ive been following u so long I literally graduated college, bought a house, and got married. since weâve 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 itâs j like âI need ur help rn.â đż
OR sr reader confessing her feelings
OR the gang realizing she has a crush on them
dealerâs 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 đĽşđĽş 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 đđđ
since i've done aphrodisiacs before, i'll go ahead and do the gang realizing she has feelings for them đ
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 â 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 naĂŻve 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?
