just finished reading the gyro x sick reader and omg 😭💚💚 could I request an sick gyro x reader scenario? I need to see him getting some cuddles, maybe some hair petting... idk just some love 🥹🥹
Gyroooo, i will always trasure this man <3! he deserve all of the love!
Fandom: Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Steel Ball Run
Pairing: Gyro Zeppeli x reader
Genre: Fluff/Comfort (Gyro touch starved af)
Let Me Hold You
Gyro Zeppeli was many things.
Confident.
Loud.
Ridiculously stubborn.
A man who could complain for twenty minutes about the quality of a meal and then immediately give half of it away to someone who needed it more.
But one thing he absolutely refused to be was sick.
It had started that morning with a cough he insisted was “nothing,” followed by the kind of stubborn denial that only made everyone around him more suspicious. By the time the sun had risen properly, he was moving slower than usual, his voice rough around the edges, and his temper just a little too short for someone who claimed to be completely fine.
Johnny noticed first, as he always did when someone was clearly miserable and trying to pretend otherwise.
“He’s sick,” he said flatly.
Gyro shot him a look from where he was sitting near the fire. “I am not.”
“You sneezed three times in a row.”
“That proves nothing.”
You glanced up from where you were kneeling near the supplies and smiled faintly. “It proves you’re sick.”
Gyro pointed at you like you had betrayed him personally. “Not you too.”
“Yes, me too,” you said, setting the blanket aside and walking over to him. “Come here.”
He immediately seemed offended. “It looked suspicious.”
“It's not suspicious. It's a blanket and a request.”
"I don't need anything. I'm doing great! I'm a doctor for misery, how could I ever-"
Gyro can't formulate anything other than a severe coughing fit.
You, without saying anything, approach him and look at him with a raised eyebrow with an expression like: Do you want to keep denying?
Gyro muttered something under his breath in Italian, but he still let you guide him by the shoulder until he was sitting more properly by the fire. His hair, usually so perfectly unruly in a way that made him look annoyingly handsome no matter what he was doing, had fallen a little messily around his face. He was flushed, tired, and clearly trying not to admit how awful he felt.
Which, of course, made you want to take care of him even more.
You sat down beside him and brushed a hand lightly through his hair.
Gyro froze.
Then, very slowly, he turned his head toward you. “What are you doing?”
“Petting you, your hair is a mess”
His brows lifted. “I am not an animal.”
You smoothed a few strands back from his forehead. “You are when you’re grumpy and sick.”
Johnny, from across the camp, made a soft sound that might have been a laugh. Gyro glared at him, then leaned back with a sigh that was clearly meant to be annoyed but came out more exhausted than threatening.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
“That’s cruel.”
“You’re the one who tried to pretend you weren’t sick.”
Gyro opened his mouth, probably to argue, but another cough cut him off. He frowned at the injustice of his own body, then looked away as if that somehow counted as winning.
You gently pressed the back of your fingers to his forehead.
“You’re warm.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve said something earlier.”
“I did.”
“You said you were fine.”
“I was lying.”
You smiled despite yourself. “That’s not the same thing. You have to be pretty sick not to notice that you are inconsistent with what you say”
“Shut up.”
You shook your head and tugged the blanket over his shoulders. Gyro accepted it with the solemn expression of a man enduring a great insult. Still, he didn’t move away when you leaned closer, offering your water flask and started combing your fingers carefully through his hair.
That, more than anything, gave him away.
The tension in his shoulders eased little by little. His breathing slowed. He stopped fidgeting.
His eyes slid shut.
You kept petting his hair, brushing it back from his face whenever it fell forward, and after a while Gyro’s head tipped subtly toward your hand like he was leaning into the touch without meaning to. It was such a small movement that he probably thought no one would notice.
You did.
“Gyro,” you murmured.
“Hm?”
“You look comfortable.”
He made a noise that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You smiled. “You’re practically purring.”
His eyes opened just enough to glare at you.
“That is a ridiculous accusation.”
“It’s true.”
“You’re imagining things.”
Johnny, now openly amused, crossed his arms. “She’s not wrong.”
Gyro pointed a finger vaguely in his direction without looking. “You are both conspiring against me.”
You laughed softly and shifted closer, letting your shoulder rest against his. He hesitated for only a second before relaxing into it, the fight going out of him in a way that would have been impossible to miss if you had looked at him from anywhere else. Up close, the proof was even clearer: the way his breathing had gone shallow and tired, the way he was trying very hard to remain composed despite obviously wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep.
So you gave him exactly that.
You drew him closer until he could rest against you properly, one arm wrapped loosely around his back while your other hand kept moving through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. Gyro let out a quiet breath and leaned more of his weight into you, his forehead briefly brushing your shoulder.
For a while, neither of you said anything.
The fire crackled quietly nearby. Johnny kept watch, pretending not to be watching the two of you at all. The wind outside moved over the camp in low, cold waves, but under the blanket and beside you, Gyro finally seemed a little warmer.
A little safer.
You felt him breathe out again, longer this time, like he was finally letting himself rest.
“You know,” he said after a while, his voice rough and low from the fever, “this is starting to feel suspiciously nice.”
You smiled and kissed the top of his head.
“That’s because you’re sick and I’m taking care of you.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then, because he apparently couldn’t help himself even like this, he muttered, “I could still be lying about how bad I feel.”
You snorted. “You are absolutely not lying, and as you remember, I promised you that if you were sick, I would take care of you…and I always keep my word Gyro, especially if it's about you…
Gyro’s fingers shifted slightly against the blanket, then settled again. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’m allowing this.”
You laughed softly, combing your fingers through his hair once more. “How generous.”
“I know.”
He sounded sleepy now. Much sleepier than before.
You kept petting his hair until the tension finally left his face completely and his breathing evened out into the kind of quiet that only came when someone had truly given up pretending. His head rested against your chest for a moment longer, then settled more fully against your shoulder.
It was almost enough to make you think he had fallen asleep. Almost. You take the man gently by the shoulders and place him over his sleeping bag, being careful not to hurt him.
Gyro’s hand found yours under the blanket and gave it a faint squeeze.
You looked down at him.
His eyes were still closed.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten.
You stroked his hair again with your free hand, slower this time.
“For what?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Then, very softly, as if it cost him something to say it, he admitted, “For staying.”
You smiled and leaned your cheek against his hair.
“Always.”
That seemed to be enough.
Gyro went still again, this time for real, and a few seconds later his breathing shifted into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. You stayed exactly where you were, keeping one hand in his hair and the other around his, while Johnny quietly pretended not to have noticed how completely the great and terrible Gyro Zeppeli had melted into your touch.
When he finally looked over, he gave you a look that said more than words ever could.
You mouthed back, “Don’t.”
Johnny’s mouth twitched.
Then he looked away, letting the quiet settle in around the three of you.
And in the middle of a rough journey, with the cold outside and Gyro finally resting in your arms, it felt almost like peace.
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summary: bruno and the gang go back to Libeccio for old times’ sake, when due to the events of golden wind, things escalate quickly….
tags: smut, established relationship, post-gw, kinda exhibitionism?, puppy love, kinda angst if you squint, dead diavolo au, married couple, TEASING, fingering, oral (f!receiving), creampie, slight breeding kink(?), brat taming(?), gender neutral reader
a/n: first post yayayay. I hope my bruno lovers like this one…. i swear to become a dedicated bruno fic writer. ofc with other jjba characters and etc too. but mostly him.
word count: ~6k+
The afternoon settled in quietly, if it were not for your table.
6PM. Sunlight filtered in from the windows and drawn curtains of Libeccio, it softly splaying against tabletops, cloths, and tableware alike as the soft warmth trickled into the cozy restaurant.
People demurely chattered in the background, with silverware clinking against each other in the background. A soft, gentle atmosphere of nourishment and quiet relaxation began to set in the Italian sunny afternoon, as people began to wind down for the coming of night.
However, the Gang was not too worried about this.
The table slammed as Mista began to rant, his fist hitting the table quickly. You winced, trying to get him to get the memo of quieting down before you looked hesitantly upwards to the side, towards your husband. Bruno was already looking down at you, fondly, as he smiled softly your way in hopes of calming your nerves. His hand searched for yours under the table as your fingers intertwined, and he softly squeezed your hand reassuringly in his hold.
“There’s no way! There’s no actual way you just put TUPAC over Eminem!” Mista bantered, obviously passionate about whatever music topic they were already talking about when you and Bucciarati arrived together for the dinner event.
Before the event, Bucciarati’s nervousness was palpable. A soft tension filled the air as you two ransacked the house in pursuit of getting dressed. You, finding your perfect jewelry, whether that be your favorite bracelet or pearl necklace. But Bucciarati? He paced around your shared bedroom for a minute or two. Out of view and alone, with his own thoughts, of course.
It had been only a couple days to a week after Bruno and the gang had defeated Diavolo. In his mind, Bruno should be overjoyed he’s not six feet under right now. But, even then, a gnawing feeling in his throat where a lump had formed and an itchy feeling in his neck, he knew there were underlying feelings.
Bruno loved you- he did. When he made that decision to defeat Diavolo, and betray Passione once and for all, it was partly for Trish. And then partly for himself, too. But, even if he did shove the feeling down, he knew it was partly for you, too. He wanted more for you and him. Constantly wondering whether he’d come home at night when he worked. Having to leave you for days at a time. Being around some dangerous people he knows he wouldn’t ever let you around. He wanted an end to it all- especially those damned drugs.
So Bruno should be happy, after all.
Yet he was nervous.
Had to be.
He kept his usual calm, controlled demeanor. An unflinching face with an attitude that could control storms. He never let you see. But, deep in his guts, he knew— he never wanted to take you for granted again— not his relationship with you, your love, your touch………because, even when he was dying, when his soul left his body and he could feel himself slowly ascending to heaven, he thought of you. Even when he thought of the mission. Of Giorno’s dream. When Giorno revived him, and he thought about the stakes at hand, too.
Looking down at his own body, bisected and torn, ……all he could focus on was you. Your face. Your laugh. Never getting to see you again. Never getting that house on the Naples beach to share with you. Those quiet, gentle golden dinners.
He knew he couldn’t do it again.
He knew something had to change.
Because, deep in his guts, the deepest recesses of his brain, he knew all he wanted was to spend his life with you. His spouse. His one and only.
As he tried to snap himself out of it, he couldn’t help but still feel that nagging feeling low in his stomach. Even as he drove down to Libeccio, with you in tow.
And now……
Narancia’s annoyance was immediately evident on his face, his expression contorting into one of disgust and disbelief as he retorted. “Well no shit, dipshit! Eminem’s only popular ‘cause he’s fucking white.”. While the entire party waited for food, this was just commonplace for you all to be particular nuisances whenever you came along. Fugo looked particularly disinterested, sighing as he tried to bury his face even deeper into his book. Abbacchio was in the corner of the table, eyes closed, too absorbed in his own headphones and music to care about whatever was going on outside of it.
Trish wasn’t too bothered, though, with her fist holding her head up as her other arm laid down on the table flat. She was hooked into the conversation pretty well, even going as far as to lean in to hear better— but it was of no matter to Mista and Narancia. Giorno was sitting there in the center of the table, looking quietly content as a small smile tugged on the corner of his lips, as he began looking at Mista and Narancia too.
Giorno tilted his head in satisfaction, scanning over the area as he looked back at the table. ‘They’re awfully energetic’, he thought, as his hand moved upwards to cup his chin.
Even when the victory of days prior was supposed to be settling in by now, changes to Passione announced and all, the weight and heaviness of this new responsibility came through deeply in everyone’s hearts and minds. Giorno and Bruno knew this best of all. With Giorno as the new Don and Bruno his right hand man (the Consigliere), major changes had to be made.
But that was to wait, for now. Because as the afternoon began to settle, you and the gang just had to relax. That was a problem for another day.
Returning Bruno’s hand squeeze, you nodded your head in self-confidence as you decided to enter the conversation. Even as Mista and Narancia bickered…
“Well, I think Outkast is pretty great, too,” you said, voice cutting through the back-and-forth of the argument like a butter knife through bread. You had a lopsided smile on your face, expression a little dazed, as you tried your absolute best to look interested in the conversation at hand.
It only took a beat for Mista and Narancia to break from the silence and just blink at you, paused.
“I’m serious, though. Outkast is literally top 10 rappers out there at LEAST. And nobody ever talks about them.” You asserted, starting to get passionate, as Trish began to look at you.
“Them too!” Mista immediately butted in.
“You dumbass! You didn’t even know who they were 10 seconds ago!” Narancia groaned, now looking completely done with Mista.
The table then began to erupt into almost complete laughter, with everyone laughing and chuckling, seldom Abbacchio and Fugo.
Bruno should’ve been looking elsewhere. He should’ve been looking at the group. But instead, all his eyes could track, and all his eyes wanted to look, at was you. The way you laughed, your hair moving and eyes flashing brightly in the sunlight becoming intoxicating to him as a faint blush began to appear on his ears, creeping up his neck to his cheeks too.
He only chuckled softly at the situation earlier, but quickly found himself captivated by you and unable to look away.
Sensing his stare, you glanced at him quickly only to spot his gaze as you instantly looked away bashfully. Your laugh died down into a quiet hush as Mista and Narancia then began debating about who would win a rap battle: Outkast vs Tupac.
“Bruno, what’s with the stare?” You giggled, a grin spreading your lips as you tried to cover your cheeky grin with a hand pulled up towards your lips. He only smiled at you softly once more in response, his eyes focused on your visage intensely as to commit the moment into memory.
“You’re just too cute,” he confessed.
Rolling your eyes, you pushed him gently yet playfully.
Yet, you would find, this wouldn’t be an isolated incident.
The waiter came in soon after, rolling the cart of meals and sweets alike as he began distributing it around the table.
Eating your carbonara and he, his bruschetta, you still remained oblivious to the true extent of Bruno’s staring.
You put a mouthful of carbonara into your mouth, chewing slowly, as you watched Fugo and Abbacchio finally put down their distractions, becoming invested again at the celebration dinner playing out before them.
As your gaze switched over to your food, you began to sense the stare your husband was shooting at you as you glanced at him quickly- only to see him staring still.
But this incident was the worst of all, because you could clearly see his lower lip between his teeth, biting his lip smoothly.
Slowly but surely, a twisted, evil idea, began to sink into your mind.
As he began to scarf down his bruschetta, quickly trying to distract himself from both his less than holy thoughts AND poor manners, he started to think.
He was a modest man. At least, he tried to be. He was always respectful, in tune with your emotions, and always answering to your every whim and wish.
So how could he be so lacking in modesty now?
He tried to wrap his head around it, yet failed miserably.
But then he remembered that nagging, low feeling deep in his chest. The one that was scared. The one that was ecstatic at the same time. And the one that also wanted to show you how grateful he really was to still be with you and present, was still there.
Bruno wanted to get home— as unassumingly quick as possible, taking his time to ease you up to the idea before he ruined you— for at least hours at a time, all to show you how he’d never let you go again. To show you that he’ll never leave you.
And most importantly, to show you that he’ll never make you go through anything as traumatizing as even thinking you lost him again.
So, even as his blush now burned pink, flushing his face, you began to twirl some more of your carbonara into your fork and held it up as you enacted your evil, silly little plan.
Before his blush became too obvious for anyone to spot, especially to Narancia’s leering gaze, you quickly pretended to sneeze, an ACHOO! hitting the air and reverberating in everyone’s ear canals before you flinched, jumping at the table as it made another sound.
As you lerched forwards into the table, you made sure to tip your fork his way as your fork magically fell. out of your grasp onto the bottom of his expensive, white tailored blazer.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Bruno,” you pleaded apologetically as you feigned your innocence as best you could.
Bruno’s head immediately looked down, witnessing the fork on his lap now as he sighed. “It’s okay, cara,” he reassured as he picked up the fork and set it down on the table.
You immediately jumped up, grabbing some napkins at the table quickly as you began to dab at the increasing stain on his lower abdomen. “Nonsenseee,” you groaned, coughing before speaking again. “Come on, let’s go to the bathroom, so I can get you fixed up,” you ushered him upwards, as he began hesitantly but trustingly following you.
As everyone stared in silence, a few seconds later, everyone began to focus on their conversations and food as everyone but Leone resumed their own business. His eyebrow rose, following you in suspicion before he shook his head, understanding the tension at hand, before putting his headphones back on and shuffling his playlist.
As you two rushed into the women’s bathroom with luckily nobody else inside (due to the restaurant closing soon), tensions were already high as you let the door close behind you and Bruno already dragged into a single stall.
Bruno looked at you with simply wide eyes as you huffed, trying to smoothen yourself out and gain more composure before speaking again once more.
“Bruno, what was that back there?” You asked, seemingly annoyed and frustrated.
Bruno’s lips opened, then closed momentarily, brows furrowing as he contemplated how to respond to your puzzling question.
“I’m sorry, bella—” he said before you quickly cut him off.
“You made us look like, you know, we had something going on!” you groaned, trying to quiet your tone so it wouldn’t reach walls outside of the bathroom.
“We both have reputations to uphold, we can’t be getting too close and personal in public!” you continued to rant as you ran your fingers through your hair.
Getting carried away, you were busy looking at the floor, biting your nails with anxiety as you looked upwards back towards your husband.
The sight you beheld in front of you made you want to rip your own hair out.
Bruno, standing there in the stall, was just staring at your lips with lidded, dazed eyes as he quickly noticed your deadpan stare.
“I can’t help it,” he chuckled, eyes flickering back up to his eyes as you began to cross your arms.
Before you could finish that gesture, though, he planned to take your mind off it, as he closed in on you with his chest pushing you to the side of the wall, him moving you with his hands slinking around your waist as he kissed you deeply.
His lips moved against yours with precision, like waves, as you slowly leaned into the kiss, both of you closing your eyes. His tongue sure enough after another beat began to lick at and poke your mouth, asking for permission, as he tilted his head.
Whimpering, and definitely caught off guard, your hands moved up to wrap around his neck as you opened your mouth, granting your smitten husband permission.
He groaned, accidentally rocking his hips into yours with a slow yet gentle thrust as you whimpered again. The kiss began to turn into a full on makeout session, as his tongue began to caress your tongue and dance around your mouth as he licked up every bit of carbonara sauce he could.
Trying not to get too carried away, you tenderly pushed him, ripping your mouth from his as you both began to catch your breaths.
“What has gotten into you today,” you whisper, stunned, as your hands found his cheeks, thumbs softly caressing his strong cheekbones.
He simply nuzzles into your touch, his hand sliding up to return your gesture as he looks at you with those love-sick eyes you’d recognize any day, out of a crowd of men.
“I missed you,” he rasps, all he can muster out, as he slowly closes in for another kiss.
Sighing, you make him stand straight. “Seriously, Bruno, tell me what it is. You can usually wait until we get home.” you reason, looking him in the eyes as if with a silent plead for him to tell you the truth and the entire, complete truth.
Looking away, Bruno contemplates for a second, before looking back into your eyes. He sighs as well for a second before pulling himself together. “To be honest with you, cara,” he begins, his eyes starting to water before he blinks them away.
His hands come to yours, encasing them in his gentle hold once more as he tilts his head.
“I’ve been distracted. I’ve been hurt, and I’ve been thinking of how I almost lost you, lost the gang, lost everyone.”
“I can’t sit here and pretend anymore like that wasn’t the scariest moment of my entire life. Not getting to see my partner another day,” he continued.
“I miss you more than I ever have in my entire life, and you’re right here in front of me. All I can think about is how you’re mine. How I want to spend every day with you for the rest of my life. How much I missed the smell of your hair, your touch,” he rasps once more, voice breaking.
He gives your hands another gentle squeeze before recomposing himself.
“What I mean to say, is,” he coughs.
“I was reckless. I didn’t think about how I could’ve lost you. How you could’ve lost me. And now,” he says slowly, looking straight into your eyes as if he were lost in the sea of your eyes.
He begins to bring your hand up to his, leaning down slowly.
He brings your knuckles specifically to his lips, kissing them softly, as his thumb caresses your palm and hand caresses yours sweetly.
“All I want to do is show you. Maybe start that family we always dreamed of,” he said, almost with a teasing lilt, as he smiled like a Cheshire cat. The sly smirk reached his eyes, making them a little lidded, as he regained his posture.
“But not now. Not here,” he asserted.
“I’ll set up a day, just you and me. Then, with a room full of petals and wine, we can fully embrace each other. All day. No distractions,” he promised, looking once more into your eyes, looking every bit the loving and affectionate husband you always knew him to be.
But, he unleashed a demon he didn’t know existed. Blinking back tears yourself, you swallowed down a lump in your throat as you coughed, clearing it out. “Bruno, I—” you choked out, trying to process his emotional explanation.
He waited for you, patiently, eyes flickering all across your face as he sought to gauge your every reaction.
“Bruno, you should’ve told me before this,” you said, looking away, before you suddenly pulled him by his collar, yanking him to your head as you went into for another kiss.
Your hands frantically began to search his body, infiltrating his suit jacket via his chest cutout before going up to his cheeks and jawline as you began to pant in his mouth, lips moving against his in a rhythm already.
His eyes were already closed, him savoring every second of this moment, your presence, and the feel of your lips on his when you begin whimpering again into his mouth, making his cock twitch in his pants.
You break away suddenly, a string of saliva connecting you and him together as you two parted on either sides of the bathroom stall.
You stared at him for a second, silent yet heavy with tension, when you finally spoke.
“Let’s do it, right here, right now,” you choke out yet again.
Immediately, Bruno’s eyes are wide, as he clears his throat before speaking quickly, as to not let your hopes up. “No, cara, not here,” he said, leaning in again so his nose was flush next to yours, your lips a centimeter apart.
But stubbornly, you shook your head no immediately. “No, Bruno, I need it, now,” you said with a whiny lilt, thighs already rubbing together.
He simply closed his eyes, trying to ward off the temptation of his spouse as he fought to keep himself in control.
“Tesoro, no, you’re far too precious, far too special…..” he said, sounding more desperate than he intended it to sound.
You just whined again, refusing to give up. You were going to get your way, whether he liked it or not. “Bruno, I appreciate you, but,” you said, leaning in even further to slide past his head to his ears as you whispered:
“I need this now. I need you now,”
He coughed, face beginning to turn flush.
And finally, something in him snapped. His need for control and dominance sprung into action as he slammed you flush against the walls of the stall, a thud echoing throughout the rest of the bathroom.
He began kissing you once more, his tongue giving you a quick once over on your tongue before he dipped his head lower, kissing your jawline, then the space below your ears, till eventually he got to your neck, where he began to lick and nip at lightly.
Remembering the rest of the gang back at the table, he quickly dismissed his dirty thought of marking you for others to see as he dipped his head even lower, wet, puffy lips over the junction of your neck where your neck and your shoulder met.
Knowing you could cover his marks up, his hands began to roam, his hands feeling you up through your clothes when he ran his hands down to your hips, resting there softly for a second or two, before moving to glide beneath your shirt. His meaty, thick fingers began to feel you up more systematically.
His hands roamed over your waist before moving upwards to your chest, caressing and fondling and squeezing as he saw fit before he quickly spun you around, his body flushing deeply against yours as your chest suddenly hit the flat of the wall in front of you.
Bruno knew there wasn’t much time to waste, so he did what he knew best, and that was to make you cum.
He quickly shrugged off your shorts, making you gasp, as his length began to press against the curve of your ass. Your panties were quick to fall next as he immediately dove down, kneeling, when he quickly began to lap at your neglected, already dripping cunt.
He ate it like a starved man, his tongue gathering your juices as his fingers already rose up to assist him in his efforts.
His fingers traced the ring of your labia, dancing around your clit once or twice before generously dipping into your cunt. He began to tongue fuck you then, hurriedly, as his tongue already poked your entrance in light thrusts.
As his tongue eased its way in, the tense muscle thrusting in deeper and deeper, Bruno groaned with the taste of your cunt on his tongue he savored oh so deeply. But, despite this, his fingers then turned its attention on your clit, where you really wanted all the attention at. In slow, small circles, his fingers rubbed your clit which made moan after louder moan leak from your lips, despite your protests and determination not to be so noisy.
Your sweet sounds of pleasure were all too familiar to Bruno by this point, as his other hand not dug into your cunt squeezed your thigh as if to remind you the reality you two endured.
Trying to muffle your cries, your whimpering and almost pleads of submission drove Bruno to no end as his fingers began tracing even tighter circles around your sensitive clit.
Engorged, your clit throbbed, as the familiar coil of tightness began to wind deeper and deeper inside your gut, and you knew that soon your release would soon coat his body.
Determined to finish this quickly, Bruno gathered up your glistening slick with his deft, yet quick fingers as he thrust a finger into your cunt. Then two. And instantly, your hands flew up to the bathrooms wall, as those moans of pleasure you fought to keep unnoticed threatened to break out in the heat of passion. You groaned, trying to keep your moans at bay, when his tongue began to swirl around your fluttering walls sensually and his two broad fingers rubbed against that gummy, sensitive part.
The coil finally snapping, you cried out in pleasure as your walls clenched around him, his tongue exiting quickly to allow for his fingers to thrust into you even deeper through your orgasm. Your legs quivered as your release dripped down your thighs, your release slowly ebbing away even as the waves of it began washing over you one by one. Feeling your walls flutter, Bruno knows you’re in ecstasy by now when he quickly undos his belt to shove his trousers down just enough to allow his boxers to quickly join it above his knees.
His cock stood rigid and tall, head already a flushed pink as it twitched, rugged veins running all around his length. For as long as you’ve been married to Bruno, you knew about his generous size, but even as you took it time and time again, it always managed to surprise you just how well endowed your kind husband really was.
Even when he was gentle you felt stuffed to the brim. His length curved upwards with just enough thickness and veins in the right spot to make you start to scream his name.
Yet, every time, he was nonetheless humble.
As he guided his cock to your puffy, swollen entrance, your clit throbbed yet again as your greedy cunt spit over his length.
Still ever the more teasing, he ran his length up and down your cunt with hips in a rocking motion as he rubbed, not entered, your waiting entrance.
“Pl-Please, Bruno,” you begged for mercy as you tried to look back at your merciless, yet loving, husband.
“Shh, mia dolce ragazza,” he cooed, his posture leaning in to fit yours as his breath began to coat your earlobe.
“You wanted this. Now take it, like you’re made to,” he set you in place.
His bulging head then began to rock against your clit, making it throb even harder, as you bit your lip in an effort to quiet down.
Every time his fat head knocked, rubbed against your clit, a strike of pleasure would hit you, leaving you gasping, begging for more.
“Bruno!” you finally shout out, in a more hushed tone, as his hips finally halted.
Chuckling, he kissed your neck sweetly and used one of his hands to gently move the rest of your hair away from your neck as the other hand moved downwards, slower, to guide his cock to your well awaited core.
He grabbed his cock in hand at the base as he lined it up with your entrance, his hot breath and pants in your ear as he began to place wet, sloppy and hot kisses all over the column of your neck— the back of it, of course.
Rocking your hips slowly back onto his, he grunted, before his cockhead split you into two. His tip bullied in, stretching you deliciously as he entered you once, then pulled out completely.
He entered you twice, only the throbbing tip inside, before he pulled out once more.
An evil grin began to place itself on his face as he finally gained that control he sought after when you had taken it so brutally from him earlier.
You whined, feeling his deep grin on the back of your neck as his forehead nuzzled the back of your head. “Bruno! Please, Bucci? Bucciarati?” you pleaded, ready for nothing but his cock as you tried to look back at him once more.
“You shouldn’t have teased me, cara,” is the only thing he can hoarsely mutter out as he entered you again, finally taking his cock deeper than the tip inside you as his length finally began to give you the true stretch.
His length pushed its way in, even through the tightness of your inner walls and the way you almost fought to keep him out as he grunted. “So tight,” he mustered against your ear once more as his hips began to rock against you once more. Soft “plap!”and “clap!”s began to fill the air as his balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, and each thrust he gave you was deep and fulfilling.
You kept your whimpers low, your true moans hidden beneath the surface which he knew all too well as you fought desperately to obey your new Consigliere.
But deep down, you knew that was a losing battle.
His hips began to pick up the pace, upping the ante a bit as his selfish desires began to peek their rear heads from within his gut. He tried to muffle the sounds of skin against skin as best he could, yet try as he might, they still came out. His cock desperately twitched in your walls, hungry to find release in your core as his tip began to bully against your cervix again and again.
You cried out, ready to let your torrent of moans let loose when the door suddenly creaked open.
His hips immediately stalled all movement as his breath caught, your own suddenly caught in your throat as you gulped.
Mista peered his curious head in, wondering about the heady smell in the air he chalked up to just bathroom air as he looked around. “Uhh, are you two gonna be done soon?” he asked, potentially vague about what he was referring to on purpose as the heels of his shoes clicked.
Quickly, you tried to regain whatever sense of dignity and modesty you had left in you when you eagerly piped up. “Yeah! We’re fine, I just had to take his shirt off because the stain was way deeper than we thought!” you explained, voice steady and not breaking an inch as he blinked in mild confusion.
“Whatever you say, boss,” he said before standing back up from leaning on the door and leaving, the soft click of the door closing behind him a beat later as you two panted softly.
After a second or two more of waiting, you two knew the coast was clear when his cock, all the more impatient compared to his owner, pulsed again in your cunt.
He chuckled, softly swaying his head side to side in a “no” fashion as he looked at you fondly. “You’re a horrible liar, you know that, right?” he teases.
You scoff, even in such dirty submission.
“Yeah, must’ve learned from you,” you egged back, as your hips softly swayed as if teasing him further on his hips.
He groaned, scoffing lowly as he pushed his hips in as deep as he could get, intertwined with you in every sense of the word as his balls tightened against his cock. “You’re dangerous,” he mocked, thrusting in you pitifully before putting his form flush against your back once more.
“Yet that was the wrong move.” he finally answered, as his hips pulled back slightly to thrust back into you. He set a harsh precedent this time with his hips colliding into yours faster, hitting animalistic paces, as his cock now sponged against your cervix and began hitting your gummy g-spot with accurate, scary precision.
You immediately jolted, eyes widening in surprise as you closed your eyes immediately in forgiveness as he reminded you of exactly how he handled you. Why he was your husband, and nobody else could amount.
You fought to keep your moans in urgently, ardently, as little squeaks and peeps began to rush from your lips. Your body shook upwards with every thrust Bucciarati granted you, and you knew you could do nothing but take it as you felt another flood of moans bubbling up deep in your gut.
“Bruno, please— i’m sorry—“ you choked out, breathing heightening rapidly as he took you fiercely. Yet his hips didn’t falter, another sick grin on his face as his eyes dropped, the hunger in them apparent as his pupils nearly blacked out his eyes. “You asked for this,” he whispered. “You wanted this. I’m—“ he choked out himself, moaning at a tight clench from your cunt. “’m only giving my pretty tesoro what they wanted,” he grunted, his pace increasing even steadier, as he felt his cock begin to throb in anticipation anew.
You couldn’t help yourself, shoving your hand downwards as you rubbed your own clit harshly, Bruno’s hands suddenly flying to your hips as he gripped them with a tight hold, desperate to make you cum, as your flood of moans finally came tumbling out.
Moan after moan you let out, some of them including his name, his movements becoming more and more frantic and more and more driven as he climbed to your release with only that goal in mind.
Finally, that tension in your coil snapped, as you released over his cock again, making Bruno grunt and hilt himself to the very end as you shook against him, the force of your orgasm taking you by the hand as you let out a loud, echoey moan that reverberated against the restaurant bathroom walls and you shuddered.
Bruno’s hips still rocked hard against yours even through your orgasm as he felt your walls clench him tighter than ever before, only to flutter against his length, your walls rubbing him sweetly at the same time. He moaned, the moan growing louder and more insistent as he shut his eyes, thinking of your release dripping down his balls to the bathroom floor. “Fuck, _____!” he hissed as his length finally gave way, hardening even further in his own enlarged state as his now red cockhead began to twitch violently, rope after thick, gooey rope flooding your womb with pleasurable force as his balls spasmed and hips still flushed against yours.
His cock let out rope after rope of release that seemed to go on forever, his soft grunts and moans of “I love you” melting in your ear as you both rode the waves of your orgasm and exhaustion.
As more soft pants and breaths of air filled the air, Bruno slipped his softening cock out of your core and tucked it neatly back into his boxers and he pulled his boxers + trousers back up. He quickly got some toilet paper from the stall and plugged up your dripping slit, it puffed out and sensitive still as you shuddered.
“Careful, mio caro,” you hushed out as he smirked, tsking. “I know how to take care of you,” he reassured you softly, running kisses down your back as he softly patted your pussy with the paper, the excess of his seed oozing out of you slowly.
“You always looked so beautiful like this,” he praised, in another trance as he felt the cum gather on the toilet paper.
“Claimed by me. Mine wholly.” he added, a smirk tugging on his lips. He knew deep in his heart no one could fuck you the way he does.
You rolled your eyes.
“What, you need a pregnancy to prove i’m truly yours?” you scoffed.
“Precisely.” he finished, finally throwing away the toilet paper in the can as he smacked your ass playfully, lowering himself to pick up your panties and pants as he tugged them higher onto your sweltering form.
You sighed, getting out of the stall one at a time as you both got ready in the bathroom mirrors so as to not look too ruffled or messed up.
Shooting glances at each other even after what had gone down, you both smirked as you knew this was not the last you two would hear about this affair.
As Bruno straightened his blazer, he stood tall and proud once more as he looked himself in the mirror— looking every bit the Consigliere he knew he was now ready to embrace.
He took you, waist in hand, back to the table where the stain magically washed out of his blazer with only a wet water stain where the carbonara sauce once was.
The restaurant had already gotten close to closing for the day, everyone in the group already standing up and chattering amongst themselves in groups of when they spotted you two.
With bright, smiling eyes, Narancia and Trish waved you two over, as they resumed talking about their favorite dishes and plans for tomorrow when you all were finally ready to leave.
Somehow managing to seamlessly integrate back into the group, you all left back to your own homes as Bruno and Leone chatted before walking home. “So, just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Leone bantered, a playful smirk tugging on his own lips as he stared at Bucciarati knowingly.
Bucciarati coughed, quickly looking away, as a faint blush began to appear yet again.
“That’s of no importance.” he asserted, playfully scoffing at the man before him before turning to wrap his arm around your waist, looking back at Abbacchio softly.
“It’s a story for another day. Arrivederci, Leone.” he bid farewell, with you in tow, as you two giggled all the way back home.
ex ! jotaro x reader | angst w happy ending , second chances , fluff , yearner jotaro.
masterlist Jjba req rules
Ex Jotaro who swore he would never see your face again because the ache of you never seemed to pass.
Ex Jotaro who saw you at the cafe you had your first date at and couldn’t help but stare at you, hopelessly, feeling too much for someone who was meant to move on.
Ex Jotaro who would stare at the old messages you sent him when you were still dating, at the contact name he couldn’t stomach changing, at the way love flowed seamlessly between hearted messages and little ‘I love you’s.
Ex Jotaro who was haunted by dreams of you dancing near the Oceanside, in a wedding gown you never got to wear with your hands up in the air and a soft breeze rolling through your hair.
Ex Jotaro who couldn’t look at another woman even if he wanted to.
Ex Jotaro who fights with himself daily to not enter your life again, knowing that you were slowly healing from the break up.
Ex Jotaro who said he would be respectful of the distance.
Ex Jotaro who still adores you. Who carries a photo of you grinning in his wallet, who looks at it every time the sun starts to set and wishes for you to be there in the morning with him.
Ex Jotaro who saw you on the shore, feet in the sand, wind in your hair, and couldn’t help the breathless way he said your name.
Ex Jotaro who watched, transfixed as you turned around, beautiful eyes wide with surprise. As if this wasn’t the very place Jotaro felt like he could breathe properly.
Ex Jotaro who cursed himself with every step he took towards you because he knew that he should have left, he should have slipped away when your attention was on the horizon.
Ex Jotaro who felt time stop when you let him be so close, who drank you in and craved more. The dress you wore brushed against your ankles. It billowed in the wind. You were glowing.
Ex Jotaro who felt his eyes sting seeing you so close.
Ex Jotaro who caved into you the moment your hand rested on his cheek like you were testing if he was real or something your mind had made up. Because oh, he didn’t know how much your hands meant to him. How much the simple act of touching him could make him cower before you.
“Jojo?” You whispered, dragging your fingertips along his cheekbones. Awe gleamed across your eyes, speechless. His face crumpled, ache bleeding through the cracks of his composure. “Oh Jotaro.”
He missed that. The way your voice soothed every rough edge in his body, slipped between the sturdy guard of his ribs and straight through his heart.
He missed when you would call his name in the early morning when he slept through his alarms, groggy, endearing even when you’re the one who got woken up.
Your arms enveloped him in a hug and before he could register just how much he needed the warmth, his arms had already solidified around your waist and pulled you closer.
Warm, just as he remembered. Just like he dreamed about.
A wave rolled up against the shore, kissing your ankles before retreating back.
His face buried itself into the mass of your hair, breathing in the familiar scent he used to love waking up to.
The position stayed like that for a moment. A golden glow cracked across the ocean surface, sprinkling across the beach and casting it across the side of your face.
He pulled away, just enough to look at you.
“Still looking as handsome as ever.” You teased lightly, earnestly.
He scoffed under his breath. “You can’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“You chose this.”
Your hands slowly drop down to your sides.
Another wave rolled in.
something splintered in your chest.
“I did.” You say.
You wanted to say more, so did he.
His eyes stung. He blamed it on the salty wind and looked away.
“But what if I wanted to give us another go?”
Jotaro stared at your side profile like he was deciphering between reality and his own imagination. Because as much as he should have said no, to not tangle with the past, the past has been all that he’s known. Loving you was all he’s ever known.
His silence spurred you on. “You don’t have to say yes. I know it’s selfish of me to want you back after I broke things off, but,” he cupped your face. “I still miss you. I wake up—“
and he kisses you like he’s been waiting on you for years. A gasp is swallowed by his mouth, pressing closer like he could absorb you into his skin and it still not be enough.
Even after he breaks away, he’s looking at your lips like he wants more.
“I have dreamed of you so much that your face haunts me.” His hands settle on your waist, light, like he doesn’t know where exactly he stands. “I can’t look at another woman without seeing your face.”
His silence stretches, you smile.
“Just say yes Jotaro.”
“Yes.” He breathes.
As you lean in for another kiss, his hand rests on the nape of your neck. His head tilts, chest rising and falling with each stuttered breath. For the first time in months his heart steadies into a slow, firm beat, his shoulders loose. Your body against his.
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Giorno has a tendency to refer to his darling by their name, with a 'my' preceding. There goes my so-and-so. Since he mainly speaks the language his darling understands the most— either English, Italian, or Japanese— they should have no issues understanding his intentions. He's not one for using terms of endearment in public, but often refers to his darling by animal-based pet names in privacy. It's entirely dependent on his darling's personality. His doggy, his kitten, his bird in a cage. Oh, don't listen to him. Just suggesting.
Bruno has an inclination towards more traditional Italian terms of affection, always using 'my' when he can. He emphasizes the 'my' by saying it last, cara mia, topolina mia (or a more fitting animal, most likely), and so on and so forth. He also strikes me as a 'my better half' type of man. I'm not sure why. Should his darling not particularly understand Italian, it... depends on his mood should he clear it up. He teases by not mentioning the fact that he publicly calls his darling his "little mouse," but absolutely clarifies that he just claimed them as his spouse.
Leone usually refers to his darling as 'brat' until proven otherwise. He adopts the term 'sweetheart' quite naturally after that. He cycles through various kind-of-sweet, kind-of-mean terms until he finds one that lands. Usually, at least in the beginning, they're terms that point out a.... let's call it sizable age gap between him and his obsession. Anything to make Leone look worse than he is. Even if it's only by a few years, Leone acts like he's a decade older. Kid. Rookie. New person. You. What a charmer! Once he's more comfortable with his darling, he swaps to "dear," "sweetheart," and the occasional "spoiled rotten kid in my life." (Whose fault is that?) While he does speak Arabic, he reserves those terms of endearment for when his darling is cross with him. It's a plea to show that he cares. He's just crazy. Forgive him for his transgressions, his soul.
Pannacotta has tried a great many times to refer to his darling as any sort of pet name, but has never worked up the nerve to. Even when he knows that they won't understand him, he still chokes. He could be taking advantage over the fact that he speaks a handful of languages that his darling probably does not! What is wrong with him! Why is love so hard!! He doesn't understand how casual some people can spit out terms of endearment— it makes him irate just thinking of every time Guido has casually dropped a "babe," "sweetheart," or a "pretty little lady" in his vicinity. He's getting a migraine. Panna.... would kill to be able to play with his darling, to call her a silly girl, to kiss her cheek and pretend to be exasperated by calling her "dear." One day.
Guido's pet names do not stop at "babe," "sweetheart," or "pretty little lady." No, no, no. He's got more. Way more. He couldn't be more ecstatic to be in his person's presence! Of course he's gonna shower them with praise and affection and love! When you love someone, you bombard them with affection. He doesn't make the rules, he's just a devout follower. (Cuteness aggression is getting the better of him.) He does his best to pick names that actually suit his most beloved, but has a tendency to play it safe in the beginning by using more common ones. "Babe" is a big one initially, and so is "baby," but he drops it immediately should his person not like it. He swaps to something other than Italian or English to find something that they'll like— is it a formal thing? He could go way more formal! He'll figure it out.
Narancia only speaks Italian, and really hasn't thought of the need to refer to his darling as anything special. Heeee... supposes he calls them his bitch sometimes? Pannacotta has already done this poor soul a favor by smacking Narancia upside the head. Nana doesn't really get pet names, they're kinda, like, for old people. Or Bruno. And he's not really Bruno. If anything, he just shortens his darling's name, or makes it more 'cutesy.' Can you call him Nana? Or something cute? He's always wanted a girl to call him something cute. This whole dating shit rocks.
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Would I be able to request a Nsfw with DIO (my evil love😭) a full scene about DIO x fem reader and she's bugging him for attention and love all day when he's trying to work/ plan until he snaps on her. 😏😂
Sorry I just love this idea cause we know DIO don't f around 😭
Can I be ⚡anon?
⋆ ˖ ⏱︎.ᐟ Bite My Hip (DIO x Fem Reader NSFW) ⋆ ˖ ⏱︎.ᐟ
ദ്ദി •⩊• ) Yeah I have no excuses besides DIO is hot as hell and I have been Yearning to write mean shit aksjdkndkdf
I hope you enjoy! Thank you for asking to be an anon too <3 He did get. Pretty fucking mean here but 🧍
Just to give myself a mental reset I might do a HC post later :) also love how I invented a Stand for this even tho it doesn’t come up lmaoooooo
Notes: bratty reader, unsafe BDSM practices including impact play (remember your safe word kids), blood play, power imbalance, penetrative sex, degradation, cumming inside, DIO is scary but he can tap it anyway
Stand: Sweet Lady
Ability: Causes the target to see multiple illusions of the user, one of which is the Stand itself.
“And what about—“
“You are on your second strike.”
Abruptly, you shut your mouth mid sentence and glare at the book covering your master’s face. The hardcover tome’s threads are fraying at the sewn spine, the color somewhere between crimson and deep wine, and impossible to tell in the dim candlelight from the golden chandelier overhead. Black nails more akin to talons tap on the faded cover. A shock of golden hair blooms behind his head like sunflower petals— ironic, and you cross your arms, sticking out your hip with a pout.
“But my lord Dio, it’s true! We haven’t even considered adding any modern technology to the mansion. Telence refuses to share his TV, and it would certainly motivate meeeee to know there’s the potential of a little break,” you protest. “Even if all we get are local channels, I could rent a video or two.”
“Lacking in motivation?” He asks. His cold, amused voice trickles down your shoulders, stiffening you just slightly. “How bold.”
Okay, maybe not the best choice of words. You press your lips together, and shift on your feet. “Well, not quite what I meant, but almost-- I just think we’ve all been working preeeetty damn hard. I even incinerated the remains of those stupid Speedwagon goons so they wouldn’t get found without you asking. My lord,” you add sarcastically at the end. His fingers tense on the cover.
Mischief lightening your chest, you sway a little closer. The thin dress is really a slip more than anything, the lace trimmed neckline low enough to hint at the chest your lord adored beneath. It barely reaches your mid thigh either— sometimes it made chilly nights unbearable, but a robe could always be secured. Or, if you were lucky, as you hope for now… your lord could be persuaded to hold you in his marble-like arms.
As you kneel, propping your arms up on the chair arm, you catch a glimpse of his expression. Cool. Controlled. On such a beautiful face, god himself gave him the name, it seemed. The seam where his head ended and the body of Jonathan Joestar began is pinkish, but no longer raised.
Without realizing, your fingers are stretching towards it. You were curious— how did the skin feel?
“Y/N.”
“Yes, my lord?” You ask, letting your hand hover next to his neck. Dio’s nail drags on the exterior of the book.
“I believe I have tolerated enough of you. Vanilla?”
“W--Oi!” you yelp, much more surprised than you would have liked, the man your lord called for wrapping a single arm around you and scooping you up like you weigh nothing, swiftly turning around and escorting you out, despite how you kick at his shins and wiggle like a pissed off cat. As he steps outside of the cool, extra dark room, you’re set down and the massive doors close behind you.
Whirling around, you glare at the tall, violet clad man who stares down at you with an icy conviction. Dark brown hair curled just at the tips, a gentle wave in his hair-- he was quite pretty, especially when the purple highlighted his cooler skintones. But now, he’s not pretty, and he’s not at all who you want to see. And there’s a vein throbbing in his temple that you mayyyyy have a hunch as to the reason for.
“Vanilla, I was talking with our lord!”
“Oh? He seemed quite happy conversing with you.” His voice is flat. You sigh, rubbing your temple.
“Listen, I get it--”
“I don’t think you do. If I catch hide or hair of you near this door until he departs, I will not hesitate to swallow your ankle. You don’t need one foot to do what he desires of you.”
Asshole. Vanilla wasn’t formally part of the harem, but the way he sucked lord Dio’s dick you wouldn’t put it past your lord to be enjoying it when he wasn’t scooping up you or one of the other scantily dressed gals that milled about their posts in a blood-loss haze. Bloodlust and your overall mischievous nature had piqued your lord’s interest, after you nearly bit his thumb when he tried too quickly to invite you into his chambers. Months later, healed from that virus latent in the arrow, and utterly spellbound by your god’s invitation to serve, you found yourself among the lucky… really maybe two, you hadn’t paid attention in a minute-- with a Stand and not drained dry after the second encounter. Less and less bloodbags got a second turn.
Admittedly, it made you smug. Mornings after relieving your lord spent lounging on silk cushions, stretching like a cat, shivering with the soreness of your muscles and the memories of how he manipulated your body to his own benefit-- maybe you were only a cute toy, but at least you were cute. Vanilla sure wasn’t. You stick your tongue out at him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll bug off for now. But you have to admit as well, Vanilla, you’ve been putting in overtime around here-- not saying that it isn’t what we should be doing,” you snap, as his lips part and he looks at you with a scowl. Yeesh. “But that our lord has hardly entreated us to anything since we’ve amped up our efforts.”
“Are you working only to be rewarded? I don’t believe Lord Dio would find that satisfactory for a reasoning to stay.”
Your nails scratch into your palms; clenching your fists, you take a deep breath. “I’m teasing. It’s really not that serious.”
“And you think that he has the bandwidth for such distractions,” Vanilla replies, dry, and shakes his head. “Just stay away.”
Stay away, yeah? Chrissakes, were you a dog or something? You scratch your temple and sigh, checking your nails. Ugh, you needed to paint them again. They were chipping awful and you didn’t really care to beg Dio for another salon appointment. “Yeah, sure. I need to get rid of some Speedwagon Foundation fucks anyway before the sun sets, but I’ll be back in plenty of time, mmkay?” You say, and roll your shoulders as you pivot towards your lord’s room, where the shred of your former wardrobe existed to fool the masses. “If he doesn’t request me, I’ll be pissed.”
“As if you’re special.”
The sentence sends a shock of pain through your heart, down your limbs, twinging awfully. You’d sock him, if you could. But instead, you hmmph and toss your hair back, striding away.
“And you’re so much better. I’ll be back later.”
“Don’t bother. You’re merely infuriating him at the moment.”
You flip him off behind your shoulder. But you can’t help the sting of his words, biting the inside of your cheek and striding off. Fuck him. You just needed to remind Dio of how effective his favorite little treat was.
You were, right…? Anxiety nibbles at the insides of your stomach, but you shake your head.
One by one the others had shrivelled up, been cast aside to garbage, dried into husks that were little but fertilizer. The taste grew dull. They couldn’t satisfy him in bed. Or they let the Foundation, and that band of idiots led by Joseph Joestar, get too close.
Those ones though, they had failed over and over. You hadn’t. There were maybe two times that your target nearly made it to the hospital, but you met them there. Sloppy, but still done. Right?
Sighing, you throw open the doors to your chambers.
Maybe you had been acting a little spoiled lately, but you couldn’t help it. It had been a while since he needed you for anything besides killing, and while you didn’t mind it, you didn’t want to just touch yourself. It was boring.
Though, you muse, as you parse through the hanging dresses, suits, and shorts, that punishment had been rather fun… you shiver at the memory, on bruised knees, arms bound behind your back with rope as Dio fucked your mouth viciously. His thick cock stretching your jaw to its limit, the cruel timbre of his laugh when tears flowed freely down your cheeks and you struggled to breathe, especially when he pinched your nose shut— that was a fun kind of mean, not like now, you pout, and select a lilac linen dress and violet shawl.
These fucks should be pretty easy to dispose of. No one in the Foundation possessed a Stand, and with Sweet Lady, you could probably knock them out in one clean hour.
Hm. Maybe you should have bugged Dio for the salon trip anyway…. Or, you could just go and have him reimburse you. You tap a chipped nail to your chin in thought.
Shimmying out of your slip, you slide on the equally airy ensemble, reaching into the lacquered drawer of the vanity for the bra that matched your deep red underwear. Sandals then, and…. How did you want to do your makeup?
You look in the mirror. Something soft would probably suit this look, maybe a sharper eyeliner. But what about lipstick?
An idea pops into your head, and you grin. Well, wouldn’t the best person to ask be your master? He was the one who bought it for you, of course.
Humming, you scoop up three equally good choices and practically skip through your door— nearly colliding with someone and stumbling back before they take hold of your wrist.
“Hey, wat— ah, Y/N?”
You look up, and smile. “Hol Horse! It’s been a minute.”
The blond gunslinger lets go of your wrist, letting his fingers trail over your palm as he reflects your expression. “Too long, since I’ve seen yer face, cutie.”
“Don’t let Dio hear you say that. Or maybe. Doesn’t seem like he’d care,” you think aloud, groaning. Hol Horse chuckles, and shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Aw come now, if anything I’m complimenting his taste,” he teases, and pinches your cheek. You shake your head, laughing and giving him a playful shove.
“Are you coming back with good news?”
His expression flickers for a second, but he puts the easy grin back on. “Who do ya think I am, baby? The Joestars are currently eating dust in Pakistan. Wouldn’t be surprised if they just gave up there.”
You roll your eyes. After enough times, you were pretty sure you had a read on when he was hamming it up for his own benefit, especially because if Dio wasn’t satisfied, you would hear about it later— or at least feel how pissed off he was.
He clucks his tongue. “Don’t you roll yer eyes at me.”
“Then don’t you lie to me,” you counter, rolling the lipstick tubes over each other in your palm. His eyes drop to them— and the sweetheart neckline of your dress.
“Still shredding Foundation folks?” He asks.
You nod, and perk. “I actually was just going to ask lord Dio about the shade of lipstick he thought would be best, but if Vanilla is still in front of the door….”
“Did Dio kick ya poor little self out again?”
“I was just asking for a TV!” You protest, and he laughs.
“Sure ya were.”
“Anyways, you can save me the steps. Which one of these looks like it’ll suit me more? And this outfit.” You do a little twirl for him, and he nods appreciatively.
“Do that again, didn’t see it too well.”
You stick out your tongue at him. “Pervert. You just want to see my ass.”
“Can ya blame me, cutie? Hell, if ya weren’t Dio’s property, I’d steal you up myself,” he says, voice tapering into a low whisper. Natural born flirt. Giggling, you shake your head.
“If you weren’t scared, you would try it now.”
“Strike three.”
Shit.
Both you and Hol Horse freeze at the quiet, barely contained tone that resonates from the spot about a yard away from you. Fingers tightening around the lipsticks, you turn your head just slightly, and immediately shrink in on yourself a little, heart pounding.
That expression… you forgot it existed, he wore it so rarely. Corners of his mouth tilted up just enough, only in his eyes, there wasn’t a hint of mirth— only cold, calculated fury.
“I like your confidence, Hol Horse. That you could even begin to satisfy this little whore.”
Your gaze snaps to the ground, clasping your palms together. Gods, what could you say? Nothing comes to mind, no good excuse, no explanation, and worst of all, no reason why he wouldn’t just kill you.
Dio’s hand settles firmly on the base of your spine. Two sharp nails scratch you slightly through the fabric. You flinch.
He speaks softly. “Stay here. If you think that you can handle all that which you hear from inside, be my guest, and try to take what is mine.”
Your stomach drops. No, he couldn’t mean—
But you only get a brief look at Hol Horse’s stunned, reddened face before you’re shoved into yours and your lord’s room, falling to your knees, and swallowed in an even more oppressive darkness than that of the hall.
You can’t even hear. His footsteps on the marble floor are muffled by the roaring of blood in your ears, your hands trembling on your lap. Lips part, but nothing falls out, not even a trembling apology. Gods, the anticipation was killing you.
“You have been in quite the state today,” he murmurs.
You swallow. In front of you, he steps, his silk slippered feet barely visible in the candlelight.
“Desiring my attention so much, you were willing to die for it?”
A tear slides down your cheek.
“Speak,” he commands.
“I-I…” you stammer, and he raises one foot.
Instinctively you flinch, but he only uses it to tilt your chin up.
His eyes glow, fiery coals. The impressive planes of his muscles highlighted in the low light, cut as precisely as David. Pale skin glimmers, almost giving the illusion of iridescence.
Swallowing again, you start, “I’m s-sorry.”
“Mm? What was that?”
“P-Please, forgive me Lord Dio!” You cry, as he sets his foot back down and your head drops, rushing, feverish with worry now— say something, idiot!
“I w-went too far, I would never offer myself to anyone else.”
“Is that so?”
Dio’s voice deepens, sending shivers all down your body. You nod fervently like an idiot. He hums, barely audible, and circles back behind you.
“Perhaps I could entertain your apology. But it doesn’t come without punishment,” he whispers. “You have greatly insulted me.”
“Lord Dio, I will do anything to right my mistake,” you say softly. Your neck bends forward so shsrply, it’s sure to be stiff.
“And you will, indeed.”
He grabs you by an arm, pulling you up roughly so you almost fall. All but throwing you towards the large, luxurious canopy bed, where he stops you before you can fall onto it, feet nearly slipping. One claw pricks at the base of your neck.
“I bought this for you, didn’t I?”
Before you can answer, time stutters.
In shreds, the fabric falls around your feet, and you yelp. Without acknowledging it, a finger trails around the hip band of your underwear.
“And this. Yet you attempt to seduce others in it.”
You shake your head fervently, but he tuts.
“Do not misunderstand me. Your beautiful body…” Dio slides a hand up to your wrist, pressing it to the post of the bed. In a swift movement, he procures a satin strand from somewhere and wraps you to the wood, tightly, bringing your other wrist to it as well to secure you. The carvings push into your skin uncomfortably, and as you tug, they only seem to get tighter. “Is an asset to dispose of those meddling fools. But you need remember who it belongs to.
“The flesh right here,” he continues, and rips through the side of your underwear cleanly, making you squirm, “Would look quite beautiful with my name tattooed on it. Or even branded on it. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Your mouth goes dry. Imagining the searing, burning pain of the glowing iron, the same color as his eyes, makes you whimper, hands shakily locking around the post.
“At a later date, perhaps I’ll consider it. But for now, little one,” Dio purrs. “Arch your back.”
The world stutters again, and your bra joins your underwear on the floor. Exposed fully to the chill of the room, your hairs raise, nipples perking and you shift uncomfortably back and forth before doing as he says. Your spine curls. Like an invitation, your ass is presented to him, legs spread just slightly, exposing the slightest bit of that wet space between your thighs. You shiver.
He lets his nail scratch your hip. Your breath hitches as he digs in a little.
“This will suffice.”
In a sharp, swift movement, he tears down the skin, ripping it open as easily as a knife through butter.
You cry out. It skips, stutters, again and again; As his Stand activates, you feel your skin throb where he carves into you with his bare hands, some kind of pattern-- blood trickles down your side from thin, precise, painful scratches. Whimpering from the pain, in your foggy head you realize what he must have done.
“Mm… maybe this was the answer all along. I’ll keep these long,” he murmurs, satisfied, and one hand wraps around your thigh.
You shudder; his tongue flicks out and licks across the carving of his name-- Dio-- behind your right hip.
Tears burn your eyes. Both at the pain, and the absolute shame of how your clit throbs and your arousal slickens you. He’d never done this.
“Keep the arch,” he commands.
Against your thigh, something tickles. You freeze.
“How many, do you think you deserve?”
Swallowing, your mind rushes. Lust and pain fog your head, your palms growing sweaty against the post, but if you didn’t give an answer, it would be worse. Licking your lips, you half say, half squeak, “A-at least… thirty, my lord. F-Forty.”
The crop smacks against the inside of your legs sharply, and you almost jump.
“How humble. It’s a better look on you,” Dio coos, and pulls back his arm, before another crack leaves a stinging red mark on your behind, pulling a soft cry from you. “Accept it all.”
Your hands shake. If you had nails as sharp as your lord’s you’d be shredding the post. But you stand, helpless, on legs beginning to buckle as he strikes, over, and over, across the soft flesh of your upper thighs and backside: the skin warming, reddening, the sharp pop of at least two small bruises. Pacing himself erratically, before becoming achingly even. You moan, eyelids fluttering with ecstasy at the mingling pleasure and pain. All the while, sweet words echo dimly in your head.
Finally, it stops. The thing trails along your quivering thigh, but it doesn’t raise against you again. You exhale.
Instead you feel his large hand cup your behind, the thumb trailing down to your slick, sensitive pussy. A strangled sound escapes you.
“There it is… my little whore.” He sighs, brushing his thumb across your wet folds, and it takes everything in you not to buck back into his hand. In your daze, you barely notice as Dio kisses the tender, abused skin and deftly undoes the satin tie.
A hand on your hip, he lightly shoves you forward onto your hands and knees, trembling. But your hands— damn they’re too sweaty, the bedsheets slick and silky, and when your lord’s hand finds its way to your neck, you land face first onto the mattress. Sucking in a breath, it hitches when you feel the tip of his leaking cock against your hole.
“Stay still. And maybe I’ll let you cum,” he murmurs, and snaps his hips into yours.
Letting out a choked scream, you shake, gripping into the sheets.
Dio sighs, letting a hand slide down to your untouched clit, arching the finger perfectly to avoid hurting you to rub perfect little circles that drag out a moan. You twitch, clenching around his length stretching you so deliciously, every time he took you.
“What a pathetic little slut you are. Perhaps punishment doesn’t work on you, if you’re this wet,” he whispers.
Your eyes roll back. You can’t think.
He begins with only two soft, shallow thrusts, before setting a breakneck pace, the force of him pushing into your pussy jolting you forward, and you’re all but a toy in his arms.
Your breaths come shallow, punctuated by the squelch of his pelvis meeting your ass. Fuck, it was deep, it stretched you so good— the slight burn ebbing as he teased at your most sensitive spot, letting you feel every ridge of his finger. His cock made you feel damn near drunk by itself.
You’re teetering on the edge. That knot tightens in your stomach; you grip into the sheets tighter. But he slows again, laughing as you let out a loud whine.
“Oh? What is it? I told you only maybe, I’d let you cum.”
He speeds up and slows down his touch seemingly at random, getting you just at the peak before dragging you back down, all the while bullying your poor cunt, your arousal mingling with sweat on your thighs. You sob, gasping for breath, the stinging pain of your ass and the cut of his name sending prickles of pain-pleasure down your body. So much. It’s so mean, meaner than ever. His hipbones grind against the abused flesh of your ass.
Dio leans in, and nips your ear, not pausing his thrusts for one second. “Answer me loud and clear. Don’t let Hol Horse miss a moment,” he says, soft, commanding, lined with cruel amusement.
Your eyes widen.
You’d completely forgot. His words. Before you went into the room—
Stay here. If you think that you can handle all that which you hear from inside, be my guest, and try to take what is mine.
Tears distort your vision, letting your body fall limp as he begins that perfect rhythm around your clit. Your audience, you completely forgot.
Did it even matter? You were his. Dio’s. You didn’t need anything beyond this room. Nothing else.
“Who do you belong to, little morsel?” He thrusts into you, and you choke on your words.
“Y-you… my lord Dio…”
“I didn’t quite hear you.”
“Y…YOU!” The word is torn from you in a scream, the tip of his length scraping against your soft, sensitive inner walls, and your voice trembles when you say, “My l-lord Dio, I belong t-to you, p-please forgive meee…”
He chuckles, keeping steady on your clit. “Very good. What should you say?”
The words surface in your head, and blood rushes to your face, shamefully sobbing, “T…thank you… thank you for your grace…my… my Lord… please, can I cum?”
“You can do better,” he tuts, and begins to slow once more before you panic, and babble—
“Please, please, please,” you squeak, you couldn’t stand it, the drag of his thick cock splitting you open, the slickness between your thighs, the slippery sheets, the sting of his punishment on your back, all too much, you beg in his arms as Dio, your god, slides his hand into your neck.
“Very good.”
And he swipes his finger again just over your abused clit, your eyes rolling back when you finally cum, clenching around his dick bullying the deepest part of you. Lightheaded as he feeds, you writhe, weakening. Your clit pulses as he thrusts harder, again, again, hips beginning to stutter as he hisses.
You whimper at the feeling— the shaft twitching and pumping, thick ropes of his cum filling your insides and forming a white ring around the base of his dick. As he withdraws, dragging a nail along your spine, you feel his seed drip from your entrance when you clench around nothing.
His hand still sinks into the flesh of your neck, and you start to feel faint. Black spots dance in your vision. Eyelids flutter. This was… the furthest.
He wasn’t kidding. He was done.
You exhale.
But before self pity can breach the fucked-out haze he put you in, Dio retracts his hand, and lets you fall to the mattress.
A rattling breath leaves you. Taking another deep breath, slowly, steadily, you right your disoriented body. Still… the blood loss… you feel unbearably fatigued.
“Y/N.”
You tense. But there’s no impact, or swipe. Instead, his hand drifts across your back.
“In your dithering today, did you even notice?” He asks.
Notice? It takes a lot of concentration to, but you frown. What had been different? Or—
You blink. Oh.
“C… Cassandra…” you recall the name of the other remaining member of the harem weakly. Your heart pounds like a drum, thrumming throughout your whole body. “She… wasn’t around…”
“She bored me.” Dio speaks of her so casually, it sends shivers down your clammy spine. “Simply could not throw away her past convictions.”
Your gut curls as he spreads a cooling palm across your backside, stretching and arching a little into his touch, like a cat. Despite how sinister he sounds, you can’t help but relax in your post orgasm bliss. Not that his hand stroking your tender skin is helping you stay lucid.
“But you, my little one,” he murmurs, drawing nonsense patterns on the back of your hand. “You are relentless. Watch how it manifests. But stay so. I quite adore it about you.”
In spite of it all, your heart flutters. “Y-yes, my lord.”
Dimly, the reason for all this surfaces in your head. You protest, “My lord… my targets—“
“Mm?” He asks, sounding bored. “I reassigned the job.”
Oh. You nod slowly, and shift up to your elbows, wincing.
Then, you feel your face go warm with the other realization. “Erm… my lord, what about… Hol Horse?”
“Hm.” Dio muses as if he hadn’t even remembered that the man was there, even after forcing you to. Rude, you think dimly. Then, he points his head toward the door.
“Hol Horse.”
His commanding tone echoes in the stone room, in every crevice of elaborate stone sconces, curling under the wooden posted bed and settling on the woven rugs. Then, there’s a loud throat clearing.
“Yes, sir?” He calls. You swear you aren’t making up how heavy his voice sounds.
“I believe we have come to an understanding. Haven’t we?”
There’s a pause, where you wish you could shrink into the mattress and disappear. Cripes, you wanted to curl up and die.
“Yessir. I’ll be… around, if you need me,” he says in a strained voice, and then, the abrupt jingle of his spurs when he stomps off. You sigh, pushing out all your breath.
“Hmph.”
“He’s… such a faker,” you mutter. Dio chuckles.
“Is that so?”
“Thinks he’s way more tough than ‘e is,” you mumble. Sleep threatens to take you. Your whole body feels heavy. Your lord doesn’t seem to mind. His golden hair tickles your cheek as he kisses behind your ear.
“You have a more important job tomorrow. Rest for now.”
“Yes, my lord,” you whisper. Laying down on your tummy, you roll over on your side, and smile faintly as the blanket is pulled up over you. “Thank you.”
“Your god will always forgive you, my dear,” Dio says softly. His breath, cool, tickles your ear once more with words that stir your stomach with fear and arousal.
“Next time, you will be chained to the bed, without your vision.”
TW(s): obsessive love, possessiveness, emotional dependency, jealousy, coercive devotion, implied violence, unhealthy attachment dynamics, manipulation framed as romance, self-loathing, and hints of isolation/imprisonment within relationships.
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Jonathan memorizes the alphabet of courtship more than he remembers the lines across his palm. He is a gentleman to the littlest sinew of the heart: keeps in mind every little detail about you, what can elicit a smile on your lips and what can leak a tear from your eye. He chooses with careful inspection a flawless red rose bouquet; traditional and meaning every word of love in all languages. Jojo wants you to drown in him in the very same way he hit rock bottom in you; wholeheartedly and fearlessly.
Joseph doesn't take such acts seriously. Seeing his grandmother watch a ton of romances brought a sour taste on his tongue— everything was just so cliche and performative, not a drop of genuine affection. But what was genuine to Jojo? Putting you on your toes, playing cat and mouse, clinging to your rib with a force no judge can separate and perhaps, on rare occasions, playing gentleman when he gives a snapdragon with its roots and veins still visible. The raw nakedness of the flower should make you see how earnest he is; and how far he can go to make you as honest as him.
Jotaro being himself would spit and mock the mere thought. How stupid is it to pretend a plant can make someone fall in love with you; especially if you were someone like him: a surly mess, a dog with its canines on display and an unworthy of love. What was the point in trying? He'd ask himself. Yet he throws a shot anyway: silently offering you a crushed deadly nightshade in a fist that looks like it's about to punch, covering his eyes with his hat. It'd taste like rust in his mouth to tell you, unfiltered, that he would go above and beyond to make sure you're protected.
Josuke’s blush is as pink as cotton candy from the mere thought. As simple as it sounds, his fear crawls unhelped: what if you say no? What if you recoil in disgust and leave? He’d seen how some would react— you weren't any just ‘some’, you were you and not even your shadow can compete. It was almost laughable to see the cool guy’s hand twitch while he gave you the Oleander he picked from the school's backyard. Only fools rush in, sure, but he’d rather be a loving fool than a cautious, boring mock-gentleman. taking you in a crushing embrace when you say yes— you sealed your own fate and don't dare look for the exit.
Giorno rules the underworld with an iron fist. a snap of his fingers and he can have all what earth has to offer, but why does the emptiness in his soul still lingers? Until you made a way of flowers into his life. You were kind— sent from heaven for sure for not an atom of malice era stemmed from your form. You wouldn't last a day in what he was in for yours; you'd be polluted, tarnished, stepped on ruthlessly, So he made a marigold tree emerge from the walls just for you, a little haven he'll seal you in and keep you safe within. Gio didn't give what was his, surely nonetheless he takes things that aren't his.
Jolyne has no idea of what should be done to sweep someone off their feet— more like a gruff idea. Her expression of love is hot and heavy, spiced, tempered, not a tender one. It feels like putting on shoes so tight when attempting to act civilized or fitting the normal, but it's a small sacrifice she's willing to make if it means you'll reciprocate her feelings. The red carnation in her hand murmured how dear you are to her, and you went too deep in her bone to extract you out. Although she has to compete with prettier people, she'll beat them away from you first.
ive been following u so long I literally graduated college, bought a house, and got married. since we’ve been together so long, can u write sr reader if… IF sr reader got hit by an aphrodisiac stand but wasnt dating any of them so it’s j like “I need ur help rn.” 🗿
OR sr reader confessing her feelings
OR the gang realizing she has a crush on them
dealer’s choice. or not I just realized I hadnt visited u in a while so I wanted to visit u for nostalgia sake <3
time may pass but our love for scarlet ribbons will never fade!!! what an amazing set of milestones though, congratulations on every front 🥺🥺 it brought me so much joy to read this and know that you've been doing well!! i remember your lovely fanart, i still enjoy admiring it to this day. thank you for reaching out 💕💕💕
since i've done aphrodisiacs before, i'll go ahead and do the gang realizing she has feelings for them 😌
Giorno is eerily in tune with your existence. He's always been perceptive, able to tap into this sixth sense that reveals the innerworkings of others. As he's matured, he's remedied the mistakes of his past self who didn't hide this uncanny ability. Beneath his amicable mask, his mind is always whirring, piecing together a fuller picture based on what people unwittingly betray about themselves. It's likely he sensed your nascent attraction before you were fully cognizant of it yourself. This knowledge fills him with a tender feeling he can't recall ever experiencing prior. Giorno knows the gratification of watching a plan come together piece by piece, but this is different. There is a degree of self-satisfaction, yet it's tempered by this profound warmth that eludes definition. He's determined to preserve and nurture your affection until it's ripe for the harvest.
Bruno initially experiences what can best be described as radiant joy. There's a lightness to him, this alacrity that those who know him can identify immediately. A local elderly woman asks if the signore might be in love, a question which flusters the usually stern young man. He deflects the inquiry without his usual grace, confirming the woman's suspicions. He didn't think it possible, but his adoration for you reaches new heights. He is brought back down to earth as his more pragmatic side kicks in. There will be difficulties ahead, but rather than this thought ruining his elation, it refines it. These difficulties will be navigated with you beside him. He recognizes it as a prideful thought, but in the moment, he feels invincible, like any obstacle can be bested.
Fugo goes through a wild torrent of emotions. Doubt, apprehension, joy, suspicion, fear, gratitude, anxiety; it's as if he's being pummeled by wave after wave. Eventually, he settles on unreality. This must be a dream, right? He can't rationalize it any other way. Then he berates himself for what must be an act of supreme egoism on his part. Surely he's misinterpreting your behavior, reading into what isn't there. And yet... is he? You feel something for him, something positive and promising. It perplexes Fugo, gnaws at him, haunts him every waking moment and beyond. The ambiguity is what gets to him the most. He values rationality, objectivity, the realm of fact. He's out of his depth and he knows it. Nonetheless, a creeping giddiness settles over him. Maybe, just maybe, his life needn't be so despondent after all.
As a gunslinger, Mista has a keen eye for opportunity, and that's exactly what this is: the chance he's been waiting for. He's not going to let it pass him by. Still, he doesn't rush in without tact — no, that isn't his style. If he's waited this long, a few more days won't be the end of him. He takes the additional time to test the waters, ensuring that he isn't imagining things. You fluster easily in his presence, acting uncharacteristically bashful when he throws an arm around your shoulder or hits you with a flirtatious remark. This confirms it. Once he's confident that you have the slightest bit of interest, he's ready to strike. Expect to be asked out to dinner with a few cheesy one-liners thrown in for good measure.
Narancia's heart rate reaches concerningly high levels when the realization dawns on him. He's bouncing off the walls with energy, talking to himself, laughing, with a near manic look in his eyes. You like him, you like him, you like him! Is this what pure bliss is? No liquor has ever brought him this level of intoxication, it's an experience unlike any other. He's filled with the urgency of a man who has lost much and is unwilling to suffer fate's cruelty again. Not this time, he tells himself, resolved to confess to you the instant he sees you, no matter the circumstances. He'll do it in the middle of a public plaza if that's where your paths cross next. What a day to remember! He's on glide nine, actually skipping along, whistling tunes of his own design. Bystanders wonder if he'd won the lottery or came upon an immense inheritance from some distant relative. Should anyone ask, he dismisses the speculation. As if material wealth could be responsible! Narancia reveals without a hint of shame that he's to have the girl of his dreams.
Abbacchio feels akin to a drowning man who has realized, by some ironic twist of providence, that the lifeboat coming his way is headed along the path that sunk his ship. That is to say he foresees disaster. Temporary salvation for himself, perhaps, but at the cost of your vitality. He tells himself he'd rather remain a social pariah. It's easier that way, simpler too. Every day is the same, monotonous, nothing great or terrible occurring. He just exists. Who in their right mind would get attached to him? He'll express this to you without mincing his words, though it hurts him to trample over your naïve hopes. Imagine his surprise when you listen with the gravity the situation deserves, think it over for about five seconds, shrug, and say you'll give it a go anyway. Is it wrong that s mall part of him hoped for that kind of response?
author note(s): changed the text styling. wrote this right after my 8 hour work shift.
TAGS AND WARNINGS: Fluff, a little bit angst-ish, kid!gn!reader and kid!giorno, THIS PART IS ONE HUGE FLASHBACK, friendship, childhood friends, AND YES I PUT GIORNO X READER TAGS BUT ONLY BECAUSE THEIR FUTURE RELATIONSHIP IN NEXT PART(S) WILL BE VIEWED AS ROMANTIC, i guess hurt/comfort?, minor swearing, possible grammar mistakes and typos, no beta read, swf
WORD COUNT: 383
IF THIS TEXT IS SWF IT DOESN'T MEAN THAT ALL CONTENT ON THIS BLOG IS SWF SO MINORS DNI
It's been nearly twelve years since you left Naples. When you were ten your dad got a promotion and your family had to move away from Naples to Milan. Saying you were happy would be a total lie. You had to leave behind your school with the kindest teachers in the world, your football club, your teammates... And most importantly, you had to leave Giorno. A shy kid two years younger than you, who, against all odds, became your best friend.
You had met him at the playground a year before moving to Milan. It was the middle of the summer. That morning your mom promised to pick you up from football practice and go together to a gelateria on the way back to your home. So you patiently waited for her, sitting on a bench. You watched as local kids were playing near you, when your gaze fell upon a small, lonely figure at the swings. The boy looked so small, his dark hair was messy, his eyes fixed on his worn-out shoes. Nobody played with him. Nobody looked at him. It was as if he were a ghost. Then you saw three boys around your age approach him. You didn't hear what they were saying, but you clearly saw the oldest one kick the boy so hard that he fell off the swing. And you also saw the other two bullies burst out laughing. Something clicked in your head and in a flash you ran over to the swings and punched the oldest bully in the face.
"What the hell?!", he screamed, clutching his nose. The other two bullies froze. Their laughter cut off instantly as they stared at you in shock. They clearly hadn't expected anyone to stand up for this kid, but you stepped in front of him like a shield.
"Try to hit him again, and I'll break something besides your nose," you threatened, raising your fists.
Maybe he saw a pure determination to kick his ass in your eyes, or maybe he was just afraid, since thanks to being a football player, you were bigger and stronger than most kids your age. You didn't know for sure, but in the end the oldest guy spat on the ground.
"Whatever. Let's go, guys. This freak isn't worth it anyway," he muttered, turning around. The other two quickly followed. You watched them until they disappeared around the corner and only after that you let out a breath and looked down. The boy you just saved was still sitting on the ground. His wide, turquoise-green eyes were fixed on you.
"Oh, you have a scraped knee," you said, kneeling to be at eye level with the kid. "I have some stuff to clean that wound. It's right over there in my bag. Come on, let me help you. By the way, my name is Y/N."
You held out your hand and after a moment of hesitation the boy took it.
"My name is Giorno...", he mumbled so quietly.
"Well, nice to meet you, Giorno," you genuinely smiled at him.
That was the exact moment your friendship was born.
After that day you hung out with Giorno almost every day. You joked that you worked as his bodyguard, protecting him from all neighborhood bullies. Your parents also welcomed... No, they absolutely loved Giorno, especially your mom. He often joined your family for dinners and spent a lot of time at your house. Also, after seeing what Giorno wears everyday, your mom gave him all your old clothes which were too small for you but were perfect for the younger boy. Moreover, every Sunday your dad took you both to the arcade center. You loved all games there except the crane machine, since you absolutely sucked at it. You literally won only once in your life.
That day you were alone with Giorno. Your dad had an important meeting at work, and because of that he just gave you money to play some arcade games. You decided to try your luck again and pull a toy from the crane machine. Giorno stood right beside you, watching as you slipped the coins into the slot. After ypu paid the right amount of money, the machine let out a loud, cheerful melody. You grabbed the joystick, prayed for all gods you knew and carefully lined up the metal claw right above a plush toy that looked like a little golden bunny. Then you pressed the big red button. The claw dropped down, opened wide, and clamped onto the toy perfectly. You held your breath. The claw moved smoothly, carrying the bunny straight toward the prize chute. Then the grip opened and you saw a golden bunny fall right into the chute. You stood there for a second, completely stunned, before letting out a loud victory yell.
"I did it! Giorno, did you see that?! First try!"
Giorno smiled.
"Hmm, now what should I name this guy?" you muttered, turning the golden bunny over in your hands. "Maybe... Cicciottello? He looks kinda like a Cicciottello."
The look of pure judgment that crossed Giorno's face said more than any words.
"Yeah, okay, you're right. It's terrible. He definitely deserved something better. Hmm... Oh! I have an idea. You name him, Giorno."
The boy was caught off guard by your request. He looked at the toy, then up at you, staying quiet for a long moment. Finally, he spoke, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "You can call him... Haruno."
"Wow, that actually sounds really cool. Ha-ru-no..." you tried the word on your tongue, "I like it! What does it mean?"
"It means 'Spring' in Japanese," Giorno said softly.
Then the end of the year came with a heavy burden. You didn't have any idea how to tell Giorno that you were moving to Milan. And just a week before leaving Naples, when you were sitting on a bench in a local park, eating some gelato, you finally spoke.
"Next week, I'm leaving Naples..." you said, staring down at your ice cream. "My family is moving to Milan."
Giorno froze.
"Oh," he murmured.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," you rushed out, the guilt finally spilling over. "I just... I didn't know how."
Giorno slowly lowered his hand, his gaze fixed on the ground. "So... we won't see each other anymore?"
"I don't know..." your voice trailed off.
"Well," Giorno said after a long pause. He forced his voice to remain calm. "I hope things go well for you there."
Then you both spent the rest of the evening in silence.
On the day of your departure, Giorno came to say goodbye. His sad expression made your heart ache, so you stepped forward and hugged him tightly.
"Giorno, I have something for you," you whispered.
He looked at you with curiosity, but then his eyes widened as you reached into your bag and pulled out the familiar golden bunny.
"I'm leaving Haruno with you," you said with a smile as you pressed the plush toy into his hands. "Think of him as my promise. I will come back for him, so keep him safe."
"W-wait, I can't... It's your toy, so I can't take it," Giorno muttered as he tried to give back Haruno to you.
"No, you have to take him," you said, gently pushing his hands back toward his chest so that he was forced to hold the plush bunny. "Besides, I'm the bodyguard, aren't I? A bodyguard needs to leave something behind to watch over his best friend while he's away. Think of Haruno as my substitute. If anyone tries to mess with you, you just look at him and remember that I've always got your back, even from Milan."
A small smile finally broke through Giorno's sad expression, though a single tear managed to escape and roll down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away with his sleeve, not wanting you to see him cry.
"Okay," Giorno murmured, hugging the golden bunny tightly against his chest. "I will keep him safe. I promise."
"Good," you said, giving him one last playful nudge on the shoulder before your mom called your name from the packed car.
It was time to go. You turned around and ran toward the vehicle, but just before getting inside, you looked back one last time. Giorno was standing perfectly still on the sidewalk, holding Haruno close, watching you leave.
Twelve years had passed since that day. And now, you were finally back in Naples...
— stolen gifts are still gifts. and he's never not romantic with giving them.
𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋: 0.5k; fluff; gn!reader; established relationship, reader wears a lot of jewellery, pre-golden wind
— note ! hello jjba community here I come
masterlist.
your boyfriend, to put it simply, had really sticky fingers.
not literally, of course. giorno just has the habit of stealing whatever catches his fancy. the awakening of his new… ability only seems to empower it more, aiding him in whatever thievery he wanted to commit.
cash from wallets, jewelry off of tourists, little knick-knacks from store shelves—if it's intresting, best believe giorno is being attracted to it like a crow with anything shiny. sometimes, the trinkets he swipes aren't even anything that would be of use to him.
"gio," you say, exasperated. the hot summer sun basked the street in warmth, making the two of you stick more onto the shadows of buildings as you walk the streets, no destination in mind. you've just caught him snag something off of a lady when he helped her get up after she tripped. something silver and flashy.
he had charmed her with his trademark smile, an ample distraction as he slipped something off her hand while helping her up. entranced by his beauty, or some shit like that, she didn't even notice. giorno hums in acknowledgement at your call of his nickname, posture lax as you rounded a corner, finally a good distance away from the woman he had stolen from.
you sigh, equal parts amused and a little concerned by his indulgence in burglary. "what caught your eye this time?" you ask, lifting your gaze to look at him.
giorno smiles at that, a small lift to the corners of his mouth that just screamed of mischief. instead of answering directly, he held his hand out, a silent request for yours. you lift a brow, but follow along.
upon placing yours on top of his, his free hand—which was holding the stolen item—slipped a silver ring onto your middle finger, his movements smooth and unhurried, feather-light and almost barely-there. no wonder she didn't even feel when he took it from her own fingers.
"reminded me of you," he says, spoken as though that was enough reason to steal it. his seaglass-colored eyes remain on your hand, staring at the way the silver band fit right in on the collection of shining jewelry already adorning your digits. giorno's thumb brushed against your knuckles, giving your hand a squeeze.
his voice must be a putting spells on you, with the way his soft-spoken words were enough for you to turn a blind eye, once again, to his kleptomaniac behavior. seeing him look at you with expectant fondness—not unlike a penguin attempting to court another with a pebble—you exhale, knowing you're badly in love. "thanks, giorno."
there's a glimmer in his eyes as he hears your response, beaming like sunlight you have long since associated with the boy named giorno giovanna. that expression of satisfaction is a sight you wish to see often. a sight that warms you all over and makes your heart beat a little harder. you'd gladly indulge in his stolen gifts, you pondered, so long as it meant he'll be happy like that.
he presses his lips to the back of your hand, the faintest of roses flushing his cheeks. he gives your hand one more squeeze before dropping them to the side, lacing your fingers together. "anything for you, amore mio."
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"I know I can suck him off better than you," you scowl right at Satoru now, the two of you on your knees right in front of your boyfriend Suguru Geto - he raises a dark brow at the both of you.
"You're pretty good sweetheart," Satoru slips his fingers down your spine ever so slowly, goosebumps rising in a little trail. "You're not close to me though."
"Sugu, tell him," you pout all pretty - and he brushes your hair back, smiling down at you as your hand tries to wrap his thick, veiny cock. "I am so much better than Satoru at it, hmm?"
"Your throat is so much tighter..." Suguru moans, making Satoru glare his pretty blue eyes at both of you.
"Fuck you!?" Satoru scoffs, his jaw clicking he's so damn irritated, but also seeing your tongue lapping up the underside of Suguru's cock has his own twitching, the way you gather all that dripping white. "Calling me loose!?"
"Maybe."
"Hah!" You shove Satoru and he yanks at your hair. "Ow!"
"Why do I endure this?" He acts as if you're not arched all pretty in front of his boyfriend's cock, like he doesn't love to watch you choke on it - fuck it's almost as good as when you choke on his.
"Is my tongue better, too?" You murmur, feeling Satoru’s hand slide down your ass and smack the fuck out of it, it stings his hand is so damn big. "Ouch!?!?"
"Stop being bratty, Toru," Suguru just has him smirking, raising a brow - Satoru Gojo is a fucking brat. "Spit on it, princess."
You do the daintiest spit ever.
Satoru snorts, so you smack him again.
"Spit on it for her, since she's too cute to really do it." Satoru leans forward as Suguru orders, a thick glob of spit falling down to that reddened, pierced tip, you moan softly as Sugu tightens his hold on your hair, and you use Satoru's spit to glide his cock deep.
Satoru can't help but be mesmerized by it, his fingers pumping in and out of your slick cunt, making you whine out. The vibrations have Suguru's head falling back, moans escaping his throat, watching as you two make out so messy right over his tip.
When Satoru can't help but bend you over after, and stuffs your cunt full of his cock, Suguru’s thick length is slamming right in your throat, the two of them coating your walls and your mouth in white. Well... you and Satoru sort of forget the competition, especially when Suguru is eating Satoru's cum so eagerly from your pretty, abused cunt.
Satoru makes sure to lap every bit of Suguru's cum from your mouth, swallowing it down and moaning - before they've switched - and both men are swapping all those filthy fluids between their mouths with mean kisses. They use you - fucking you until you're a drooling mess in all three of your holes.
You're fucked out, your ears ringing, you're dizzy -
But you swear you hear a murmur in your ear that Gojo thinks he's won.
Then you hear another murmur after Gojo is snoring on the bed, and Suguru is pounding your cunt again though, with his hand wrapping right around a throat so sore from swallowing him? Satoru is long out, damn near drooling, and Suguru is making sure you feel every inch of him, lips on your ear.
"Guess what, princess?" He asks softly, squeezing at your pressure points. You gasp out, looking up at him, lashes fluttering.
