling you’d smack him if he said it out loud.

“We can’t,” you breathe into his mouth, pushing weakly at his chest. Eren loves the feel of your palms on his chest, necessarily resistant in the name of a one–night stand, but lacking the force to prove your point. You want him too, he realizes. The thought goes straight to his dick, and he takes a deep breath to keep his composure, to stop himself from jumping all over you with Mikasa and Jean right outside. He’s rather impressed with his efforts, rubbing small circles on your lower back instead of grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you into his lap like he wants to.

“We can,” Eren murmurs back, already ten times happier than he was a moment ago, “just want to kiss you, that’s all.”

That makes you pull back, fix him with a stern look. “I don’t want to come off as a bitch, but I don’t really do the morning-after thing. Don’t you live, like, five hours from the city anyway?”

Eren’s not the brightest when he’s tired, and he’s even stupider around beautiful women. He cocks his head at you, smiling. “Mikasa didn’t tell you? I’m moving to the city in a few weeks.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eren’s bullshitting, bullshitting very badly and he knows it, “just have to get some things worked out with my brother and our business. Get the operation moved here, that’s all.”

He knows your type: flighty, heavily anti-commitment, and meaner than a snake when you’re cornered. But Eren hopes, he hopes stupidly and against all reason because even if it was just a night, he meant what he said in the throes of passion. You’re funny, you’re interesting, you’re sexy, and he doesn’t want to let you go. He wants to fuck you stupid, just like he did last night, for the rest of his life.

He can’t say any of this out loud, of course, but what if he’s not bullshitting? What if he can convince Zeke to move their amateur record label into the city, where they can pick up real artists, and he can fuck you stupid whenever he feels like it? Maybe he can even learn how you like your coffee, what your bra size is, where the junk drawer in your apartment lives. Eren doesn’t know you, he knows that, but he inexplicably wants those things, wants the mundane parts of you for himself.

“Get the fuck out here, Jaeger, that’s my fucking bed!” Fists pound against the door, threatening to barge into your little sanctuary. Mikasa’s calling your name from outside too, voice harsh and angry. Eren waits for you to scold him, waits for you to shove him off of you and tell him to fuck off.

To his surprise, you make no move to get up and offer him a sheepish grin, shrugging shyly as if you’re not fully naked in his arms. “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Eren’s heart swells. “I’m not chancing that. Give me your number.”“You can earn my number if you buy me breakfast,” you scoff, “and help me find my dress before Mikasa kills us both.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager x readaer #eren x you #eren jaeger x you #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot x you #aot x reader #ti penso uni #ti penso universe #i love them this makes my heart warm!!!!!!!!!

713 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 11 months

Text

Waning Moon.

Yan Giorno x F Reader. Commissioned piece.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, religions symbolism and codependency (???). Word count: 3k.

You don’t remember it being this difficult to stay up late.

As a child, the concept was so novel that the excitement alone sustained you. Streetlamps illuminated a world that fell into stasis until the sun poked its head over in the east, all creation held its breath in anticipation. You’d settle into this valley between loneliness and the closest you’d ever get to peace.

There was only you and that was frightening.

There was only you and that was comforting.

As an adult, staying up late requires intentionality, willpower, and caffeine. Lots of caffeine.

The allure of courting a silent relationship with the moon might not be as mystifying, but the charm isn’t entirely lost with age. It has remained constant while you endured an upheaval you never expected. Constants become anchors in an otherwise restless sea. Come what may, you know this for certain — the moon will rise every night over a villa whose doors don’t unlock at your behest.

Sighing, you shut the book in your hands and rub your eyes. You haven’t been able to retain any of the words on the pages. It reminds you of those late nights spent hunched over at your desk, diligently studying for the esame di stato. Whenever you began to doze off, you’d chastise yourself; this pertained to your future, after all. Never could you have fathomed your life would unravel the way it did.

It’s this bitter sentiment that makes you question what exactly you’re trying to accomplish here.

Is it boredom that’s encouraged this desire to stick your nose in Giorno’s affairs? Spite? You cannot say for certain.

For a week now (you presume, at least, keeping track of the days has lost its luster), the individual who uprooted your life has been notably absent. No matter how tumultuous his affairs were, he made it a point to at least join you for breakfast or dinner, if not both. Such is his wish to lend an air of normalcy to this dubious union. Lately, you’ve only seen him in passing, as if he were a specter haunting the hall and not the man who holds the deed.

What remained consistent, however, is his return to your shared bedroom to sleep. Physiological needs are the great equalizer. You don’t know how, but he can slip into bed without waking you. Had it not been for the wrinkled bed sheets and the lingering aroma of cologne come morning, you never would’ve known he’d been there.

You thought if you stayed up long enough, you might entertain a conversation that lasted longer than a few minutes. Morbid curiosity is a surprisingly strong motivator.

Unfortunately, reality rarely aligns with your hopes. It’s currently three in the morning and there’s been no sign of Giorno. You refasten your silk robe upon standing, appraising the master suite for some means to preoccupy yourself. It’s when your weary eyes land on the canopy bed that your resolve is tested. Really, what is it you’re trying to do? Have a heart-to-heart with the man who controls the country from the shadows? Get in a few more sarcastic quips before calling it a day?

It’s this challenge to your original design that has you walking over to your side of the bed.

That is, until your name is spoken by the door.

You freeze where you stand, feeling akin to a child caught with one hand in the cookie jar. You never gave much thought to if you’re breaking some unspoken rule by dilly-dallying all night. At the very least, Giorno wouldn’t appreciate the damage to your health. He’s never harsh with his chastising — if you can even call it that — but you’re in uncharted territory. A week of sleeping three to four hours could make a sinner of the most steadfast saint.

He repeats your name, likely assuming you didn’t hear him the first time, and you swallow thickly.

“I, um…” you trail off, playing with the ends of your hair, “I just felt like… walking around…?”

It occurs to you then that he never asked what you were doing, he simply said your name. This unprompted confession paired with your conspicuous body language paints you in a guilty light.

Silence hangs in the room.

You count the seconds as they trudge by — seven, eight, nine — each addition feeling as if they’re intensifying gravity. Threatened by the prospect of being crushed beneath this force, you pivot, forcing yourself to face him and better gauge your situation. A mannequin that’d just been brought to life would move far more naturally than you.

Turquoise eyes stare back. They’re inquisitive, maybe, but not scrutinizing. You visibly relax.

“So I didn’t wake you?”

You shake your head.

“Was there something you needed, then?”

You’re about to shake your head again when the clouds outside part.

Silvery shades flood the room and envelop Giorno’s side profile. It illuminates his countenance, from the soft curls of his golden hair to his rosy lips and sharp jawline. You’ve become familiar with his features throughout the years. That’s why the slightest deviation catches your attention, as if you were an antiquarian charged with determining if a piece of art were fake or genuine. His complexion is duller and bags are forming beneath his eyes.

“You look exhausted,” you remark.

“Isn’t that considered a rude thing to say to someone?” is his reply.

You frown at his lighthearted tone. He’s still wearing a suit, which means whatever he came back from was business related. From this distance, you feel there are details you’re still missing, so you close the gap. It’s unusual to be near Giorno — especially of your own volition — yet this burning need to make sense of things spurs you on. Standing before him, you narrow your eyes. He finds your behavior far too perplexing to speak.

You’ve always felt Giorno possesses an otherworldly quality that sets him apart from the common rabble, yourself included. This quiet magnetism, steadfast determination, and insightfulness forged from a life of having the odds stacked against him. Consequently, the fact he’s made of flesh and blood often eludes you. So ingrained in your mind is this concept of him being on a pedestal, high and untouchable as Michelangelo’s David. The present predicament is at odds with this lofty image.

His skin is warm when you take his hand in yours. So he isn’t made of Carrara marble, then.

Giorno does nothing to challenge your uncharacteristic boldness when you lead him to your destination. By your prompting, he sits on the bed’s edge, utterly transfixed on the link that connects your bodies. It’s like the simple contact placed a spell over him. You take a seat by his side, retrieving your hand while you do so. He almost reaches to take it back before thinking better of it.

“There must be something pretty serious going on,” you point out. “What is it?”

“It’s… a heavy subject matter. I wouldn’t want to unnecessarily burden you.”

You hold up your left hand for him. In doing so, the diamond on your wedding ring catches the moonlight and gleams. “Is this just for show, then? Marriage is about sharing burdens.”

He chuckles softly, though there’s a certain melancholy to the sound. “I thought you didn’t like to consider me your husband.”

“The Catholic Church frowns on divorce. Now, enough with trying to change the subject,” you maintain unwavering eye contact. “There are a lot of people who rely on Passione, and you, by extension. You keep the worst of things in check. I might have my… reservations about the specifics, but even I can’t deny that.”

Taking a deep breath, you add, “So, if talking might help you, then… talk. There’s too much at stake to get caught up in petty feelings.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, contemplating. He’s always been one to indulge you whenever he can, especially since you rarely ask for anything.

“Alright. I’ll tell you on one condition, although I must insist on not getting into the details.”

You squirm in your seat. “And said condition is…?”

There’s a mischievous tint to his eyes when he reopens them. “Have you been waiting for me all night? Answer truthfully.”

“I haven’t—!”

“Truthfully, [First].”

You huff and cross your arms over your chest. “... Yes.”

Instead of teasing you, as he enjoys doing, he gives you a gentle smile. The kind he reserves solely for you. He squeezes your hand but doesn’t allow his touch to overstay its welcome. He could take so much more from you and still, he exercises restraint. Is it because it’d shatter the illusion that he was doing all of this to ‘keep you safe’ if he acted on carnality? His commitment to the farce is almost enough to convince you.

“Thank you, regardless of whatever the reason for it may have been,” Giorno’s sincerity is undeniably stirring. This is the Don of Passione — a man who can win over the undying loyalty of others within a single conversation. Falling into his rhythm is as easy as breathing, he sets such an enticing tempo.

“You aren’t going back on your word, are you?” You challenge, wanting to distract yourself from this budding feeling in your chest. Whether it be resentment or apathy, he’s capable of chipping away at the walls you form before you realize what’s happening. It should be simple, in theory. Loathing the man who took your freedom and never plans to give it back. It should be very simple.

But when he looks at you as he does now, like he’d reach into his chest and tear out his heart if only you asked, you’re at a loss.

“Giorno? What is it?”

His pupils dilate when his name leaves your lips. This spacing out is unlike him, he’s the keenest person you’ve ever met. It’s the reason why you’ve never been able to get one over him. You’re about to snap your fingers in front of his face when he clears his throat.

“Ah, it’s nothing, just… well… every time I look at you, every time you speak,” he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “I learn what it’s like to fall in love all over again.”

Heat rises to your cheeks and stays there. Exhaustion must be lowering his inhibitions, you can’t fathom him saying this otherwise. The sentiment is always there, playing softly in the background, but now it’s at a volume you can’t drown out. You shiver all over. This is a man who’d make an enemy of the world if it meant winning your favor. Such intensity, such raw attachment, bewilders and leaves you unable to form words.

Seeing the goosebumps on your forearm, he shrugs his wool blazer off and drapes it over your shoulders. His body heat consumes you.

“And of course I won’t go back on my word — not with you. Some setbacks that we thought were coincidences are occurring too frequently to be written off. The natural conclusion is that there’s a mole somewhere in the upper ranks. This betrayal… or the beginnings of one… resurfaces some memories. I intend to see to it quickly.”

As he warned, you’re receiving a sanitized version of the events, but it’s enough to dispel your curiosity. You jump on the chance to move past his unexpected confession. The tender words threatened to give new life to emotions that are better off dead.

“Be as that may, you’ll be no good to anyone if you don’t get enough sleep.”

“I’ve been taking naps when the time allows.”

“That isn’t good enough,” you protest. “You might have youth on your side, but that doesn’t mean you can’t work yourself into an early grave. Properly caring for yourself is a part of the job.”

Giorno seems to find your insistence amusing. He covers a smile with his hand, laughing lightly to himself. It’s during these displays of boyish charm that his many daunting titles melt away. You’re forcefully drawn back into the rose-colored days of your fledgling love, when his true identity remained a secret, and you saw only what he wanted you to see. What you wouldn’t give to rewind time and relive it again. Long walks on the beach with the Tyrrhenian Sea’s mist kissing your cheeks, morning dates at your favorite caffé where you’d tease him for always ordering the same drink… it was paradise in more ways than one.

Alas, once you’ve been forcefully ejected from the Garden of Eden, the gate to return is shut for eternity.

When Giorno recomposes himself, he breaks the silence.

“I’m truly grateful that you haven’t changed.”

“Hm?”

You tilt your head. That wistful expression of his punctures your heart, no matter how hard you try to turn the organ to stone.

“I was prepared for anything. For you to curse me, hate me. I anticipated and accepted the possibility. What I feared most, though, was the thought of you losing what makes you… well, you. It’d be understandable, given the circumstances, but… the warmth you radiate is as strong as ever. I’m glad.”

Unable to withstand the weight of his gaze, you avert your attention to your lap, head hanging low.

“That’s a selfish thing to want, considering everything.”

If it hurts you to say it, you can only imagine how it makes him feel.

He inhales sharply. “I know. I’m plenty selfish when it comes to you.”

This admission takes you aback. Never has he been so forthcoming about his motivation, not without interweaving sugary sentiments to make the sour truth more palatable. There was always a convenient excuse. That your romantic relationship with him puts you in danger, how this arrangement is to ensure your safety, on and on the list of sickeningly sweet platitudes would go. The puzzle pieces he provided never fit properly.

The word ‘selfish’ completes the otherwise unfinished picture.

“You were right. Talking to you does help,” Giorno admits. By the way he says it, you’d think you had just magically solved every problem and tied it up in a bow.

“Honestly, I don’t think I did much of anything.”

He sighs at that. You could insult him at the top of your lungs and he wouldn’t flinch, but the moment you’re the least bit critical of yourself, he takes it as a personal offense.

“Not many people are willing to scold me for not taking care of myself. In fact… you might be the only one,” he muses.

Your heart sinks and you curl your hands into fists. The nails digging into your palm may hurt, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of your soul. For all he knows about you, Giorno Giovanna is almost an enigma, as far as you’re concerned. The most minuscule acts of kindness stuck out to him like glittering treasures. When you made him home-cooked meals, called him to ask about his day, picked up on the changes in his mood; there’d be this aura of reverence about him.

How must a person grow up to be in awe of what you’ve always considered to be the bare minimum?

“On the topic of being selfish, there is something else I want.”

Perhaps in your sentimentality, you’ve been spoiling him too much.

“What do you— eek!”

Strong arms secure themselves around your form and pull you in close. Your eyes widen, lips parting to release protests that never form. Giorno’s body may seem lithe, but he has no issues maneuvering your body as if you were a ragdoll. Still, he treats you with the utmost care, rubbing his hands over your back in a soothing motion. You’re certain if you made a fuss, he’d let you go. You can’t find the motivation to do so. The two of you are exhausted, for reasons that differ and overlap.

While you don’t reciprocate his embrace, you don’t try to wriggle out of it. This is reason enough for him to tighten his grip.

… Indeed, he is acting rather spoiled.

“Are you fed up with me?” He asks.

“I’m slowly getting there.”

You feel his chest rumble when he chuckles. “Bear with me just a while longer, then.”

His lips brush over your forehead in a daring kiss. Your muscles go taut and your heart hammers hard enough that you can hear it. He allows himself to linger there a while longer, though he makes no attempts to repeat the act. Instead, he soaks in your presence, each second worth its weight in gold.

“Giorno?”

He hums, showing you have his rapt attention.

“About what you said earlier,” there’s a tremble in your voice you can’t hide, owing to the tightness in your throat, “I haven’t ever hated you. I… I don’t think I can.”

His breath hitches.

“But… I do know I can’t love you the way I used to either.”

“Do you want to?”

“Sometimes.”

“And that scares you, doesn’t it?”

“... Yes.”

Giorno knows you from the inside out. Everything you consist of, from your best to your worst qualities, he’s seen it all. If you ever broke, he could rebuild you again from memory alone. That’s why despite everything, being vulnerable around him comes naturally. Caring about him too, no matter how you try to twist your reasoning to make yourself feel better. Once you’ve given someone your heart, taking it back in its entirety is impossible, some pieces will remain in their possession.

“It’s alright, no matter what conclusion you arrive at,” he decides. He buries his nose in the crown of your head. “So long as you’re alive and well, I can accept anything.”

Much to his surprise, you rest your head against his chest, the strength to hold yourself upright steadily draining. He readjusts his hold to ensure you’re as comfortable as you can be.

“It must be sad, thinking the way you do.”

From how little a reaction he gives, you almost think he didn’t hear you.

“A little,” he admits after a thoughtful pause. “Being without you, though… that’d be far, far worse.”

If reentry to the Garden is denied, then he’ll replicate its beauty to give the impression you never left.

#giorno x reader #yandere giorno x reader #jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #yandere x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere #yandere giorno giovanna x reader #commissions #my stuff

437 notes · View notes

swirlpops · 1 year

Text

jjba & you: fall dates edition.

Another season, another round of D A T E S with some of our faves. HAPPY FALL AND SHIT, Y’ALL.

> all characters 21+.

> characters: bruno, abbacchio, gyro, jotaro, josuke, doppio/diavolo, diego, giorno, kakyoin, poly caesar & joseph.

> gender-neutral reader.

> sfw fluff, tender and warming for the soul.

(> if you're interested, a summer dates edition with our darling bruno, is here!)

bruno bucciarati ; farmer’s market

Bruno had always loved the hustle and bustle of the farmer's market. Amidst a cacophony of hellos, he would blaze a trail of taste testing and sightseeing, taking in all the market had to offer. Today, you were by his side as he showed you his favorite stalls. "That one over there," he says, pointing one hand and gently resting the other on your shoulder, "has divine maple butter pastries. The farmer makes them fresh every morning." He ushers you to another stall, dotted with bouquets and fairy lights even in the gentle light of morning. "And this one has flowers that are homegrown here in Napoli, picked at the break of dawn."

The sight of such a diverse array of flowers catches you off guard – mums painted with deep burgundy, sunflowers soaked in the last vestiges of early autumn sun. Bruno hums over the selection and plucks a violet dahlia; its center is smattered with brilliant gold. He tucks it behind your ear and smiles warmth down at you – undoubtedly, the most beautiful flower of them all.

leone abbacchio ; fall shopping

At the craft fair, the fragrance of candles poured with apples, leaves, and candy corn float through endless rows of fall decor. Leone wrinkles his nose as you enter a particularly robust row, and casually takes your hand in his. It’s calloused and rough; the arbiter of a small token of affection doled out in carefully placed intervals. It’s ok – you don’t mind. “Why do people make these damn candles so strong?” he grumbles to himself. However, a small, white pumpkin tufted from scratchy felt steals his attention. He picks it up with his other hand, inspecting it as he holds it up to the crisp light of the low autumn sun. “This is cute,” he says under his breath, almost loathe in his admittance. “Let’s put it on our mantle. It'll look nice above the fire.”

gyro zeppeli ; bonfires & s’mores

"No no no," Gyro titters at you. "You have to smush it like this." He presses his palms together, melding gooey layers of graham cracker, scorched marshmallow, and rich milk chocolate. "The flavors have to bloom!" he continues, stressing each word as he gesticulates. "They have to bloom and grow, so you can stick it in your mouth for it explode with a big boom from the taste of it and–"

You stare at Gyro, mouth agape, as he waxes poetic about the wonders of s'mores technique. The bonfire he so skillfully built was licking its flames to the night sky, acting like it was protesting his lecture. Shadows play across his face, but you notice something amidst the embers' glow.

"Gyro," you interrupt.

"What?"

"You have chocolate on your nose."

"I do?" He swoops in to bring his face close to yours, and playfully rubs the tip of his nose against your own. "Well, so do you."

jotaro kujo ; apple cider

Quiet mornings are always spent together, perusing the daily newspaper on the porch. Morning fog sets the scene, rolling over fireburnt foliage and quaint cottages to douse the horizon with a cozy, picturesque atmosphere. Jotaro looks across at you, deep in the headlines of today's paper. He takes note of your concentration – brows furrowed, eyes scanning, and lips parted and soft from the touch of apple cider kissed along them. His own mug is warm and steaming, with tendrils of heat unfurling to befriend the rolling fog. Eyes still on you, he lifts his mug to his mouth. He takes a moment to relish the taste – but its sweetness holds no candle to the sacred ritual of sharing his mornings with you.

josuke higashikata ; pumpkin patch

With all the countenance of an overexcited puppy, Josuke tugs on the hem of your marigold sweater to pull you in the direction of the hayrides. He drags you over rows of pumpkins dusted with nighttime dew; vines snag your ankles as the crunch of leaves lead you to a farmtruck stuffed with bales of hay. Easy as could be, he grabs your waist and lifts you clean off your feet, settling you onto the back of the truck. The low full moon shines its favor on the both of you when you share a tender gaze.

“Are you ready?” he asks, gently resting his hands on your knees while his cheeks bloom with blush. “As I’ll ever be,” you respond with a smile, reaching your hand out to him. He smiles back, wide and beautiful, as he takes your hand to climb aboard and join you.

vinegar doppio/diavolo ; haunted house

Trembling like a fieldmouse at harvest, Doppio latches onto your arm. "I bet another monster is going to hop out any minute," he laments. "I can't take this!" He buries his face into your shoulder and rubs it, wiping away the tears threatening to spill. "We shouldn't have came…"

You reach up to stroke the wild pink fluorescence of Doppio’s hair while you both round a corner into a small and empty room. "They're just actors!" you say, laughing in jest. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

All Doppio could do was quiver in the dim light of the haunted house; he whimpers and grips you tighter. "I mean… I could protect you too, you know."

"Is that so?"

You swore you could see a familiar glint in his eye. Doppio nods, and his body starts to grow larger as he does so. You lean back when you feel a heavy presence – though at this point, you supposed you were used to it.

A muscular arm pushes you against the wall to trap you between a rock and a hard place. Who you knew as Diavolo was now pressed against you, with his arm bracing the wall to cage you in. "Oh?" says a deep voice. "What’s this?” His tone is smooth and dangerous, and the touch of his trailing hand evaporates down your cheek. "Lost in a sea of wolves, little lamb?"

diego brando ; trick or treat

“This is stupid.”

Diego huffs as he enters the room, clad in a comically oversized dinosaur suit from head to toe. "Remind me again, why am I doing this?"

In your Jurassic Park ranger costume, you giggle at the sight of Diego, who so courteously succumbed to your request. "Look at you, oh my god!" you say excitedly. "You'll be a hit at all the houses! We're gonna get so much candy, just you watch."

Diego waddles over to you, and you can practically see the scowl on his face through his getup. "I can barely breathe," he complains. "What a stupid tradition."

"It'll be fun, I promise. And you can always take off your little dino head, you know.”

No more permission is needed – he pulls it off with zero hesitation. “Done,” he says, making his way to the overflowing candy bowl in your foyer. "An hour is my absolute limit, mind you."

You follow alongside him, pouting and affectionately pinching his cheek. "Aw, Diego – a little bit longer? Please? For me?"

He picks up a miniature candy bar and tosses it in the air. With a deft hand he grabs it, then squeezes it out its wrapper, sending it flying to catch in his mouth. “Well, if it's for you I suppose I could," he says through a mouthful of sickly sweet chocolate. "Right. Let’s get on with it, then.”

giorno giovanna ; carving pumpkins

Tongue peeking out in concentration, Giorno carves into the delicate stencil pasted on his pumpkin. Ambitious as always, the pattern is intricate – inlaid with roses aplenty and labor intensive vines. The only sounds in the room are hushed breaths and the drag of carving knives ripping into the pumpkins' soft flesh.

"How's it coming?" you ask, peering over your own pumpkin.

"Almost there," Giorno replies, with his eyes trained on his handiwork. "How about you?

“Uh…” You take a moment to tilt your head and appraise your progress. It’s a bit jagged and roughshod, but it still retains the likeness of a classic jack o'lantern.

Giorno scoots over in his chair and leans into your shoulder to take a peek for himself. “Looking spooky,” he says with a half grin. “I love it.”

“Thanks!” you say, as you go back to hacking into its eye. “But honestly, this part is a little tough to cut through. Do you mind giving me a hand?”

He places his hand on top of yours, grasping your keyhole saw alongside you, and presses a gentle kiss into your temple. “Allow me,” he says, melting all of your woes in one fell swoop.

noriaki kakyoin ; apple picking

A dappling of light scatters through a grove of apple trees. The air is fresh and crisp; your baskets overflow with apples speckled in sap. The best part of it all, is getting a lift on Noriaki’s shoulders – a far better option than scrambling up wooden ladders laden with splints.

From your perch, he runs his hands down your calves, looking up in adoration to observe as you pluck a particularly juicy looking apple. After a small wiggle to position yourself, you tug the fruit from its spot on the branch. It falls into your hand with a satisfying plop.

“That one’s pretty big,” he notes. “Maybe we should eat that one first.”

“A good plan, I think,” you say. You give it a quick wipe on your sleeve, then bend over so you can present it in front of his mouth. He smiles with serenity, appreciative of your offer. His eyes lock on yours as he tilts his head forward, sinking his teeth into the ripe flesh. A trickle of juice runs down the side of his mouth, and he can’t help but laugh through the burst of apple. Everything always tastes better when it's with you.

caesar zeppeli & joseph joestar ; soapmaking

The hustle and bustle of people milling around your soapmaking class was the perfect diversion for Joseph’s latest caper – which was to annoy you and Caesar. Simply put, it was business as usual.

Caesar slipped on a pair of gloves, but the looming figure behind him snatched his attention from pouring his lye. “I can see you, Jojo,” he said, looking over his shoulder in annoyance. “We can both see you.”

Your head was also turned – you were well versed enough to recognize Joseph’s ways. His face stretched in a wide, suspicious smile, and his hands remained hidden behind his back. "No need to get your eyes checked, then!” he exclaimed in a singsong voice, cheesy as ever. “Look at my two favorite lovely people, being so cute, making the best soap–”

Caesar rolled his eyes and turned back to his work. Leaning over to you, he spoke, “If we ignore him, he just might go away.”

“Caesar,” Joseph whined, “I’m right here! I can hear you!”

“Good,” said Caesar.

Joseph whipped his arms from behind his back, brandishing a heart-shaped bar of soap in each hand. "Fine," he pouted. "I was going to give you two these, but since you're being so mean…"

Your heart melted on sight. Though they looked… suspicious, to say the least, they were still a token of Joseph's affection. "That's so cute, Jojo!" you exclaimed happily.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," grumbled Caesar – but he couldn't even begin to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks.

678 notes · View notes

mlimby · 1 year

Text

JJBA Character Model Studies/Analysis (only Part 5)

Hi, this post is just me praising the art direction in the “Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure” fighting games “Eyes of Heaven” and “All Star Battle”. Don’t know if this has been done before but I’ve been thinking about this so much.

One thing I love about the character design in these games is that they avoid same-face-syndrome. Each character is given unique facial features AND retains their part’s art style “quirk”, I guess you could call it, that anime/manga sometimes struggles with (due to the nature of the genre.) This is the closest to canon appearance descriptors that we are going to get that are not the basic things like height, hair color, eye color, etc. I’m talking like face shapes and whatnot.

Since the Part 5 cast are my favorites, I’m going to be using them as my examples. Yes, I am starved of Part 5 content.

Each image I use is going to be from a GTA 3 mod page (which I will source at the end of this post cause don’t you want to play as them in GTA?) since it’s the clearest and most consistent set of close up images I could find lol.

Giorno:

Round, hooded(?), soulful, watery, wet beast eyes (his iris and pupils take up most of the space in his eyes)

Winner of wettest most watery eyes on the team

Very angled, blocked in eyebrows

Heart shaped face (widest at the forehead with pointy chin) very much emphasized by his cornet hair

Square jaw

Big ole rounded ears that stick out (Second biggest ears on team)

Slightly wider nose relative to the width of his mouth but overall balanced facial features

The way his suit is modeled gives him kind of a blocky appearance and make his limbs look shorter

Short fingers

In all, they gave him a very rounded/blunt appearance

I don’t believe in kibbe typing but, Soft Natural

Bucciarati:

Horizontally long, almond shaped eyes with visible double eyelid (smaller iris and pupils leave most of the white showing)

Has the second driest eyes on the team (only behind Mista)

Super thin, straight eyebrows that are more filled in towards the front (probably drew them on)

Thinner, oval face shape I think (pulls off the blunt bangs and bob cut very well good for him!)

Has a wider mouth and super full lips

Thin and long nose (emphasizing longer mid face makes him look more mature)

He got small bones

Well tailored suit (compared to Giorno’s somewhat ill fitted modified school uniform)

Long, slender fingers

Sleek, modern, and sharp impression

Probably Dramatic Classic lol

Fugo

Round/almond shaped eyes with visible double eyelid (smaller iris and pupils with most of the white showing)

Very long, angled, eyebrows but not as fat as Giorno’s

I’d like to say he has an oblong face shape plus IMAX forehead (sorry)

More v shaped jaw most similar to Bucciarati

Similar facial feature placement to Bucciarati but has a slightly more rounded nose tip and a not as pinched nose bridge

Big ole hands and fingers

Lanky teenage boy archetype

Very rectangular but slightly more blunt than sharp

Flamboyant Natural or straight up Dramatic probably

Narancia

Big round eyes with visible double eye lid but his iris and pupil still leave a lot of white showing (biggest eyes on team)

Big ears like huge ears (biggest ears on team)

Really thick and noticeable bottom lashes

Second place for most watery eyes on the team (I’d describe them as more sparkly and alert than watery I suppose)

Thin but angled eyebrows

Oval face shape but no sharp or hard edges just round (retains the most facial baby fat)

V shaped/rounded jaw but not as defined

Lips similar in proportion to Giorno’s but with a more defined cupid’s bow

Shorter limbs

Smaller hands with smaller fingers

He’s not short! He’s compact!

He’s like a small rock to me just all muscle but thin

Like how monkeys have super compact muscles that make their limbs appear thin but they’re actually super strong and can do unspeakable damage

Flamboyant Gamine

I’ll add more of the team in a later reblog of this post or a separate one I don’t know.

Image Sources: (all by Alessandar212)

#jojo’s bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part 5 #jjba #jjba part 5 #giorno giovanna #vento aureo #golden wind #bruno bucciarati #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga #mlramble #jjba analysis #wall of text #text post #personal

40 notes · View notes

ironleonine · 5 months

Note

“ it’s about time someone puts you in your place . ” // said very casually to alessi lol

❝– well look at this, got a little town hero, do we? ❞ ALESSI'S FORM RISES, with what he lacked in intimidating size was his unsettling aura, the way he looked down at GIORNO, if not eye to eye with him when he stood up straight, which only deepened his sudden resentment towards this kid, for not just sticking his nose in, he wasn't sure who this kid was, or who he thought he was. but him and his guts piss him off. THE SCHOOL PAIR who had looked too frightened to move, as though they were two mice under a snake's approaching stare, the little bastards has thrown gum away, and it had stuck to his expensive boot. an overreaction? possibly, but the fact he could acknowledge his own flaws meant he had to have been sound mind. ALESSI approached the blonde, letting his eyes peer over honey-tinted glasses, his trinkets sway with the motion of his tilting head.

❝– little big for our boots, are we? love the confidence kid... but for your sake, i'd turn that ass around, and beat it. this has nothing to do with you.❞

threatening & aggressive sentence starters

#( oh for him to learn this is a son iof dio )#( since i believe he went into hiding after being retired and simply went on the run )#( ask. )#( but oh i cant wait to see how you kick his ass )

2 notes · View notes

earthbovndmisfit · 2 years

Note

How do you think Speedwagon would have reacted to Giorno? On one hand, there's that whole mess with Dio, but on the other... Giorno acts so much like Jonathan sometimes. He even has Hamon-like powers

I love to think Speedwagon might have seen himself in Giorno too. They'd probably be friends!

(Also I replied to your ask a while back, I hope you saw it!)

I'm gonna clarify this first since it's gonna play a role in my answer but, despite the fandom often considering Giorno as "Jonathan's son too", in reality and canonly, Giorno is Dio's son. Araki has confirmed this in some interviews, and also every canon Giorno bio also specifies that he is Dio's son (he is biologically a Joestar since Jonathan's body was "used" merely as an instrument, and also officially/legally because Dio became a Joestar when he was legally adopted by George I in PB).

With that established, I feel like Giorno and Speedwagon would get along incredibly well! Speedwagon would be SHOCKED at first because, well, it was thanks to Dio surviving again and stealing Jonathan's corpse that Giorno eventually came to exist. He would be very wary at first too due to Giorno being Dio's son and all the potential implications of that (I mean, the Brando family isn't precisely known for being friendly and kind). Sooner than later though, Spw's acute nose would tell him that, unlike Dio and his rancid vibes, Giorno seems to be a good kid. Once he learns about his background, the fact that Dio """"surprisingly"""" never was part of his life, Gio's relationship (or lack thereof) with his mother, and etc, I feel like Speedwagon would come to feel sympathy for the kid and, like you said, he'd come to see himself in him to some extent. I headcanon that Speedwagon was orphaned as a child, so he definitely knows the pain and suffering that comes as a result of missing one or both parental figures, being thrown into the world on your own and having to grow up quicker than most and having to fend for yourself from such a tender age. It is also implied that he went through several bad experiences with people from upper classes, loathing them to the point where he doesn't mind cutting a bitch down to shreds for something as "simple" as setting foot in his territory and etc, so its safe to assume that different forms of abuse have been a constant in some points of his life, similar in some way to what Giorno had to face since he was a child as well from his neglectful mother and step-father, feeling like he was all alone and no one to look after him.

Then there's also the fact that both have resorted to crime as a result of their less than fortunate backgrounds and also their approach to that as well. Survival of the fittest is one of the best ways you can describe what living in Ogre Street is like, and it was kind of a similar scenario for Giorno despite the latter growing up in a less hostile environment in general. Giorno and him both seem protective of those who they hold dear, showing a deep sense of gratitude towards those who selflessly help them and, eventually, using their acquired power to ensure the wellbeing of others, usually their loved ones. They are also both very determined guys, hard working, coming across as friendly/amicable if you're on good terms with them but having this "no shit taking" policy that they stick closely to, ready to throw hands if they have to.

And lets not forget that Speedwagon would definitely remind Giorno of a very special certain someone....

Not only because of their general looks and appearance, but also in some aspects of their personality, traits and flaws, the fact that they're both some gang lords and etc.

I really feel like the connection would be almost immediate (once they get past the "shocked" stage), not forced, and 100% organic. They would get along really well, and I can see Speedwagon going fucking bonkers once he sees what Golden Experience can do (and I can't help but think it would be a similar case with Jonathan lol), if he somehow manages to see stands as, sadly, only stand users can see stands, but heeeeeeey, it's a bizarre universe so, who knows? Maybe they can find a way?? There's the stand arrow after all...

@untitledfredd8

52 notes · View notes

soupbabe · 2 years

Note

If I may, the Jojos reacting to a reader that is a strong stubborn bastard that always insists that they’re fine even if they’re not. like they could have tears streaming down their face and still be like “i’m fine 😐.” like dude,,, you don’t have to be strong all the frickin’ time just let me hug you >:(

The Jojos with a Stubborn! Reader

Featuring: Jonathan Joestar, Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo, Josuke Higashikata, Giorno Giovanna, and Jolyne Cujoh

My first time writing for Jolyne let's gooo!!

Jonathan Joestar

- Oh nothing is getting past him

- Like he wouldn't push too much, but he knows something is wrong and will remind you that he's always there for you

- Though he can always be stern when the situation really calls for it, like when you're physically hurt

- Even then it's nothing too harsh, it's more of a mom going "I'm not mad just disappointed" vibe

- If you're really going through it he'll just pull you in a hug, telling you about how great you are and how much you love him

Joseph Joestar

- He's much more upfront about his approach

- Type of guy to annoy you until you tell him

- Joseph would put you in a fireman carry, ignoring any pleas, only giving a "No can do, Sweetheart! Unless you tell your dear boyfriend what's wrong!"

- Ngl he treats you like a baby if you're not saying anything when he knows something's up 💀

- You know how he was tapping Santana's nose and just goofing off? Yeah he does that to you </3

- It's nothing malicious or meant to be Taunting though! If he knows he can't get anything out of you, he'd rather just go ahead and cheer you up still

Jotaro Kujo

- Oh no you two are the same person

- But Jotaro cares deeply about you, his approach is surprisingly sweet

- A major plus to having Star Platinum is an increase in picking up small details, so nothing would get past him

- He'd walk in on you crying and when he asks if you're alright and you brush of off like normal, he'd immediately call you out on your bullshit

- If you still insist that you're fine, he'd, without word, pull you into a comforting hug and give a kiss to your temple. A silent way of him giving you full permission to let everything out to him

Josuke Higashikata

- He's such a sweetheart omg

- Similarly to Jonathan, he wouldn't push too much, but remind you that you're safe with him

- You also notice him being more affectionate!

- Giving you a flower or two, walking you to classes, even giving you small kisses to help cheer you up when he noticed that you're going through something

- And when you do finally decide to open up to him, he'd drop everything he was focused on to focus on you

Giorno Giovanna

- He can understand you to an extent as someone who hides his feelings

- He's also very patient with you, though just know he notices everything

- His care is very quiet, he doesn't really give you constant reminders like Josuke or Jonathan

- If he notices you hurt and you brush it off, without warning Giorno is coming up to you to have you healed

- When he notices your day being less than favorable, he'll stick by you more often, holding and squeezing your hand in reassurances and comfort

Jolyne Cujoh

- She might get a little frustrated tbh

- Like all she wants is to be there for you and it feels like you're shutting her out when there's something obviously wrong

- I could see her taking the Joseph route and doing something until you confess about your true feelings

- I can imagine the only thing that annoys you enough or breaks your stubborn behavior is her relentless calling of really cheesy romantic nicknames, similarly to the ones she used to make towards Romeo

- But they never stick as she immediately gets down to helping you once your facade cracks, giving you all the care needed

380 notes · View notes

lunamusings · 2 years

Text

A Few Head Canon Hills I Am Willing to Die On:

Mista Version

* The man is not stinky or adverse to bathing. He smelled like anyone would after 8 days of minimal chances to shower while wearing clothes that don’t breath well. Trish got switched into his body at the worst time and is likely one of those people who reapplies perfume when she cannot smell it on herself (it hasn’t actually worn off, you just become nose-dead to it). I do think he’s not a cologne kind of guy and in my fic verse, heavily scented products make him itch and break out.

* Catching ricocheting or deflected bullets is not the same as shooting yourself. I know it’s a joke mostly but dear lord, give the man a break.

* As much as the thought is appealing, Mista would not go commando.

A) He wears leather pants and given what I know about garment construction, the crotch seam would be a chaffing nightmare. Huge potential for being rubbed raw by a minimally finished seam.

B) Man puts his dang revolver down there and is pretty dang hairy. Pubes and tiny mechanisms which they can get caught in don’t mix. Pull that out to quickly and it’s taking hairs with it.

And C) His pants are loose enough he can crouch freely, but still somewhat form fitting (something I have to suspend disbelief about). Wearing some sort of underwear would lessen the need for powdering his nethers and possibly thighs to actually get in them, as skin oils can make leather and similar non-woven or knit fabrics stick. If he keeps his personal care simple or is non-existent as some suggest, he isn’t getting into those dang things while free-balling. At least not easily and I do have to admit, the thought of Mista falling over daily trying to put his pants on is pretty funny.

* He is a goofball, but an actually functioning adult goofball, and likely the most functional of the adult members of the Bucci gang. While he seemed to mostly be on his own at 17, he didn’t seem to have the kind of childhood trauma like Bruno, Fugo, Narancia or Giorno, so he probably picked up normal life skills. He would likely have decent domestic skills, no setting the kitchen on fire here. He has his nonna’s recipes and he knows how to use them. He knows how to keep a house, it’s just giving him the right motivation that’s the trick.

#guido mista #guido mista headcanons #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyō na bōken #vento aureo #i may know too much about leather pants #despite never owning any

49 notes · View notes

lady-wallace · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021 Masterpost

My official master post for Whumptober 2021 (Linked to Ao3)

(Note: I am putting only the prompts I used for each day + fandom/character for easy reference)

~~~~~~~~~~~

1: All Trussed Up and Still Nowhere to Go-- (”you have to let go”) JJBA Pt5: Trish

2: Talking is Overrated-- (garrote, choking) JJBA Pt2: Caesar

3: Sticks and Stones May Break my Bones But...-- (insults, ‘who did this to you?’) Supernatural: Cas

4: Trust Fall-- (’do you trust me?’, taken hostage) JJBA Pt5: Abbacchio

5: I’ve Got Red in My Ledger-- (betrayal, misunderstanding, broken nose) JJBA Pt5: Prosciutto

6: Touch and Go-- (bruises, touch starved, hunger) Supernatural: Sam

7: My Spidey-Sense is Tingling-- (helplessness, numbness, blindness) JJBA Pt4(ish): Jolyne

8: Coughing Up a Lung-- (pneumothorax, definitely just a cold) JJBA Pt5: Abbacchio

9: Rumors of my Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated-- (presumed dead, (blind) rage, tears) JJBA Pt2: Caesar

10: Oops, I Did it Again-- (hospital, flare-up, ice chips) JJBA Pt4: Josuke

11: Just Keep Swimming-- (drowning) Supernatural: Dean

12: It’ll Be Fun, They Said-- (torture, made to watch, begging) JJBA Pt5: Abbacchio & Narancia

13: That’s Gonna Leave a Mark-- (’this is gonna suck’, cauterization) JJBA Pt5: Mista

14: Under Pressure-- (crush injuries) JJBA Pt5: Risotto

15: Feed a Cold, Starve a Fever-- (delirium, fever dreams, bees) Supernatural: Cas

16: On a Need to Know Basis-- (recovery, scars, aftermath) JJBA Pt3: Kakyoin

17: Field Care 101-- (’please don’t move!’, hemorrhage, dread) JJBA Pt7: Gyro

18: The Doctor is In-- (’now smile for the camera’, doctor’s visit) JJBA Pt5: Giorno & Mista

19: Just a Scratch-- (bleeding) Merlin: Lancelot

20: Lost & Found-- (trunk) Supernatural: Sam

21: That’s Where the Blood’s Supposed to Be-- (bleeding through the bandages, pressure, blood-matted hair) JJBA Pt5: Bucciarati

22: They Made Me Do It-- (demon) JJBA Pt3: Jotaro & Kakyoin

Mask Off (3-Parter) JJBA Pt5: Giorno & Fugo

-23: You Break It, You Buy It-- (auction, pursuit)

-24: One Down, Two to Go-- (self-inflicted injuries to escape, flashback, revenge)

-Alternate Prompt #8: Comfort

*25: Hide and Seek (Part 1/2)-- (escape, hiding) Supernatural: Sam

26: You Will go Down With This Ship-- (fallen, waterfall) Merlin: Lancelot

27: I’m Fine, I prom...-- (passing out, vertigo, collapse) JJBA Part 5: Fugo

28: It’s Not Just in Your Head-- (’good, you’re finally awake’, nightmares, panic) JJBA Part 8: Josefumi

29: All Work and No Play--(overworked) JJBA Part 4: Rohan

29: All Work and No Play (2)--(’you’re still not dead?’, too weak to move) JJBA Part 3: Jotaro

*30: Digging Your Grave (Part 2/2)-- (left for dead, ghosts) Supernatural: Dean

31: Hurt & Comfort-- (disaster zone, trauma, prisoner) JJBA Part 5: Giorno

#whumptober 2021 #masterlist #masterpost #jjba fanfiction #spn fanfiction #merlin fanfiction #whumptober completionist

27 notes · View notes

fangirlshrewt97 · 3 years

Text

The Early Bird Gets the Kiss (Not the Water Bucket)

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Pairing: Joe x Nicky

Read on AO3

///

Joe did not even stir when Nicky flung the curtains open, letting in the bright Mediterranean sunshine. Unclasping the window allowed the breeze to gently drift into the bedroom, accompanied faintly by the sounds of humanity from the streets below. They had spent yesterday recovering from the jet lag of travelling from Santiago to Granada, but Nicky was determined to visit the Alcaiceria today.

Moving towards the bed, Nicky sat down softly. Joe had since curled into Nicky’s spot from where he had left him on the other side of the bed this morning. Reaching out, Nicky gently ran his fingers through Joe’s thick curls, taking care not to tug on them. Joe let out a pleased sound and stretched his neck, seeking more of the affection Nicky was only too happy to give. Nicky spent some minutes just sitting there, petting Joe’s hair, until the sound of something breaking elsewhere in the house brought him back to Earth. Hopefully that was Nile and not the stray cat she had brought in last night. They had promised Nile they’d show her around the city, since it was her first time here. The girl had been excited enough to promise to wake up early for them, as Nicky had said the market could be enjoyed best in the morning before it got too crowded. It was only fair Joe got up too.

Leaning down, Nicky placed a gentle kiss on top of the light wrinkles next to Joe’s eyes. They were one of Nicky’s favorite parts of Joe, evidence of a first life so filled with joy the lines had etched themselves onto his beloved’s face for a thousand years.

“mmmhmmm” Joe slurred as he turned his head to bury himself deeper into the pillow. Huffing a laugh, Nicky kept kissing the patches of skin he could reach, moving from cheek to forehead to neck to the back of Joe’s ear. “-olo….”

“Buono giorno, ya amar. Time to get up.” Nicky whispered to Joe.

“mmmhhhmmmm. Five minutes.”

Nicky laughed. “As if it’s ever five minutes with you Joe.”

“Three minutes.”

Shoulders shaking with withheld laughter, Nicky gently pressed his hand more firmly into Joe’s hair, squeezing the curls once.

“Colo!” Joe sleep-shouted.

“Up, Joe!”

“Three minutes. Promise.” Joe said, face scrunched up as he fought to keep his eyes closed.

Sighing, Nicky released his hold on Joe’s hair, ignoring the whine from his husband as he got up and opened their bags. If Joe was going to insist on delaying in bed, and he always did, might as well set every thing out for him to save the time later. Once he had laid out the short-sleeved button up and jeans, as well as Joe’s favorite baseball cap, he removed Joe’s toiletries, setting them up in their bathroom with a spare towel from the closet.

When he went back to their bedroom, as expected, Joe was still cocooned into his blankets, face half buried. Shaking his head, Nicky went to Joe, placing one hand on his hip. He shook it quickly, shaking Joe with it till Joe let out a long whine. “Colo. You’re so mean.”

“Three minutes are up hayati. I’ve set up everything you need, let’s go.”

Joe remained still under his touch for another moment before he began wiggling. Nicky stood back as Joe untangled himself from the blankets and sat up, leaning against the headboard. He let out a long yawn, one hand lazily rubbing the crust from his eyes. Finally, Joe opened his beautiful obsidian eyes, shining as always with love and life. “Good morning, my love.”

Nicky snorted, shaking his head when Joe held out a hand. “Yes, great morning, it only took me half an hour to wake you up instead of the usual hour. Get up.”

Joe arranged his face into a big pout, bottom lip jutting out as his eyes blinked rapidly. Nicky merely raised an eyebrow at him, refusing to be charmed today. “No. Get up.”

“So cruel to me Nicky. You wound me so early in the day.” Joe exclaimed, dramatically clutching at his heart with one hand while his other arm covered his eyes.

“You better not make me repeat myself Joe.”

Joe peeked one eye out from beneath his arm. “Or?”

“Or I will make you get up this early every day we are here.” Nicky threatened.

Joe gasped, before sticking his tongue out at him.

Nicky rolled his eyes. “It’s not even that early!”

“It’s 7:00 in the morning!”

Nicky raised an eyebrow at him. “Exactly.”

Joe tipped his head back till it hit the wall. “Fine.”

A small smile appeared on Nicky’s face. He leaned to pat Joe’s ankle. “Good. Get up. Nile seems ready to climb the walls out of excitement to see the Alhambra and I do not know how long I will be able to keep her from coming in to deal with you herself.”

Joe sighed, shoulders slumping. “Ok.”

Nodding, Nicky gestured at the chair next to the window. “Your clothes are in the chair, and I’ve already left a towel for you in the bathroom.”

Joe hummed in acknowledgement.

Nicky turned back, placing one hand on his waist. “I swear Joe, if you are not ready in twenty minutes, I will allow Nile to throw a bucket of cold water on you anyways.”

Joe laughed, knowing an empty threat when he heard it. Well. 80% sure it was an empty threat. “Of course.”

Nicky gave him one last look before turning around to leave the room, when Joe’s arm shot out to grab his wrist. Nicky yelped as he nearly went sprawling on the floor. “Joe!”

Once upright, he glared at his husband, only to be met with a sheepish expression. “Sorry.”

“What is it?” Nicky asked, the slightest irritation seeping into his voice.

“You forgot something.” Joe said, as he knelt on the bed to be at eye level with him.

Nicky’s brows furrowed as he ran through a mental checklist. “No I didn’t.”

Joe shook his head. “No, you definitely did.”

Huffing, Nicky asked, “What did I forget?”

Smiling wide enough to hurt his cheeks, Joe cupped Nicky’s face with both hands. “This.”

He leaned in to press a long kiss to Nicky’s lips, filled with so much love that Nicky melted, body tipping forward till it collided with Joe’s who effortlessly maneuvered an arm to wrap around Nicky’s waist. When they parted, they stayed, foreheads pressed together.

“I love you Nicky.” Joe said, before adding impishly, “Even when you forget to kiss me properly in the morning.”

Nicky felt heat painting his cheeks red, but bit his lip. “You are so ridiculous. Go shower.”

Joe nuzzled nose against Nicky’s. “You’re forgiven, even if you haven’t told me you love me.”

Now it was Nicky’s turn to sigh dramatically. He pushed himself away, and schooled his face into as stern a look as he could manage. “Ok enough, get ready, or both Nile and I will throw cold water on you.”

Laughing, Joe nodded. “Yes Nicky.”

Nicky waited till Joe got distracted to dart in to press one last kiss against Joe’s lips. Nicky exited the bedroom with a pleased look on his face.

Now to see if Nile was awake. And check if the damned cat had finally managed to break the ugly flower vase Andy had bought thirty years ago.

#my fic #my writing #the old guard #tog #the old guard fic #yusuf al-kaysani #nicolo di genova #joe x nicky #nicky x joe #kaysanova #let me know what you think!

48 notes · View notes

mvrtaiswriting · 3 years

Text

It’s Christmas time..

I know, I know: Christmas was three days ago! This year has been particularly difficult and I thought it would have been nice of me to make a come back with a short headcanon (Christmas edition!) for each of the Jojos (jonathan - giorno). Most of us had to spend this Christmas alone and away from our loved ones so I guessed this was a cute idea. This is my little gift for you and I hope you enjoy it!

SFW

Trigger Warning: NONE

Jojo x Neutral reader.

Hi! Are you a new reader? Check my masterlist for more content

Please feel free to reblog or leave a comment :) help me support my art (it’s free!), © bearing in mind everything I post/write is my intellectual property so please don’t steal/copy and paste and post it as yours.

Jonathan:

Jonathan would start decorating your house on the 1st of November. He would fill your living room with tiny Christmas lights, hang mistletoe on every chandelier and putting Christmas stickers on every window of the house. Jonathan would absolutely love to decorate the tree with you, putting you on his shoulder to let you reach the higher parts of the tree and enable you to put the star on the very top of it while traditional Christmas songs play in the background. The two of you would spend the Christmas eve in front of your fireplace watching lots of Christmas movies and enjoying some hot chocolates, probably falling asleep before midnight. On Christmas morning, before opening your presents he would kiss your forehead whispering "you're the best present I could ask for". You would spend the rest of the day having lunch with your families (and children, if you’d like to have some!), celebrating Christmas enjoying some quality time with your loved ones.

Joseph:

Joseph would compulsively buy Christmas decorations every time he leaves the house. There would be all sorts of statues of Santa Klaus (some would also be a bit too funny to be exposed) and weird noisy gadgets as a bunch of singing elfs on every piece of forniture. Decorating the Christmas tree with Joseph meant using a LOT of shiny tree decorations and inevitably break some Christmas balls made of glass. The two of you would spend the Christmas eve making biscuits, occasionally ending up with some chocolate on the tip of your nose and simply having fun watching Joseph sticking his tounge out while trying his best while making the biscuits. On Christmas morning, Joseph would wake you up as soon as he opened his eyes: he'd be way too curious to open your present to wait for you to wake up with your own time! After that, your families would come over, enjoying a day filled with cards and board games (and of course, a tasty meal!). ps: also, aspect Joseph to hang mistletoe on himself.

Jotaro:

Jotaro wouldn't be too excited about Christmas. However, he'd love to help you with the various decorations, picking you up to help you reach the tallest parts of your house (or of the tree) you wanted to adorn. He'd also agree on wearing a Santa hat instead of his usual one if you really wanted him to. On Christmas eve, he would surprise you with a special dinner cooked by himself, setting the table with a red tablecloth and some candles. He would stop you from entering the kitchen at first, standing on the threshold of the door. He'd put his index finger under your chin, gently making you lifting your head up and notice the mistletoe above your heads and then proceed with leaving a soft, gentle kiss on your lips. On Christmas morning, Jotaro would wake up before you to wrap up the present he bought you and hid from you until that very moment. Done that, he would lay in bed with you again, taking you in his arms and leaving soft kiss on your neck, cuddling you and waiting for you to wake up. After opening your presents, the two of you would spend the rest of the Christmas day at Holly's and enjoying some family time.

Josuke:

Josuke would continuously sing Christmas songs, taking you by the hand and making you dance around the house. He would absolutely love the Christmas atmosphere and would put a LOT of presents under your Christmas tree. Your house would be fairly decorated inside, with festoons and a big, shiny Christmas tree. The outiside of your house however would look like the Santa Klaus' head quarter: a big sled (with all the 8 reindeers) on the roof your house, lots of fake, sparkly presents in your garden and a giant Christmas garland on your door. You'd spend the Christmas eve watching traditional Christmas movies such as the Grinch. On Christmas day, Josuke would be really excited about opening presents and he would most likely film your reaction while unwrapping them. You'd spend the rest of the day playing the video-games you gifted, ending up being late for the Christmas lunch Koichi invited you at.

Giorno:

Giorno would love Christmas. He wouldn't be too excited about home decorations, but he would LOVE visiting local Christmas markets. He would probably spend Christmas eve out, having dinner in a fancy restaurant and then enjoying a play of the nativity scene or a Christmas play at theatre such as the live-actions of "A Christmas Carol". He would always hold your hand and make sure you're fully protected from the cold, fixing your scarf every now and then. On Christmas day, he'd wake you up with a cup of coffee in bed before unwrapping presents. He would surprise you with a fully italian meal, filling the table with Lasagne and all sorts of italian sweets (Pandoro included!!).

192 notes · View notes

calcifermovesthecastle · 4 years

Text

Comforting a S/O Who just went through something traumatic

Bucciarati, Polnareff, Kakyoin, Josuke, P4Jotaro, Gyro, Giorno,

Warnings: mentions of abuse, injury. Read at your own discretion, I don’t actually write the whole scenario out, just the after effects. I’m kinda using this to help with my own trauma

Jotaro:

-He’s the first person you think of calling, your hands trembling as you try to tell him through the phone what happened.

-obv you break down and he tells you to calm down, he’ll be there soon.

-Stays on the phone with you, just to make sure you’re safe until He can get to you.

-Will put his hands on your shoulders and check over you, making sure you’re not injured.

-if he finds even a hint of a bruise or a cut, he’s mad.

-Especially if it’s caused by someone else.

-Tells you to calm down again, briefly wrapping his arms around you

-His presence is anchoring, and his calm demeanor really helps you wind down from the initial panic reaction.

-He’ll take you back to his place and make sure you eat and drink something before making you lie down, telling you not to worry, he’ll take care of it.

-Will stay with you until he’s comfortable with you being alone.

Kakyoin:

-doesn’t even question why you’re freaking out, is just by your side as soon as possible, making sure you’re physically okay

-If you’re not, he focuses on that first, getting you to a point where you are.

-Tells you to calm down before you try to explain what happened, and will help in whatever way you need.

-Rubs your arms and massages your hands, talking to you if it makes you feel better but keeping quiet if that’s what you prefer.

-”Do you want to come stay with me for a couple days? I just want to make sure you’re safe, and that you’ll be okay.”

-turns into a helicopter boyfriend tbh.

-His presence is quite calming though. He doesn’t outwardly show his emotions and he’s very good about keeping his cool, so having that really helps you get a grip on reality

-If you’re in tears, babe, his shoulder is right there. You don’t have to ask. Cry it out.

-Rest Rest Rest. You need to process, but he knows you’re going to be fatigued after dealing with a life blow like this.

-He takes what you went through and how you deal with it very seriously.

Josuke:

-Bear Hugs. B E A R HUGS. (Josuke is a very touchy feely person, even in Canon. You would know this about him before going into a relationship. his arms will be around you in no time.)

-He will hold you tight, standing or sitting, and let you cry yourself out.

-If you’re injured, he’s already healed you. that’s how this works.

-Listen I love this goofball because he’s a goofball but he also knows when it’s important to be serious, and this is one of those times.

-He gets on your level with things. He can’t help you all the way unless he knows what happened, and when you tell him, he sees red knowing that you’re going to be hurting for a while because of it.

-Seeing you shaken shakes him and it makes him feel better to have you in his arms, but obv if you start to get claustrophobic he’ll let go

-Depending on what the situation was determines how he’ll take care of it. If it was caused by another person, he’ll deal with them himself.

-Don’t expect to leave his arms for the next couple days (Weeks)

-He’s such a teddy bear honestly. Lots of cuddles and distractions. He’ll kick your ass in mario kart and dollop whipped cream on your nose just to kiss it off. You’re sticking close to him.

-He’s going to do everything in his power to make sure you’re safe and to help you recover.

Polnareff:

-Ngl he’s quite nervous and uneasy to see you shaken like this but handles the whole thing with grace.

-He’ll wipe tears off your face and calm you down to the point where you can tell him what happened.

-He wears his heart on his sleeve so he’s going to take care of the cause of the problem before focusing on you.

-once the problem is eliminated, and it can’t traumatize you again, he’s going to swoop you into his arms and press kisses into your temple

-”Hey angel, come stay with me for a few days. I think it’ll help if you have someone you can trust close by.”

-He absolutely will make you hot chocolate and let you cuddle up to him, fall asleep on him, whatever you need. He’s going to be there for you no matter what.

-If he leaves you alone and you start panicking, he’s going to get back to you in no time, cupping your face in his hands and telling you that he’s right here.

-”Hey, angel, I’m going to go cook us some dinner, d’you wanna come join me in the kitchen?”

-Doesn’t want you dealing with any of this pain alone. If he could carry it all for you, he would, but he understands that that’s not how it works. He’ll carry you tho

-Is one of the best people to just sit and talk it out with tbh. He’s a wonderful listener.

Bucciarati:

-You’re knocking (Pounding) on his front door in the middle of the night or smthn

-He answers, half asleep, catching you as you tumble in, in the middle of a panic attack, trying to tell him what happened. He wakes up pretty much immediately when he sees the state you’re in

-Immediately sits you down at his kitchen table, crouching in front of you with your hands in his. Are you injured? If so, where? Is it life threatening? Can he treat it there? Okay he can handle that, let’s get your breathing under control.

-”Hey, hey, look at me. You’re safe now, it’s okay. Deep breath. That’s it, just like that.”

-Probably the best person to calm you down from a panic attack out of everyone on this list tbh.

-Once he’s got you to a point where you’re coherent, he gets the story out of you and tells you not to worry about it, He’s going to take care of it. But right now, he’s more focused on what you need in the moment.

-Cups your face in his hands and tells you he wants you to stay with him, just for a night or two, just so he can keep an eye on you. It’ll also give him time to deal with the situation if he knows you’re in a safe location.

-If you ask, he will let you share his bed. He’ll give you comfortable clothes and tuck you in himself honestly.

-If contact is what you need, he gives it to you, holding you against him, letting you hold on for as long as you need.

-Whatever happens, he does worry about you and cares about you a lot, so just tell him how he can help and he’s going to be there to help.

Giorno:

-He is SO gentle with you.

-You’ll have to seek him out, but he’s the first one you go to, the only one on your mind, and when you find him, you stumble into his arms, freaking out, choking out a few words to give him an idea of what happened.

-If you’re injured and it’s something Gold Experience can fix, he’s going to fix it right away.

-Lets you hold onto him and wear yourself out, stroking your hair, rubbing your back, and murmuring words of comfort to you.

-If you’re in public he’ll guide you somewhere more private so you don’t have to deal with any unwanted attention.

-His touch is feather light, but it also envelopes you in warmth and security. He’s so safe to be around. You’ll calm down fast in his arms.

-”I don’t think it’s a good Idea for you to be alone until we get this settled. Come stay with me for a while.”

-He’ll keep an arm wrapped around your waist while you walk, and if you fall asleep on him, he’s not going to move until you wake up.

-If it was someone else who caused this type of situation, he’s going to deal with them personally. Anybody that makes you hurt like this isn’t safe.

-Gives you as long as you need to process what happened, and is there with you every step of the way. He’s gentle and soft spoken and makes you feel Safe and okay.

Gyro:

-If you need him, he’ll come. He cares deeply for you.

-He will use his steel balls as a tool to get you to calm down so you can tell him what happened.

-Need a hug? His arms are open. He’ll trace circles into the small of your back until you’re quieted down.

-He’ll press his lips into the top of your head and pull you into his lap, checking you over to make sure you aren’t injured. If you are, well, he is a doctor. He can take care of you.

-”Alright, Doll, from the top. What happened?”

-Will continue tracing circles into your body while you tell him what happened, using his thumbs to brush tears out of your eyes, and make sure you get lots of water in you.

-His first priority is making sure you’re safe and cared for. Once those are accounted for, he can focus on what caused the problem. if he can take care of the root of the problem, he’s going to.

-He has no problem letting you lean on him for as long as you need. PDA doesn’t make him claustrophobic, so if anything, if you’re the one who doesn’t want to be touched, tell him, because he’s going to be hanging off of you.

- He won’t tell you not to be upset or scared. If you’re shaken up, he’ll be right there to help you process and recover, no matter the time of day.

-If you’re freaking out, he’s very calm about the whole thing. If you tell him you cant calm down, he’ll take your face in his hands and tell you you can. “It’s okay. Yes you can. Deep breath. You can do it, just give yourself a minute. You’re going to be okay, I’m here to help.”

#jojo headcanons #jjba headcanons #jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #Jotaro kujo #Noriaki Kakyoin #Jean Pierre Polnareff #Josuke Higashikata #Bruno Bucciarati #Giorno Giovanna #Gyro Zeppeli #jojo x reader

221 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Bride in White. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

When you had fantasized about this day in your youth, this is not what you had desired.

In those days, you pictured how you would count down the days until your wedding. Mulling over a dress you wanted to wear, one that was within your budget but pretty nonetheless. Maybe an outdoor venue, friends and family alike joining together to witness your union. There’d be butterflies in your stomach as you held onto your bouquet, breath hitched. Most important of all, the one who would be waiting for you at the end of the aisle.

A person you truly loved.

Eerily, certain lavish elements align with what you would’ve wanted. Almost as if he peeked in your mind and stole it for himself. The venue you were to be wed reminded you of a whimsical fairy tale, indulging you in its architectural beauty. A cathedral with warm, earth tone colors with tall ceilings that reached to the heavens. Colored sunlight shone through broad, mosaic windows, illuminating aisles of wooden pews.

“I’m not a pious man,” Giorno had claimed, as he monitored you with his eyes. He must have mistaken your wide eye look for acceptance of the situation. “But it feels right.”

But it feels right.

Those four words haunted you the moment they left his roseate lips. He couldn’t have expressed the gravity of your situation, the living nightmare of your life more perfectly if he had tried. Every freedom he readily plucked from you like a flower petal, all the undesirable parts of you that he trimmed away, planting you wherever he saw fit to soak in your beauty. The single difference you can find is a flower will eventually wither away to nothing and wilt.

Whereas Giorno, your ever dutiful lover, cruelly refuses to let you meet the same fate.

All of this was thrusted upon you because it felt right to him. He’s assured that this is what love is and you’d be a fool to think otherwise. What happened in his past to delude him into believing this sick parody of love is right? Questions like this will remain unanswered, Giorno skillfully dodging them with ease when presented with your numerous concerns.

Freedoms you were generously given did little for you. Giorno took care of a majority of the planning, considering what minuscule input you offered. Whether it’s because he envisioned your union in a particular way -- or he was tired of your lackadaisical responses to wedding detail questions -- he stopped asking. The illusion of choice he presented you with was insulting in your eyes.

You don’t want to choose the flavor of cake, what orchestral arrangements are to be played during the reception, or what kind of veil you’ll wear. It’s as macabre as preparing for your own funeral down to the letter, you concluded. No, none of those frivolous things will bring you the true desire of your heart.

Living your life as you did before meeting the Don of Passione.

“I-is it to your liking?”

A young woman around your age asks, pulling back to allow you to see your own reflection. The person working on your hair continues in silence, the pair only speaking to you when absolutely necessary. It’s not like you can blame them, you think bitterly. Treading carefully and minding your mannerisms is an all too familiar dance.

“Yes, thank you.” you offer in response after brief deliberation, to which she lets out a shaky sigh of relief. A fluffy brush dances across your face as she continues her work, blending together your foundation or making small touch ups when necessary. Seeing your own somber reflection being dolled up stirs unknown emotions within you, almost prompting you to laugh humorlessly.

Your hair has been pulled back into a loose braid. Woven into your hair are flowers, likely created by Gold Experience. From light pink juliet roses to white hydrangeas, all stunningly beautiful despite your inner hatred for what they represent. It’s not that Giorno can’t afford to obtain flowers from other sources. The act of claiming you is what this represents.

Highlight that compliments your skin color is set upon your cheekbones and lightly dusted onto your nose, cheeks subtly rosy from blush. The color of your eyes is brought out by smokey eye shadow, eyelids covered in flecks of gold then finished with dark winged eyeliner. Lastly, in the color that Giorno had picked out himself, your lips plump and covered in a deep pink.

As for the dress, Giorno considered your minimal input when deciding on it. Weeks of fittings and measurements in his private villa come flooding back to your mind, the irritating experience bestowing upon you an extravagant dress. A sweetheart neckline, with a mermaid silhouette that extended past your feet. It has a bare back, with a long cathedral chain behind you. The fabric clings to your curves beautifully, made of lace and tulle.

It’s hard to justify messing up their work, as much as you’d love to. As innocent bystanders in this entangling mess, you loathe the thought of them getting in trouble for your tantrum. Knuckles tightening by your sides until your nails press painfully to your skin, you stop only to realize how it’d displeasure Giorno to see your beautiful skin tainted by crimson.

A door opens behind you, the sound of fine orchestral accompaniments growing louder. In the mirror, you’re able to see one of your bodyguards, Fugo. His normal outfit riddled with holes replaced by a coal black tux, gaze serious as ever.

“She walks out in five minutes. Is everything done by now?” he asks in a way that leaves room for little argument. Fugo has always been a no nonsense type of man, the stress from keeping a monumental event like this safe and moving along weighing down on him. Your hairdresser doesn’t look back while she responds, adding final flourishes while time allows.

“It will be. We’re just wrapping up now.”

Fugo runs a hand through his hair, sighing but nodding his head. For privacy he closes the door, likely standing by it for added security. The comfort of this room will soon be left behind you, as much as you want to stay hidden away forever. All you can think is this aspect will be over after today, though a much crueler fate awaits you with open arms.

After what feels like a too short amount of time, they begin prompting you to stand, handing you your bouquet of expensive and vibrant flowers. Your grip on which is weak, hands shaking too much to gain a proper grasp. Taking in a deep breath and closing your eyes, you do everything within your power to quench this stifling anxiety.

With no rest for the weary, Fugo once again opens the door. He meets your gaze, lips set in a tight frown but not commenting on your aghast expression; likely in an act of mercy towards you. He silently offers you his arm to steady your teetering figure, to which you shake your head. You’ve made it this far on your lonesome, the rest of the world failing you at every opportunity.

It’s more of a symbolic act now since you’ll have to take his arm later, Fugo being the one to give you away in the stead of your father. This is one of the conditions you presented to Giorno in return for your full compliance, that he leaves your family alone from all mafia related circumstances, this included. He seemed more than pleased at the time to accept his beloved’s request.

Wedding veil gingerly placed atop you, all the preparations steps have been completed. There’s no other acceptable excuses you can present at this moment, the calling before you beckoning. Fugo prompts you to walk out with him, a hallway not long enough for your liking in front of you.

Each step takes every ounce of your willpower. All you can hear, like a mantra within your own mind, is that you need to get yourself together. That’s the deal you made with him, the one that you need to stick by in spite of yourself. For the safety of those you care about, you must present yourself as a perfect and overjoyed bride.

Two intimidating looking men dressed for the occasion stand on either side of the large doors, ready to open the gates of your own personal hell. Fugo nods to them, his authority within the organization prompting them to open the doors to the chapel. At the very second of doing so, the orchestra changes their song to the bridal chorus.

Rich sounds of the organ flood your ears, lips quivering at the crushing sound reverberating within these tightly packed walls. The sensation of hundreds of faceless strangers staring at you makes your knees go weak, all of them now standing out of respect for your soon-to-be husband. None of them mean anything to you, but you’d be a fool to not acknowledge their importance. From politicians to fellow mafiosos, all eyes are on you.

Sensing your hesitation to continue walking, Fugo gently nudges you forward. The act breaks you from your momentary stupor, allowing you to continue down the aisle with faux grace. Running out of other sights to look at, your gaze hesitantly falls onto Giorno, who grows closer by the second.

He’s composed, as you’ve come to expect from him. There’s an image of rigidness that needs to be maintained with being a Don. His lips curl into a content smile when your eyes meet. Every ounce of your being screaming, pleading, for you to look away. To run away. Yet you can’t, the logical side of your brain being won over by the intensity of his presence.

Your body moves in a trance-like state towards him, drawn to his serene expression and loving eyes. Otherworldly is how you describe him in this moment, sunlight shining against his golden hair which is loose from the normal braid. No expenses were cut on his own outfit, wearing a luxurious navy blue Givenchy suit.

There’s no denying that the devil incarnate is nothing short of beautiful.

Fugo goes to shake Giorno’s hand, instead of your real father. He gives you one last look before descending down the stairs and taking his seat in the front row. Now feeling all on your own, you feel the anxiety from before returning in full force. What frightens you the most now is how gentle Giorno’s emerald eyes are, how much heartfelt love shines within them for you. It feels like his gaze pierces through your being, capable of reading every thought.

Offering him a smile that you pray he finds satisfactory, Giorno lifts the veil over your face.

“I’ve never seen someone so breathtaking.” he mutters under his breath, only for you to hear. Goosebumps dot your skin at his affectionate proclamation.

He then turns to look to the altar. You mirror this action, seeing an eldery man who must be the priest. Seeing his lips move, you faintly process that he’s addressing the two of you. All the world slows down as your fate is sealed, head growing dizzier by the second. This stifling atmosphere all but grabs you by the neck, suffocating you. Body on autopilot, you respond only when prompted to do so.

Now time for rings to be exchanged, Giorno grabs your hand with utmost care. He smiles at you, one that’s different than normal. One that doesn’t have hidden intentions behind it, an agenda to manipulate your feelings. No, this comes from the depths of his soul. From his overflowing love for you, that drowns out any other sensations.

He places the ring on your finger, expensive diamonds and gold band sliding on with shackles. “With this ring I, Giorno Giovanna, take you, [First], to be my own. To have you by side and support you until I draw my final breath, to love you with everything that I am and more. Let this be a symbol of our union that will last until the end of time itself.”

Words flow from his mouth with practiced ease, silver tongue threatening to draw you in. Your heart rate hammers away as you realize it’s your turn to speak your own vows, no longer protected by having to repeat someone else’s words. Giorno required of you to write it yourself, one of the cruelest things he could’ve had you do.

To speak of an abundance of love for someone you have nothing but deep abhorrence for.

Giorno’s eyes flicker at your lack of response, muscles of his jaw taut. A darkness momentarily seeps within his expression, one that you recognize all too well. This is the Giorno that you know. Lightly clearing your throat in mock sentiment, you pass it off as being choked up. Placing Giorno’s ring onto his ring finger, you shiver as your skin brushes against his.

Recalling the dishonest words, you speak them through a forced smile. “With this ring I, [First], take you, my dearest Giorno, to stand by you through the trials of life. The joys of my life are brought to me by you, and now I wish to return the favor. Allow me to repay you by being yours, and may nothing stand between us.”

Any signs of malice have melted away, a beaming expression taking their place on his countenance. Every word brought bile to your throat, numerous lies spilling from you like sweet venom. Your impeccable acting goes unnoticed, as he draws closer to you. Or maybe he does notice it but wants to delude himself into believing you’re being honest.

“By the power vested in me by God and man, I pronounce you wife and husband. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may kiss your bride.”

Warm hands on both sides of your face caress you, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. What’s meant to be a tender moment causes your blood to run cold, hairs on the back of your neck standing at the realization of what this next action means. Giorno leans forward, long eyelashes fluttering shut. Soft lips mold against your own in a chaste kiss, your body tingling and scent of his rich cologne enveloping you.

He lingers for a second longer, before pulling back a few inches. Golden locks tickle your skin, his warm breath fanning against your flustered face. Giorno greedily drinks in the unfolding events in front of him, wordlessly portraying to you the depths of his obsession. You can only imagine what he’s thinking, and what it means for you. He feels like he’s won, that this victory will cement your place with him.

Closing his eyes once more, he offers you his arm. Understanding the gesture, you take it without protest. The smile never leaves his face as he turns around to face those who have gathered to the ceremony with you at his side.

Meaningless cheers erupt behind you, a once in a lifetime event of witnessing the union of Passione’s Don filling the air with palpable electricity. As you assume he wants, you follow Giorno’s lead by walking out towards the large wooden doors. His grip on you is tight, both physically steadying and emotionally unsettling you.

Going through the motions, is what you decide this detached state of existence is. Pushing through the numbness that threatens to take hold, you smile your best dazzling smile. It all happens in a flurry, crowds parting to allow for your safe passage. Once you walk out the Cathedral doors, you’re met with grains of rice fluttering onto you from either side and more delight.

All the faces that go by you like a blur appear overjoyed, paling in comparison only to Giorno. In the time you’ve had to share with him, you’re incapable of recalling seeing him this thrilled. The day is long from over, an outdoor reception already set up for you to sludge through. At least for this aspect, you doubt anyone will speak to you directly. Or if they do, it’ll be a predictable conversation that you already have designated answers to give.

Their attention will mostly remain on Giorno, congratulating him on the union. You wonder if some poor soul learned through experience that it’s unwise to have their eyes linger on you for too long. Giorno is a walking contradiction, wanting to both present his beautiful lover yet setting boundaries to prevent people from getting too close for his liking.

As you predicted, congratulatory words are shared hundreds of times. Hours pass of the same, monotonous routine. The one aspect that causes you to subtly stiffen every time is when an individual addresses you as Mrs. Giovanna. It feels like a part of your identity has been stolen, among all the other things he has taken from you.

“Do you need to rest? We’ve been standing for some time.” Giorno whispers into your ear, after a mafioso expressed his regards to his Don. You shake your head, not wanting to be alone with him. With all these people around, you oddly feel safer. Though none of them would stand up for you as it’s a certified death wish.

“I’ll be alright,” you respond to him with a sigh, lowering your head to look at the tile underneath you. “It’s just been a lot.”

Giorno considers your words, searching for emotions that aren’t there. You distract yourself by looking around, feeling content that these people are having fun even if you’re not. Families speaking amongst themselves enjoying the fine catering, partners dancing and almost everyone holding a wine glass. Asking him never felt like a priority, but you do wonder how much this spectacle cost.

As the evening progresses, the sun lowers into the sky. Beams of orange and yellow mixing together enrapture everything in sight, the scent of delicacies and wine mixing together. Milan is an enrapturing city. All day you’ve had no appetite, Giorno having to convince you to eat something. Looking down at the plate that he brought you, a slice of buttered focaccia is what you settle on.

Speaking of Giorno, he left your side for the first time in hours to speak to some security. You feel like it’s easier to breathe outside of his presence, though the respite won’t last much longer. As expected, he returns to you and extends his hand. You hesitate before grabbing it, to which he helps you up.

“We’ll be heading to our hotel now.” he instructs you, leading you to the curb where a limousine awaits. Ever the gentleman, Giorno opens the door for you to take your seat before sitting next to you himself. A final group of cheers for the new couple break out, before the crowd is behind you.

Only the low drum of the engine fills your ears, your lap holding your interest. Feeling emotionally drained to the core, you don’t offer any resistance when Giorno lays his hand over your own. Working up the courage to look at him, you’re met with a serene expression. He loosens his tie some, upward curl of his lips never faltering.

“Cara… you looked troubled,” he squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Is something bothering you?”

“Ah. I’m not used to all that attention and socializing.” you admit in truth, a sheepish smile of your own creeping up. Giorno is the only person who you have contact with on a regular basis. You forgot what it was like to converse with strangers, even in passing. Giorno seems to understand, bright green eyes softening.

He reaches to a pen in his jacket, and before your very eyes, it turns into an impressive burgundy rose. Giorno’s ability is a mystifying one, no matter how many times you witness it. He quietly laughs at your wide eye look, before tucking it behind your ear.

“We’ll be alone soon enough.”

It’s a phrase meant to soothe you, yet it has the opposite effect. A hidden meaning glimmers underneath the surface, one that you anticipate.

Still in a dreamlike state, you eventually arrive in a luxurious suite. This is one of the finest hotels in Milan, with a vast view of the historic city. Placing your hand to the glass of the window, you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. Not feeling the need to turn around to greet your husband, Giorno makes up for it by wrapping his arms around your torso.

He presses himself against you, head lowering to the crux of your neck to take in your scent. A perfume that he chose for you. His lips ghost over your pulse, appreciating how it gains speed at his teasing touch. He knows this body well. This is a culmination of all he’s desired, the payoff of you before him. Giorno’s hands hover up to your shoulder, where he plays with the straps of your dress.

You close your eyes.

Lifting his head to your ears, you shiver at his low declaration. “Now, give all of yourself to me, mio bellissimo amore.”

#giorno #Giorno Giovanna #giovanna giorno #yandere giorno #giorno x reader #yandere giorno x reader #yandere giorno giovanna x reader #yandere #yandere jjba #jjba 5 #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #yandere jojo's bizzare adventure #yandere imagine #yandere scenario #my stuff #commission #yandere commission #commissions

617 notes · View notes

blitzturtles · 3 years

Text

Title: Whispers In My Head

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): FuGio

Summary: “I don’t want to hear it,” Giorno snaps with a tone that says his words are final. His eyes are narrowed, and he rounds his desk with the aura of a man that wishes to exact revenge for his fallen men. It is Fugo’s fault, after all. He can’t pretend that it isn’t. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ don’t matter. In the end, it had been his betrayal that had doomed them.

Notes: For Days 5, "I've Got Red In My Ledger" (Betrayal/Misunderstanding/Broken Nose), 15, "Feed A Cold, Starve A Fever" (Delirium/Fever Dreams/Bees), and 28, "It's Not Just In Your Head" ("Good. You're finally awake."/Nightmares/Panic), of Whumptober. TW's: canon death (it doesn't stick), canon violence, and psychological torture.

“I swear--I didn’t--I couldn’t--”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Giorno snaps with a tone that says his words are final. His eyes are narrowed, and he rounds his desk with the aura of a man that wishes to exact revenge for his fallen men. It is Fugo’s fault, after all. He can’t pretend that it isn’t. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ don’t matter. In the end, it had been his betrayal that had doomed them. Abbacchio, Bucciarati, Narancia. All gone, and his words had been what led to their deaths.

It’s all his fault, and no attempt to explain it away will ever change that.

“I’m going to make an example of you,” Giorno explains after a moment to calm his breathing. He’s letting his anger get the better of him. Stiffening his shoulders until they’re hiked up to his ears and leaving his fists shaking at his side.

Fugo thinks of Diavolo then. Of the man’s fate, despite Fugo’s assistance. He thinks of dying hundreds of times. Then thousands. And on and on until the end of time. He can’t remember where he learned about Diavolo’s fate. Can’t think of who told him, but he knows someone must have. He hadn’t been there to see it himself. Somehow, the details are blurry. Like the conversation happened too long ago, and his memory has faded. He sees a face and a flash of blond, but he knows he’s mistaken. He hasn’t seen Giorno since that day on the boat. Not until now, at least. When he had been summoned before the new Don.

He thinks briefly of Mista on a field with white lines painted on it, but he’s pulled out of his thoughts by Giorno, who speaks again,

“It’s your fault. All of their deaths are on your hands,” he says, as if Fugo doesn’t already know. As if he hasn’t rocked himself to sleep with tears streaming down his face at the very thought of it all. Diavolo’s voice still haunts him. Still plays in his ear. It startles him sometimes, makes him jump when there’s nothing there. In truth, being brought before Giorno is something of a blessing.

Giorno steps forward again. This time with Gold Experience materialized behind him. The Stand reaches out, ready to inflict its punishment. Fugo braces himself for whatever comes next, body tense and eyes screwed shut. He knows he’s breathing too fast. That he’s close to hyperventilation, and god. He’s terrified, but it has to be better than living with himself. It has to--

He opens his eyes to see the boat moving away from him. To see Narancia paddling after it with all his might. The smell of saltwater burns Fugo’s nostrils.

The scene shifts rapidly; the world moves in a blur around him, and he blinks until it all settles. Until there’s someone lying on their back in the distance, and he feels his heart pounding in his chest. A rapid, terrified thing, yet he can’t stop himself from approaching. He needs to see. Needs to know.

He nearly loses the contents of his stomach when he gets close enough to recognize Abbacchio. There’s so much blood under him. Far too much for the man to have survived the damage. Never mind the wound itself, which is a gorey mess of innards. The closer he gets, the more certain he is that he can see straight through Abbacchio, but he doesn’t have a chance before everything is shifting again.

When everything settles, he’s confused. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to be looking at, but the hairs on the back of his neck stand up until he thinks to turn around, and there, there he sees Narancia. Body hung from the pikes of a fence.

Images swirl together once more. This time when the scene comes into focus, he’s staring at the body of Bucciarati. There’s holes littered throughout. His suit is torn and bloodied, and he isn’t moving in the slightest. Behind him, he hears Mista yelling, but Fugo can’t be bothered to peel his eyes away from the man before him. Can’t stand the idea of never seeing Bucciarati again, even if it’s already too late.

He blinks a few times, trying to clear the blurriness from his vision. He half expects another scene to form, but it’s his own tears that distort the world. He manages to get to his knees beside Bucciarati’s body before reality twists itself.

“Wait!” He cries before he can stop himself. “Wait, please!” But his pleas go unheard. The boat sails away. Abbacchio does not move. Narancia does not speak. And Bucciarati does not wake.

Fugo falls to his knees at the Church and cries until something touches his shoulder. He jerks away violently, and looks up expecting Diavolo to be standing there. To demand of him what he wishes he could deny. He’s taken aback to find Giorno instead.

“You gotta wake up, Panna, come on,” Giorno says, and Fugo frowns. The words don’t make sense. This is Giorno’s doing. His punishment, and Fugo expects it to last an eternity. Deserves for it to last until the end of days.

“Panna, please,” Giorno repeats, shaking Fugo’s shoulder slightly.

Fugo startles upward, breathing coming in too fast and face streaked with tears. He pants for every bit of air that he can, but he can’t feel any of it actually getting into his lungs. His head begins to spin, but there’s a hand pressed against his back, holding him upright. He tears away from it and nearly tips over in the process.

“Panna, it’s just me,” Giorno says, voice as gentle as Fugo’s ever heard it, and he dares to look back only to find a worried Don searching his gaze in return.

“What--?” Fugo tries to make sense of everything, but the pieces aren’t coming together, and he still can’t breathe. His chest burns from the effort, and his head screams from the lack of oxygen.

“You were having a bad dream,” Giorno explains gently, hand moving in circles on Fugo’s back. “You need to try to calm down a little. You’re starting to hyperventilate.”

“I--you--we,” Fugo starts and stops, but he can’t form the words to explain what had just happened. What Giorno had just done. It’s nothing Fugo hadn’t deserved, but he doesn’t understand why Giorno’s playing these games. It seems cruel, even for the Don.

“Just try to match my breathing, okay?” Giorno offers when his other attempts to calm Fugo fail. He breathes in deeply, exaggerating the motion of his chest as he does. It takes three or four times, but Fugo is nothing if not perceptive. He picks up on things even when he doesn’t necessarily mean to, and it’s a small relief to Giorno to see his breathing finally start to slow down.

As oxygen begins to filter back into his system, Fugo slowly starts to put the pieces together. The confusion lingers somewhat, but he recognizes the nightmare for what it is: a figment of his imagination. One brought on by misplaced guilt. None of it’s real. The parts that came too close to mimicking real life are only what his brain had come up with from what he had been told, but they aren’t actual images. Those memories don’t exist in his head, and they weren’t put there by Gold Experience Requiem.

“I’m sorry,” Fugo whispers when he manages to calm down enough to feel guilty for a whole new reason: for thinking so poorly of his boyfriend that he would imagine Giorno torturing him.

“It’s okay,” Giorno’s quick to say, though there’s a lingering uncertainty in his voice. “You’ve had a bit of a fever. That probably didn’t help.”

“Oh,” that explains it. Fugo’s nightmares have always been worse when he’s sick or overly tired or stressed or… really anything can make them worse, now that he thinks about it. The perks of PTSD. “I… they’re okay, right?”

“Wh--oh,” Giorno blinks, but he nods, “I can go get them if you’d like?”

“No, no,” Fugo’s quick to shake his head. “Let them sleep. Just. I never--”

“I know,” Giorno squeezes his shoulder. “And they know. You didn’t have a choice, Panna. We never should have left you there.” There’s a guilt that drips from Giorno’s tone that feels so damn wrong, but Fugo doesn’t have it in him to try to reason with Giorno.

They’re quiet as they lie back down. Fugo goes first, and Giorno follows his lead. He’s always been like that. Careful to let Fugo make the first move, unless Fugo is frozen. Like the day he’d finally mustered up the courage to ask Giorno to tell him everything about what had happened after the Church. About Abbacchio, Narancia, and Bucciarati, and about what had become of Diavolo in the end. Most of it’s moot. Giorno had been able to successfully revive everyone, and Diavolo will rot in his own hell for the rest of eternity. He can’t reach Fugo now. Can’t hurt anyone using the intel that Fugo gave him.

“Thank you,” Fugo breathes after several minutes have passed. He’s starting to feel the effects of the fever now that all of his adrenaline has worn off. His body aches under the cold sweat that’s accumulated over most of his skin, and he feels vaguely nauseous.

“You’re welcome, Pannacotta. Try to rest a bit more? You don’t have to sleep, but breakfast isn’t for another hour. Unless you want something now?”

“No, I’m--I’m good,” truthfully, Fugo doesn’t think he can handle anything right now. Not when the nightmare is still so close to the forefront of his mind. He can easily envision Abbacchio’s insides where they shouldn’t be, and that’s more than enough to keep him from so much as attempting to eat.

“Just let me know,” Giorno says gently as he rolls onto his side, so that he can face fugo. He brushes some of Fugo’s hair out of his face and smiles at him with that warm, gentle smile that he tends to reserve for only these moments. When they’re both alone and exhausted and raw.

Fugo hums rather than actually responding, and he closes his eyes with the intention of trying to meditate. It isn’t something he’s particularly good at, but it’s something he’s been trying. Once in a while, he can stop Diavolo’s voice from invading his thoughts, but, mostly, Fugo finds it too difficult. Which is probably why he ends up drifting off to sleep instead.

#fugio #pannacotta fugo #giorno giovanna #vento aureo #golden wind #jjba part 5 #part 5 #jjba #blitzwrites #blitz

8 notes · View notes