#jjba fluff

Gyro usually pretended to be annoyed by it, grumbling into his collar or telling you to give your jaws a rest before the horses caught your headache.

So when dusk settled over the canyon, the campfire crackled, and you hadn't uttered a single syllable for six straight hours, the silence felt heavier than a lead weight.

Gyro noticed first. He sat across from the fire, meticulously oiling the metal edges of his Steel Balls with a greasy rag. Every few seconds, his eyes darted over the flames to where you were sitting in total, tense stillness, tightly wrapped in a wool blanket.

"Hey" Gyro said, setting his tool down. "You dead?"

You shook your head once, crisp and rigid, keeping your lips pressed into a thin, white line.

"Did a rattlesnake bite your tongue?" he tried again, leaning forward with a toothy grin that showed off his gold teeth practically gleaming in the firelight. "Did you lose a bet to Johnny? Did you suddenly realize how peaceful the desert is when you're not flapping your gums?"

You glared at him over the edge of your blanket, throwing a small handful of twigs onto the embers with unnecessary violence.

"Come on" Gyro coaxed, getting up on his hands and knees and crawling around the edge of the pit until he was crouched right next to you. He poked your shoulder hard with a gloved finger. "Just one word. Say 'Gyro, you're the greatest.' Say 'Gyro, please give me some coffee.' I know you want to."

You jabbed an elbow toward his ribs to get him to back off, but Gyro dodged it effortlessly, laughing as he leaned closer to peer into your face.

That was the last straw. You were miserable, your throat felt like it was lined with coarse sandpaper, and you just wanted him to shut his mouth for five minutes.

You grabbed your canteen, whipped around to face him, opened your mouth, and prepared to bellow at the top of your lungs.

What actually exploded out of your chest was

"stooop IT, you IDIOT!"

It didn't sound like a human voice. It started as a gravelly, guttural rasp, instantly snapped into a piercing, ear splitting falsetto that sounded like a rusty gate hinge swinging in a gale, and finished on a squeak so high and thin it rivaled a startled prairie dog.

The entire campsite froze.

Gyro’s smirk vanished instantly. His eyes went wide as saucers, his jaw dropped, and for three entire seconds, he sat in absolute, stunned silence.

Then, his face contorted.

Gyro clapped both hands over his face, but it was too late a sharp, wheezing snort escaped his nose. He doubled over, hitting his forehead directly against the dirt, his shoulders shaking in violent, silent convulsions before he finally let out a screeching, hyena-like howl of pure, unadulterated delight.

"AHAHAHA! OH GOD! WHAT WAS THAT?!" Gyro shrieked, rolling onto his back and slapping his knee so hard it left a dust cloud. "Did a frog crawl into your gullet and die?! Did you swallow an accordion?!"

"I-iT's NOT F-uNNy!" you tried to yell, but the voice crack returned with catastrophic precision, pitching up three octaves on funny until your voice gave out entirely into a dry cough.

Gyro was on his side now, gasping for air, tears streaming down his dusty cheeks through his green facial markings. "STOP, PLEASE, I’M GOING TO DIE OUT HERE! JOHNNY! JOHNNY, DID YOU HEAR THAT?!"

For the rest of the night, Gyro made it his life's mission to torment you. He refused to speak in his normal register.

"Hey, pass the salt-EEeeE!" he squawked later while cooking dinner, deliberately cracking his own voice into an absurd, ear-piercing squeak. He even grabbed his guitar before bed, sitting by the embers and strumming a atrocious three-chord tune he called "The Ballad of the Squeaker," singing the entire chorus in a cracked, warbling soprano until you threw a boot at his head.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Johnny Joestar.

Johnny had seen plenty of strange things on this race, but watching you sit on a rock wrapped in three layers of blankets while glaring daggers at the horizon was quickly ranking near the top.

Unlike Gyro, Johnny actually tried to be reasonable. While Gyro was off watering the horses, Johnny dragged himself over to the fire using his arms, setting his upper body comfortably against a wooden crate. He reached out with a long handled spoon to stir the pot of watery bean soup bubbling over the coals.

"You've got a fever" Johnny observed softly, his blue eyes assessing your flush cheeks and the heavy, glassy look in your eyes. "And your neck looks swollen. You shouldn't be sitting out in the night air."

You offered a miserable, solemn nod, pulling the wool blanket higher over your nose.

Johnny sighed, adjusting his blue star-patterned cap. "Don't pay attention to Gyro when he gets back. He's an idiot. Just rest your throat and drink some warm water. I put a bit of honey in it." He reached over, carefully picking up a steaming tin cup and extending it toward you.

A wave of warm appreciation washed over you. In a camp full of chaotic lunatics, Johnny really was the anchor. He was logical serious and possessed enough basic human empathy not to mock someone who was clearly suffering.

Grateful beyond words, you took the hot cup, looked Johnny right in the eyes, and softly rasped "Thanks, Johnny. You're actually nice."

Or, rather that is what you intended to say.

Your vocal cords, completely inflamed and sabotaged by whatever dust bug you had picked up three miles back, utterly betrayed you.

"Th-AANKS, J-oHHnNY! YOu're N-iCEEee!"

The sound vibrated out of your throat like a dying turkey trapped inside a trombone. It went low, high, cracked into a shrill whistle, and then popped back down into a harsh croak, all within the span of two seconds.

Johnny’s stoic expression shattered like glass.

His hand, which had been reaching for his own tin of soup, froze in mid-air. His jaw tightened. His blue eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock.

"I... I'm sorry," you squeaked again, trying to explain which only made a second, equally violent voice crack erupt into the silence "I'm S-iCK!"

Johnny turned his face away instantly. He pulled his knitted cap down over his eyes, brought both gloved hands up to cover his mouth, and bowed his head all the way down to his chest. His shoulders began to vibrate violently.

"Johnny?" you croaked, horrified. "Are you... are you laughing?"

A muffled, agonized squeak escaped Johnny's throat as he tried with every fiber of his being to hold it in.

He pressed his knuckles into his mouth so hard his hand turned red, but a heavy, wheezing sound bubbled up through his fingers anyway.

"I'm... I'm not..." Johnny choked out, his voice straining under the immense weight of suppressed hilarity. He lifted his head slightly, his eyes bright with unshed tears of laughter, his face bright red. "I'm trying... not to..."

"You're a terrible person," you whispered, though it came out as a pathetic, airy hiss.

Johnny completely lost control. He collapsed forward onto his elbows, burying his face in his arms right against his lap his body shaking with deep, helpless chuckles.

"I'm sorry!" Johnny gasped, gasping for air between wheezes. "I really... I really tried! I thought I was ready for it! But you sounded like... like a rooster getting stepped on by a horse!"

Whenever you tried to clear your throat to scold him, Johnny just raised one trembling hand in the air, pleading without looking up. "Don't-please, don't speak! If you speak again, my lungs are going to collapse! Just drink the honey!"

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

Diego Brando was not a man who cared for idle chatter. Usually, if he was forced to share a temporary camp or ride in close proximity to your group he treated your endless rambling with cold, sharp disdain ignoring your voice entirely or cutting you off with a harsh glance from his piercing blue eyes.

So when he rode up to the camp late that evening to exchange information on the next leg's water sources, he fully expected to hear your usual background noise.

Instead, there was only the sound of horses champing on dry grass and the crackle of burning brush.

Diego dismounted Slow Dancer with effortless grace, tying her reins to a low scrub oak. He walked over to the fire his boots crunching softly on the gravel. He noticed you sitting near the supply sacks, shivering slightly under a coat, staring silently into the flames.

"What's this?" Diego asked, his voice smooth, cultured, and dripping with quiet arrogance. He stood over you, casting a long shadow in the firelight as he pulled off his riding gloves. "Has the prairie finally broken you? I was under the impression your mouth operated entirely without a brain behind it."

You didn't look up. You simply gestured dismissively with your hand, signaling for him to go away and leave you to your misery.

Diego tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing with sudden, feline curiosity. He stepped closer, nudging the toe of your boot with his own.

"Answer me when I speak to you," he commanded softly, a dangerous, mocking edge in his tone. "Or have you suddenly decided you're too good to address me?"

You snapped. You were sick cold tired of Gyro’s singing, tired of Johnny’s snickering, and you were certainly not in the mood for Diego Brando’s superiority complex.

You sat up straight, glared at him with pure hatred, and croaked out "Get your boot off me, Brando!"

The resulting sound was an absolute acoustic tragedy.

It started as a deep, demonic raspy growl, instantly hitched into an insanely high, ear-splitting whistle, and ended in a pathetic, sputtering squeak: "GeTT YoUUuR BoOoOT OFF MeEE!"

Diego stopped dead.

For a fraction of a second, his predatory composure faltered. His eyebrows raised so high they disappeared under his blonde hair, and his lips parted slightly in genuine disbelief.

"My, my," Diego purred, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest as he looked down at you like a bug under a magnifying glass. "What an extraordinary performance. Is that a hatched raptor shrieking in your chest, or did dust ruin whatever pitiful vocal cords you possessed?"

You clutched your blanket around yourself, jaw clenched tight, refusing to make another sound.

"Oh, please, don't stop on my account," Diego mocked smoothly, leaning down so his face was just a few inches from yours, his bright blue eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Say something else. Tell me to leave again. It’s truly fascinating I didn't think the human voice was capable of producing a sound so entirely devoid of dignity."

He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small tin of herbal salve he carried for his horse's saddle sores, and tossed it callously into your lap.

"Rub that on your neck," Diego sneered, turning on his heel to walk back toward his horse, though a low, dark chuckle escaped his throat as he went. "Though frankly, I prefer you like this. It’s the first time you’ve been both quiet and entertaining."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Hot pants.

Hot Pants was meticulous about camp hygiene and health mostly because she couldn't stand the idea of being trapped in the desert with sick, filthy men.

So, when you went completely silent halfway through the afternoon ride, she picked up on it long before anyone else did.

By the time camp was set up near a cluster of sandstone boulders, Hot Pants had already retrieved her medical supplies from Cream Starter's saddlebags.

She walked over to where you were sitting near the fire, wrapped in a blanket, staring stoically into the embers.

"You haven't swallowed water in two hours, and your respiration is shallow" Hot Pants said, her voice brisk, disciplined, and entirely businesslike as she unbuckled a leather strap. "Let me see your throat."

You shook your head vehemently, pulling the wool blanket up past your chin until only your eyes were showing. You were determined to take your secret to the grave.

Hot Pants sighed, resting one hand on her hip, her stern, beautiful eyes narrowing with irritation. "Don't be childish. If you have an infection, it will spread to the rest of us. Open your mouth."

She stepped closer, reaching down to pull the blanket away from your face. Cornered, panicked, and annoyed by her overbearing doctor act, you snapped. You pushed her hand away, sat up straight, and opened your mouth to give her a piece of your mind.

What came out was a sound so wildly abnormal it didn't even sound like it belonged to the animal kingdom.

"LEAVE MeEE Alonee!"

It started as a guttural, demonic croak, instantly hitched into an ear-splitting, glass-shattering "alone", popped into a whistle and terminated in a pathetic airy squeak like a deflating balloon.

Hot Pants froze instantly. Her hand hovered in mid-air above your shoulder.

For three excruciating seconds, the camp was dead silent except for the crackle of burning scrub oak. Hot Pants stared at you, her pinkish-purple eyes wide, her lips slightly parted in absolute, stunned disbelief.

Hot Pants turned her entire body away from you instantly, ducking her head down toward her chest. Her shoulders dropped, and she brought both gloved hands up to cover her face.

"Hot Pants?" you rasped, horrified. "Are... are you-"

A tiny, choked squeak escaped her throat.

Hot Pants was laughing. silent whole-body wheeze as she fought with every ounce of her rigid discipline to keep her composure intact. She took three rigid, hurried steps away from the fire, leaning her forehead directly against the cool surface of a sandstone boulder, her shoulders shaking in violent, helpless spasms.

"I am... a professional..." Hot Pants managed to choke out into the rock, her voice muffled, trembling wildly with suppressed hilarity. "I have... medical training..."

"You're making fun of me!" you tried to yell, but your voice cracked again pitching up three octaves into a hysterical bird-like screech

Hot Pants practically slid down the side of the boulder onto her knees, burying her face into her arms, gasping for air as soft, breathless laughter bubbled out of her.

"Please," she gasped, raising one trembling, gloved hand over her head without looking at you, tears of laughter glinting at the corners of her eyes. "Do not... make another sound. I am trying... to maintain order here..."

It took her a full five minutes to regain her stoic demeanor. When she finally turned back around, her face was bright red and her eyes were watery. She cleared her throat, smoothed down her pink tunic with stiff, mechanical movements, and refused to meet your eye as she handed you a tin of tea.

husband! gyro zeppeli who is an excellent cook. despite you both having very demanding jobs that regularly require you to be out at the crack of dawn and back when the sun has long gone down, he takes it upon himself to whip up a delicious meal every single time. parts of you just want takeouts and call it a day, but seeing him so passionate in the kitchen warms your heart, knowing it’s a way for your husband to stay connected with his homeland. you bring his pasta to work, heating it in the microwave and the entire breakroom smells like heaven. just know all of your coworkers are jealous of you.

husband! gyro zeppeli who loves it when you go out of your way to surprise him with meal prepping. getting out of work early one afternoon, you swing by the market to pick out fresh ingredients for his signature dishes, washing them and getting everything ready so by the time gyro comes home, he won’t tire himself out even more. cooking, in a way, is how you two find peace in each other’s company after a long day. soft music plays through the speaker as you move around the kitchen. turning up the stove. the water boiling, the cars honking echo back from a distant highway. sweat running down his temple, your hair falling across your face as you lean over to taste from spoon of soup he just held up to your mouth.

husband! gyro zeppeli who’s always looking forward to your back rubs at the end of the day.  on his stomach against the mattress, gyro sighs into the pillow as your hands do magic on his sore muscles, working out the kinks. he’s yapping about things that happen at work today. difficult patients during checkups, some cute babies he saw while passing the maternity ward, horrible coffee from the hospital’s coffee machine that tastes just like mud water. when it’s his turn to give, he goes all-in. essential oil soaking his palms, your husband is keen on giving you the best massage of your life, and he delivers. you can’t help but giggle at how ticklish it is, turning your face around as your lips meet his. 

husband! gyro zeppeli who is so smitten with you it’s ridiculous. sometimes while cleaning or doing laundry together, you’ll blurt out a random joke and watch as gyro trips himself over the couch while rushing across the room, dramatically yelling “i gotta write that down!” and he does write that down. there’s a folder in his Notes app titled ‘Funny Things She Said’ that your husband will go on to use during conversations with his friends. and if they laugh at your jokes? you can bet that gyro will spot the widest, goofiest grin of them all, his chest puffed out as he proudly declares: “my wife said that!!!😸” just know that his coworkers are also tired of hearing how in love he is with you…

husband! gyro zeppeli who, despite wanting a large family, has no child in mind when he asks for your hand in marriage. having been in this profession for nearly a decade, he knows how heavily prejudiced the medical system is against women, not to mention childbirth is the most deathly and traumatizing experience a person can have. he really doesn’t want you to go through something like that just so he can selfishly have a mini-copy of his own. the guy already made this clear the same month he proposed to you: if it’s in your best interest, you two can adopt a child, a cat, a puppy. hell, just say the word, and he’ll rush to the nearest vasectomy clinic.

husband! gyro zeppeli who embodies the motto ‘happy wife, happy life’. he’s grateful for everything he has, knowing his background give him a major advantage compared to everyone else… but there’s always a lingering emptiness he can’t shake up until the day you came into his life. gyro is a natural flirt, always know what to say and how to make a girl swoon, but seeing you walk down the aisle that day in your wedding dress, this man had broken down in tears. his voice cracking as he read his vows. you’re the best thing that has ever happened to him.

he’s so cute…

⟢ Was born on the street and has lived most of its life as a stray, getting fed around Napoli before lingering around restaurants to beg for food. At around 6 years old it had its first run in with the hitman team.

⟢ Pesci was the first to bother to try to get it help, only to be told it would just be put down if he took it to the vet without an owner by Prosciutto. So instead he would eat most of his meal and sneak meats and snacks for the cat whenever he would go out to eat, accidentally making it follow him home every time, yowling at the door for affection and food.

⟢ Surprisingly Pesci was against bringing it in, knowing that they couldn't entirely get it registered when they're in the work they are, but also that the others weren't as… kind to the cat. It wasn't until Risotto and Ghiaccio showed interest and sympathy for the little guy that the others just kinda accepted it was theirs.

⟢ It has so many issues initially. Fleas, worms and FAD (flea allergy dermatitis). Melone demanded outright that they keep it regardless and took it to the vet himself, getting it treated and put under his name so nothing happened to it out of a panic that Prosciutto wasn't actually just trying to make Pesci leave it. It took a few weeks and a lot of cleaning the safehouse to get rid of the fleas, but eventually, it was relatively… clean.

⟢ Melone and Sorbet sort of co-parent it, feeding, cleaning, the works. Sometimes the others chip in when they're not home, but its mostly those two that actually care about it. The others mostly just… accept its there.

⟢ It sleeps in the living room, and its not allowed in any of the rooms in case it breaks something + also they don't really want fur on their bedding. But occasionally Ghiaccio, Pesci or Formaggio sneak it into their rooms on bad nights, just to have some sort of comfort nearby even if they hate the mess.

⟢ No one named it for around 5/6 months, all of them just had their own names for it… None were good.

Risotto - The cat

Prosciutto - Filthy stray

Pesci - Kitty when talking to it, Spettro (Spectre) when speaking about it, it always scares him because it's so quiet LMAO

Melone - Dumb baby (He somehow always sees it breaking shit and being clumsy so it stuck)

Sorbet - Rat (Affectionately)

Gelato - Cono (Cone… like ice cream cone.)

Ghiaccio - Fat or Idiot

Illuso - Figaro (Pinocchio's cat) to the team, Little one when he's alone

Formaggio - Dumbass or Fatty

⟢ Melone spends five whole days picking a good name and changed it easily a dozen times before Formaggio just hits him with "Just call it cat." and Melone immediately realizes the wordplay to name it Gateaux (French word for cakes). It kinda just sticks, it's easier than calling it all by different names... Half of the others don't even know why they spell it that way when it's pronounced the same, only Risotto, Melone and Ghiaccio know what it means until they ask.

⟢ It hates to be touched unless it wants to be, and it is NOT adverse to just clawing them, way deeper than most of them expect and it ends up with a lot of begging Risotto to fix it. He doesn't.

⟢ It likes dark spots in corners and covered places where it can hide out of their way, especially when they're arguing. Sometimes will just jump up onto bookshelves and stay up there until Risotto scoops it down. It is very dumb… it gets up and doesn't know how to safely get down, so will yowl and make sad little noises until someone comes to help.

⟢ Has a scratchy, wet meow. It's so gross and most of them hate it… but they miss it when it's too silent or they're away from the safehouse.

⟢ Prosciutto, Formaggio and Illuso pretend to despise the cat, but then they're the ones that are there first when it gets hurt or yelps. Will deny it til their last breath but they won't move for a while after until they know that it's not actually hurt... Prosciutto is the one no one expects but he's the one that always feeds it extra treats... They think it's Pesci.

⟢ If they can't find the cat they freak out, at least for the first month or so, but they just accept that if they can't find it its either somewhere so stupid they haven't looked or Illuso has stolen it into the mirror dimension. He says that "It has access. I didn't take it in." But Gateaux doesn't understand how mirrors work so its clearly a lie…

⟢ Bites affectionately. Washes affectionately… both of those things are intertwined. Ghiaccio is the only one safe because he covers up, but he's absolutely the one it seeks out to lay on. He's comfortable and cold in the hot weather, will cry at his door until he lets it in if the house is too warm… they make fun of him for "Being its bitch." and fear for their life immediately after. But still say it all the time. And he really is, he doesn't ever just ignore it. He's a huge softie even if it drives him insane.

⟢ Formaggio is actually the one that interacts with it the least, it annoys him a lot to not pet it when he wants to so he just pretends that he doesn't actually WANT to pet it. Bro thinks he can reverse psychology a cat and then gets huffy when it obviously fails… He tries every time and lights up like a kid on Christmas when it chooses him to get pets.

"Is that supposed to be an elephant?" JOHNNY stares at the chibi animals on the front of the pack, his eyes zeroing in one with a gigantic lemon headwear.

You grin and give the pack a few shakes. "Yep! Wanna test your luck?"

 He jerks his head away with a scowl, but you can tell that he's not actually mad. "Hard pass."

Still, Johnny chooses to stay with you as you tear the pack open, revealing  the tiny lemon elephant he just looked at.

 "Tada~" you place the tiny flocked animal in the palms of your hand, holding it out to Johnny. He plucks it between two fingers, muttering to himself.

“So the lemon is his entire costume…”

Your boyfriend then sets the figurine down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“He’s…. cute, I’ll give him that.”

 An hour later, you find Johnny on the porch where he’s doodling the lemon elephant into his sketchbook.

 —

  “Please, please, please.” You’ve frankly never seen the Italian blonde as stressed as he is right now, hands knitted under his chin with his eyes shut, and all that’s in front of him on the table is a Calico Critters blind bag. “Please be the giraffe.”

“GYRO…”

“Bella!” You flinch as he suddenly grabs you by the arm and pulls you down on his lap. Giving the guy an unimpressed look, you relent with a sigh and reach for the pack, squeezing it a few times.

“I trust you to open it,” his arms encircle your waist from behind, head falling onto your left shoulder. You can’t help but smile at his dramatic whine. “You’re my Lady Luck!”

 And surely enough… what pops out of the pack is a cute giraffe with his tiny strawberry hat and strawberry overall.

Before you can react, Gyro lets out an excited gasp. The flocked animal almost falls from your hands as your boyfriend picks you up in his arms and starts spinning you around the kitchen in pure glee.

“I get it, put me down now!” You complain even as giggle bubbles in your throat, feeling his lips rain kisses down your face.

 “This little guy is adorable,” Gyro sighs in content, his stubble grazes your cheek as he presses a final kiss there. “Not as adorable as my girl though. I can’t wait to see what else we got~”

 Your smile slowly dies as you remember the sixty blind bags Gyro just hauled home today.

   —

   “C’mon,” you frown at DIEGO. “I thought you like gambling.”

 “Yes,” he rolls his eyes, sounding insufferable as always. “The type that makes me rich, not something that dumb me down to a toddler’s level.”

 “Dude honestly, just say you’re mad you kept getting duplicates of the same bunny.”

 “They were not the same bunny,” you almost laugh at how quickly he snaps, turning away with his arms crossed and the tip of his ears bright red. “One of them was a white cat.”

 “Yeah yeah, whatever.” You all but shove the pack into his face. Diego scoffs, giving it a few sharp flicks before he tears it open. A hamster with an orange crab headwear and a yellow bathrobe pops out.

 “Huh.” Diego blinks at the tiny animal.

 “Do you like it?”

 “He’s kind of ugly,” his eyes narrow as he turns the figurine over in his hand, running his thumb over the flocking once.

 “But he’s my child now.”

   —

  HOT PANTS watches you like she always does as you struggle with opening the surprise pack… mostly because you’re anxious at the fact that, again, she’s watching. Pouting a little as you turn away, she can’t help the wry curl of her lips.

“Something you want to show me, princess?”

“I just…” You trail off, staring down at the blind bag in your hands, then back up at her sheepishly. “I wanna get one with your color.”

Your girlfriend leans over, chin on top of your head as she gently squeezes your waist. “Where is it?”

 The pack crinkles as you tap at a tiny, cream-colored Labrador with dark bead eyes. The little guy has a dark blue and white striped shirt with a blue collar, a metallic pink vest adorned with small gold buttons, matching pink trousers, and a molded red rose pinned to his lapel.

“His name is Liam,” you mutter, feeling her hair tickles the side of your face. She lets out a small hum.

“Looks nice.”

“What if we don’t get him?” You nuzzle into Hot Pants’ chest as she strokes your hair.

“All of them look cute, I don’t mind.”

Both of her hands find yours, guiding you as you both open the pack together.

 Inside lies the tiny cream-colored puppy.

 You grin to yourself, turning the figurine in your palms over a few times before holding it up to her like an offering that Hot Pants takes, examining the tiny creature closely.

"How well-made," you feel the vibration of her voice against your ear. "Are these flocked?"

 "Mhm..." You wrap your arms around her waist, sighing into the crook of her neck. "I'm still finding something that matches your shade of pink."

 "You don't have to," she huffs a small laugh, pressing a kiss against your temple.

 "Get one with a wedding theme next time."

   —

  Practically beaming from the second you reveal the gift, LUCY STEEL can barely contain her excitement. Even the packaging is adorable! She spends almost thirty minutes staring at the characters on the front of the pack, flipping over to learn all of their names, even coming up with backstories for each of the critter. 

She tears the pack carefully, and when a tiny flocked white bunny finally tumbles out into her palm, Lucy lets out a soft, delighted gasp.

 “Oh…! Look at her. She’s so small… and soft. I love her pink dress!”

 Holding the little figurine up to the light, she stares at the tiny clothes and beady eyes with pure wonder.

 “It feels special… like a tiny friend.”

The girl cradles the white bunny gently in both hands, rubbing her cheek against it. “I’ll take very good care of her. Thank you!”

You end up bringing her to see the life-sized Calico Critters figures later.

Ghiaccio -

Melone -

Formaggio -

Risotto -

Sorlato -

Illuso -

Pesci -