#grieving cw

She regards the Inazuma of today with a myriad of different emotions that culminate into bittersweetness. But all in all, it gives her a renewed sense of purpose and conviction to ensure Inazuma continues to not only be safe but also to prosper.

The Flowers You Give

Characters: Giorno Giovanna x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: It’s been a year since you overthrew the old boss. But so much has changed. Don Giovanna attempts to comfort you.

Content Warning: mentions of deaths, loss of loved ones, grieving, depression, arguing, healing, slight mentions of violence, angst but there’s a happy ending at least

A year had past.

You were trying.

You tried your best to numb the pain. But you missed them. It felt surreal, how fast everything changed. It started when Giorno joined and quickly spiraled when Bucciarati betrayed the old boss. In a span of few weeks, you lost most of your loved ones.

You still had Guido, but he had took things better. He attempted to reassure you it was the future Bruno had envisioned and dreamed of but where was your dear capo to see this all unfold? You tried so hard to be dedicated in your studies, in honor of Narancia. But it was so hard to focus on a research projects or homework when you were crying about how it should have been you, not him. You attempted to fix your insomniac and restless slumber and listened to Leone’s old music player. But then you would wake up from that same old nightmare, taunting you with your friend’s dead body, the hole punctuated through his corpse with a missing heart.

You couldn’t look at Fugo the same. While you never told anyone, you had come to despise his decision, when he refused and called out everyone on their stupidity, how suicidal going up against the don would be. You thought him as a coward. But, now considering what all that haunted you, Fugo may had been right. But the damage was already done; it was over. And while you couldn’t see him as the chosen brother you once had, you recgonized the desolation which disturbed his purple hues. If you searched hard enough, one could see it in Guido’s black orbs, too. It had preyed at your mind, a glint of sorrow in your (e/c) eyes. Passione was no longer a place you could call home.

No laughing, yelling, and crying. Just quiet.

It no longer felt like you were familigia.

**

A year had past.

And you had finally snapped.

You were beckoned into the don’s office by Guido. However, you were not quite sure why he had summoned you for a personal meeting. As one of the higer ranked capos and having close contact with the boss, Giorno had a great amount of trust in your ability combined with your quick thinking and natural skills. You couldn’t help but ponder, if perhaps something might had been wrong.

However, your boss greeted you with a dazzling smile, one that could usually put others at ease. You had liked Giorno. In fact, when you met a year ago, you did develop a mild crush on the new golden boy with emerald eyes. But now, you were too prideful to ever admit that to your don. And you still liked him but when you around him for too long, dread filled your heart followed by your blood boiling and indignation making your stomach do flip-flops.

But none of that had surfaced yet. You returned the smile, albeit fake, considering the force put into it, along with the bags under your tired eyes. Giorno took notice. He had keen eyes and was aware of detail. You were stressed out. “Please, have a seat.”

Nodding, you sat in the cushined seat right in front of his desk. “So, uh, why did you call me in here, boss?”

Giorno, with soft consideration, chose his words carefully. He didn’t want vex you, since he was coming from a place of a concerned friend, rather than your boss. “You know you can just call by Giorno, Y/N. We’re familigia, after all.”

You winced at his words but attempted to brush it off. Sure, Passione is just one big family to him. That’s the motto in most mafias. To be frank, while you used to have a small crush on your boss, you never considered him a brother like you did Mista, Narancia, and Fugo. And you certainly never thought of him as someone with parental warmth and guidance like Bucciarati and Abbacchio. Familigia was not a word to be taken lightly. But you continued, giving a light snort at his request, “Okay, Giorno. Tell me, what’s up? Did something happen.”

“Well... to put it simply, I’m worried about you,” there was an edge of caution with his tone. He was not meaning to offend, but to help.

You quirked an eyebrow , trying to keep your cool. Sure, you didn’t like him going off about the family bullshit but he was still your boss at the end of the day. You looked at him, slightly confused, “What do you mean?”

“I’m concerned about your mental wellbeing. I know it’s been hard for everyone. For me, Fugo, Mista, and you. And it’s hard to talk with each other nowadays since we’re so busy... but it’s been a year since I took over Passione. I know you must be grieving. And I understand your pain—“

“—Stop. No you don’t. I’m always grieving. For the past year, I’m always thinking about them,” you paused, guilt was mixing in with resentment toward Giorno. “Do you ever think of them, boss? Or even grieve for your losses?”

He considered your words thoughtfully. Despite knowing them for a short time, he would forever be grateful. They gave him a grand opportunity and helped him seize it, achieving the impossible. He thought of them everyday, fondly remembering his time with them. From Abbacchio’s piss haze when they first met, to Narancia’s loud music playing in the background, and Mista’s hour long rant about the cursed number four. Giorno cherished the short time he spent being apart of Bruno’s gang. Giorno never had a loving family so he was envious of the natural chemistry which seemed to bounce off of the gang along with the subtle familial dynamics.

Bruno took on the maternal role, having recruit each and every one of you, basically adopting you. Abbacchio was a tough-love-kind-of-man, always making sure the younger ones were in line and keeping order in the family. Mista was the brother who would protect you, from heartbreak and harm’s way. Fugo was the brother who would help you study but would always start a fight for no reason. Narancia was the brother that would plot schemes with you but would constantly up each other’s ass. Then there was you, the youngest, the baby of the family, the weakest stand, the more emotional one; having to face the home you once loved become a distant memory. The reality simply being, that your chosen family crumbling apart and dying in front of you.

“I do think of them. Every day and how they helped me become the person I am today. I do grieve, but not in the sense that you do, Y/N. Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.”

You grimaced, finally snapping at the don, “They’ve died because of you! They barely knew you... hell, I barely know you now! How do expect me to grieve with a stranger?! You... you took away my family! And now you wanna call us family? B-Bruno should be the don! A-And L-Leone...” you hiccuped, tears clouding your field of vision, “h-he should have been his right hand man... N-Narancia should be graduating right now... this... i-it’s not all fair!”

“You’re right. It’s not fair,” Giorno narrowed his green eyes, avoiding your gaze, “but before Bruno died, I promised him to take care of you... and the others. But especially you, since he knew you would be hit the hardest. But I wish he was here to help me. Along with Leone and Narancia. I... I wanted to make things work. You all deserved to be happy as one familigia.”

You sniffled, tears streammed down your face but not daring to attempt eye contact. It was true, you took everything the hardest. You cried out of relief after intense missions, so glad everyone survived. There were times when you cried over trivial matters, such as Fugo calling you a dumbass for not knowing your multiplication tables or the time when Mista had teased you over a small crush had on a local. But Bruno had always reassured you it was okay to cry; it meant you still had a touch of humanity left (or in your case, too much humanity).

Giorno stood up from his desk, approaching you from your seat, deciding it was cold of him to have the desk separate the two of you. After all, this was not a meeting, but rather a heart-to-heart. He kneeled down before you, building the courage to reconnect eye contact while cupping your hands in the warmth of his palms, where life radiated. His thumb rubbed circles into your knuckles. “But I know, they would have wanted you, Guido, and Pannacotta to be happy... to not grieve like this,” he paused, considering what his next course of action would he, “Y/N, would you like to go to my garden?”

You silently nodded, not letting out a peep.

**

He led you by the hand like a lost child, taking you toward his personal garden, the backyard to his office. You knew of it; constantly in the background through the windows. He led you to the middle of the garden, the aroma perfuming a sense of tranquil, replacing your quiet anger. In the center, there was a beautiful marble statue of three men, of similar builds and features, reaching up toward the skies, ascending to the heavens above. It was surrounded by a small fountain, spurting out clear water. It just occurred to you that they may represented your past loved ones but it may have been a coincidence (you doubted it was accidental, Giorno was thoughtful). Around the edges of the fountain were flowers, that now you were up close, you could not identify to any known species from your limited knowledge of botany. Giorno released your hand, kneeled to the earth and picked four buds of different colors. Thank god you were not Mista.

The golden-haired boy gave you the hand picked bouquet with unique colors: pure white, soft orange, lilac purple, and your favorite color, a pale yellow. You looked at them curiously, knowing they were a new species of flowers, perhaps unearthed here. “I named them after you guys...” he explained softly, “that pale blue flower is Guido. That light red flower is Pannacotta. I think you can figure out the rest.”

Tears formed again, but not of anger, more from genuine amazement and the sense of dedication behind the plot of land and the time spent to discover these blossoms. “O-Oh wow... they’re beautiful, boss—sorry, I mean, Giorno. Ugh... sorry, I don’t mean to cry again.”

A serene smile plastered his thin lips, “It’s okay. Crying is fine... but, if you ever feel sad, angry, scared... or just uncertain. Feel free to come here. I... I know it may be hard to believe but I do care for you, Y/N. Like family.”

“T-Thank you,” you said with a slight hiccup. Damn, you really were a crybaby. But that was fine.

A year had past since you last saw them.

You sniffed the flowers in your hands.

I miss her, it seems.  Or maybe I just miss the dream of what she might have been, even though I know that Mummy was likely much more qualified to be a mother than she was.  Or perhaps I miss the self-knowledge I might glean from knowing where I came from...  Do I get my dark moods from her?  Do I get my intelligence from her, my musical ability, my obsessive tendencies?  I like to think everything I have is from her rather than from whatever faceless man was my father.

I miss Mycroft, more than I can say.  How strange, when in life we could hardly bear one another at times.  Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night, and for a few seconds, before the fog of sleep wholly leaves my mind, I feel the urge to pad through the dark house, and crawl into his bed, and feel safe for just a little while, and then the fog lifts, and the lack of him washes over me, and it takes me a moment to catch my breath, to separate dream from reality.

PART ONE of Robert's First Date! It got too long and needed to be broken up. I hope you guys enjoy!!

I just wanna say FIRST OFF, I am absolutely FLOORED by the positive feedback I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You got!!! LIKE!!! YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Thank you all so, so much!

Excerpt:

While I’m staring at the credits scrolling down at the end of the latest film in my little binge-watching list, Betsy nuzzles further into my lap. I swear, I’m not crying because of the pure poetry. I’m just sweating from my eyes because of the pure poetry.

“I’m fine,” I mumble blearily while Betsy’s nudging my arm. With my shot glass in my other hand, I move it closer to my lips to drink. The glass is empty, but the bottle is on my coffee table. Too far away.

In the midst of me drying my eyes, I suddenly hear a notification on my phone. It’s ten in the morning. People are still up this early? Despicable.

D'avoir et de Tenir

Characters: Jean Pierre Polnareff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: You wake up from a bad nightmare and your fiancee is here to comfort you.

Content Warning: death cw, grieving cw, violence cw, nightmares cw, mental illness (PTSD if you squint), fem!reader, she/her pronouns

You reasoned with yourself; moving to France will provide a new scene, a fresh restart from and away from the horrors of Cairo which constantly lurked in your mind and in your daily night terrors. You had thought you could live a life of tranquil with him, your dear Polnareff, your fiancee. 

Maybe you were wrong. 

Eventually, you won’t feel so confused and hurt when you processed the fact they were no longer here, alive on this earth. Eventually, you won’t feel like that there’s some part of you missing and you will be able to adjust, the emotions transcending from sorrow to nostalgia. Time heals wounds, people say when they attempt to comfort you but time was so damn slow. You felt weak for grieving for so long; you had barely known them but the bond you created with them was raw, intense, something akin to love you felt for a sibling. 

It had been a few months. You were slowly learning the language of your new county, thanks to your patient lover (he had been surprisingly patient with you for a lot of reasons). France was now your home and you did love every aspect of it... from the fine culture, the romantic language, and the places you promised to explore one day. France was a part of Jean Pierre; he was proud of his nation and homeland and thus, in turn, you loved it even more. Despite initially being annoyed by Polnareff’s vulgarity and provocative behavior, seemingly impulsive and arrogant, not thinking over the consequences. However, in the span of forty-something days, he unveiled his true colors to you. 

He’s an honorable man, not willing run away from a fight and whenever his mind is set on something, he’s going to do it... and out of all the Crusaders, he wears his heart on his sleeve, showing his compassion. Whenever you were upset, Polnareff was the first to detect your emotions and ask if you were okay. When he accidentally stumbled into your hotel room, tears running down your cheeks, he stayed and comforted you. Perhaps the two of you moved too fast but when you were constantly put in a life-or-death situation, well... it didn’t matter what others thought. Eventually, you sought out the Frenchman willingly and he would come to you, gifting you with desperate and needy kisses after defeating one of Dio’s agents and narrowly avoiding death’s embrace. Or sometimes, he would actually come to you, tears in his pretty blues, missing his dear sister. Your interactions with Polnareff blossomed into something special; a connection, genuine and vibrant. It felt secure, comforting, and pleasant.

It was love. You fell in love with Jean Pierre Polnareff, your complete opposite but also, your other half. He was a part of you that you wanted to follow. 

Which is why you proposed going back to France after Dio was defeated. His face flushed and you knew that he was in love with the idea of taking you home, starting over with domestic bliss. But that was before losing your friends. Avdol, Kakyoin, and even Iggy. You knew of the risk but you never figured that some of you were to die during that fateful encounter. Somehow, both of you held it in. But when you departed from Mr. Joestar and Jotaro, you couldn’t help but tear up, the moment too bittersweet. Kakyoin should have gone home to Japan, to study alongside Jotaro. Avdol should have been wishing you all farewell. You should have been taking Iggy home, back to France. You couldn’t help but feel, that you were leaving some part of you in Eygpt and it didn’t sit right. 

It never did. 

**

Blood. Decapitated arms, missing a body. Matted fur and broken bones, not breathing. A hole in his stomach, crimson streaming. The yells from a hoarse and tired voice. The defeated silence of a young man. River of tears from your lover. Red flashes. One step forward but two steps back. Confusion followed by fear tightening your throat. It’s him, Dio. A blink of an eye. How did he move so fast? Now you’re frozen, can’t move a limb. He’s approaching Jean Pierre. You try to scream. No, no, no, please, god, don’t, not him, not Jean--

Headless. A limp body drained of color is before you. 

You scream but too late. 

More blood, more red flashes. He’s approaching you now; a cold hand wraps around your neck. There’s a sharp pain. Your life is fading. Then darkness.

Eternal darkness.

“Mon cherie! Wake up, it’s okay--”

Eyelids flew open, your heart was hammering against your chest. Sweat beaded from your hairline and you felt yourself gasping for breath. You were in bed but the blanket felt too suffocating. You sat up, feeling the wetness staining your cheeks, realizing you had been crying in your sleep. Guilt pooled and filled your lungs; you must have woke up your beloved Pol and had him frightened by your moaning, pleading for the nightmare to end, it’s been about two weeks since your last one. You glanced over at your alarm clock, realizing it was three in the morning, groaning... Jean had to leave for work in a few hours. You attempted to dismiss it as just the usual nightmare and nothing more. But your fiancee can see through you. Sure, you shivered during your night terrors and sometimes called out the names of your past loved ones. But he had heard his name. You had moaned, tossing and turning as if trying to run away or do something in your dilemma. Tears were seeping through the slit of your closed eyes. Whatever it was, it had frightened you to your core. Polnareff grimaced as you tried to brush it off. He cared for your wellbeing, emotionally and mentally. 

“Sorry Jean, let me go grab a glass of water and I’ll come back to bed...” however before you had a chance to sit up from the bed, strong arms enveloped around your smaller form, pulling you in for a tight embrace. A gasp elicited from your mouth, into your lover’s chest, and your muscles tensed but large hands caressed the knots in your shoulders and back. Sheepishly, you dared to take a look at your dear Polnareff, only to be met with soft yet concerned sapphire hues. It was like you were a child, being nurtured and smothered by an overprotective mother... but it was nice, the embrace reassured you Jean was alive and well, heat radiating from his build and his heartbeat a lullaby. 

“Y/N, please... I know that wasn’t one of your usual nightmares. I’m worried about you. Don’t try to brush it off... I’m here for you, mon amour,” he murmured at the crown of your head, giving it a feather kiss. He was aware of your night terrors and tried his best to soothe away the pain. Dio was no longer a threat to them. Your friends don’t blame you for their immature deaths. He never minded easing away your fears, since he understood you would do the same for him, especially on evenings where he missed his younger sister. Memories swarm of the very first time Jean had comforted you like this in a hotel room, some small town in the Eygpt. While you appreciated his presence and being held, a blanket of certainly washing over you, you can’t help but worry you may be burdening the Frenchman. You knew he had his own emotional baggage; he dealt with trauma, probably better than you. Often, you couldn’t but feel the nagging feeling you were too clingy, too needy. 

“Are you sure, Jean? I know you must be tired, you have work soon, I-I... I don’t want to make you stay up just for me...” you babbled excuses but you heard the low hush from your beloved followed by the sensation of soft lips pressing against your forehead, muscular arms holding you closer, a hand running up and down, from your shoulder blades to the small of your back.

“Hush with that nonsense. You’re going to be my wife soon and I’m going to be with you, good or bad. Staying up with you isn’t going to hurt me. Now, do you mind telling me about your nightmare... if you want to, of course!” he reassured, not wanting to be pushy. But you could come to him about anything. You nodded against him and began to explain what happened in your latest dream. Recalling the detached arms of Avdol, how broken and defeated Iggy was before death and the wound in Kakyoin’s stomach which resulted in his demise. Then the focus went to Dio and Polnareff, when the two of you first encountered him and realizing the deadly capabilities of his stand, despite not knowing what was going on. You hiccuped, coming to the worst part of your nightmare. It was something new... the sight of your lover’s dead body, the prickling sensation of Dio’s nails digging into your throat, followed by floating away into abyssal darkness. Tears stung the corner of your eyes and you found yourself buried in your fiancee’s chest, soaking the nightshirt he wore. 

Thick fingers carded through your hair, his heart hurt from listening to your soft sobs. It must have been frightening, reliving the experiences in Cairo, added the realistic imagery with the death of him... you told him that you weren’t quite afraid of dying but you were scared for him. “I... I just want these nightmares to be over. I miss them every day. And I’m scared of possibly losing you, Jean.”

A hand found your cheek, causing you to look up at your lover. He wiped the hot tears away from your face with his thumb and he gently locked lips with yours. “It never goes away. It still haunts me... but I try my best to remember them and all the good memories we had. I don’t want you to be scared, ma belle. Remember when I told you could always count on me? I’m not going anywhere and I’ll always be here to comfort you, okay...”

You nodded, a soft smile spreading your lips. “You treat me so well, Pol. I’m glad I moved here with you... I... I don’t know how I would handle all this without you. Euh... tu es la lumière de ma vie... did I say it, right?”

“Très bien! Vous apprenez~” he gave one more kiss to your cheek before asking if you wanted to try to go back to sleep. You nodded and Polnareff pulled the covers, before entangling his arms around you once more. 

“Je t'aime tellement, ma reine,” your fiancee whispered, planting one last kiss to your forehead before closing his heavy eyelids. 

So, what do I do now?

Miyuki glanced the other side of her cabin.  Among her things were his things.  The stuff he would leave knowing he would be back to pick up where they left off.  Overtime, they collected dust, and Miyuki could not bring herself to dust it off.  This was how most days started for her.

A cold bed, cold blankets, cold pillow, and a heaviness in her room.  Her sister no longer burst through the door to tell her Ace was on the other line.  Any sort of laughter from conversations felt like they were far away.  Miyuki shied away from any fire.  It just did not have the same warmth as his.

She blinked back the tears that filled her eyes, and rolled so she had her back to Ace’s leftover belongings.  I don’t want to get up.  She knew she would have to at some point.  The ship could not keep course by itself.  For now, she would have to get used to the freezing blankets, and finding comfort in the sea and listening to only her heart beat.

Miyuki brought her blankets up over her shoulder.  After what seemed to be an eternity, she shut her eyelids.  She drifted back into the comforting darkness.  A few breast strokes in, a hand grabbed her shoulder.  Surprised she turned her neck to see who it was.  She could only see that grin as the grip on her shoulder tightened.  The warmth radiated into her body.  Tears welled up until they spilled over the edge.

I’m here.  I’m always near.  There was no sound from his moving lips, but she understood.  She lost control and sobbed.

“I’m so glad you’re here.  Thank you, Ace.”  She continued to sob, as his hand rubbed her back.

I’m here.  I’m always near.  The words continued to show up in her mind.  She smiled.