Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Before I even start writing anything I just wanna make some things clear!

Requests:

I might not always be able to answer your requests right away, either because of my mental health or because I'm just really busy and don't have much time—or sometimes, I just don't have the inspiration.

BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN I WON'T TRY! I absolutely love getting requests, so please keep sending them! 💖

I might not do female characters because I'm not used to writing male y/n's or whatever so yea-

Anyways, you can ask for requests on my discord which issssss

iate_myhamster

It's actually my first time writing on this website so just don't mind that..💀

Also also, sorry if I misspelled anything or if my grammar is wrong lol. English isn't my first language so yea- hope you guys understand that as well :)

OH ALSO ALSO ALSO for obvious reasons, all underaged characters will all be aged up ofc lol so don't worry about that :)

So yeah, that's all!

Thanks for reading this quick disclaimer thingy and I hope you have the best time of ur life reading this stuff. Anyways, ima just go get some samosas and finish writing some other stuff <3

★★★

The first three chapters are lowk ass btw so js ignore those 💀🙏

Chapter Text

Ofc we have to start off with my husband 😘

Anyways, ENJOYYY 

Ps, sorry if the thing is ooc- I've been feeling like doo doo poo poo caca laca

ANYWAYS ENJOY (again)

_________________________________

"THATS IT. IM DONE. FUCK YOU, FUCK YOUR NEW GF, FUCK ALL OF IT." I say before stomping my way over to the bedroom I used to share with my boyfriend...well- Ex-boyfriend now-

I sigh heavily before opening your wardrobe and grabbing a big suitcase and unzipping it open. I move back and forth from my wardrobe to my vanity, all the way to the side of the bed where I used to sleep in and grabbing a plushie that my mother gave I before moved out. 

I shoved everything into the suitcase before being bombarded with complaints from my ex-boyfriend who LITERALLY DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO ACTUALLY SHUT HIS MOUTH.

anyways..

I finish packing all my clothes and other personal belongings before grabbing your phone, coat, and purse. I grab the handle of the suitcase and roll it out over to the front door before opening it and storming out of the ugly ahh apartment that my dumb, stinky, ex-boyfriend lives in. 

As I leave the apartment he yells at me saying stupid things that don't even make sense at this point because of how they were being muffled by the fluffy earmuffs I got as a birthday gift from one of my family members that I don't know the name of because I have way to many relatives (honestly, as a curry muncher, I can relate)

I grab my phone out of my back pocket and begin to text one of my closest friends and one of the guys I have a small...okay okay not small but big crush on ever since we pretty much met:

Abbacchio.

Me and Abbacchio have been pretty good friends ever since we met at the police station he used to work in before some incident happened between him and one of his colleagues as he was doing his job

*5 years ago*

!You can skip this whole part if you want btw!

(Second person)

You rush up to the police station and swing the doors open before panting as you try to catch your breath while quickly making your way up to the front desk and slamming your hand down to catch the cop with light purple/white hairs attention 

"I would- I would like to file a report...p-please.." you say before panting again and again as a way to catch your breath while having your head hand down with one of your hands propped down on your knee to help support yourself up as you catch your breath from running all the way from the deli to here

"I'm sorry?" The light haired cop says befit leaning in with a grape donut in his hand as he munches onto it, strawberry filling oozing out of it as he bites down onto the donut. All that this cop had done had made you blush just from a single glance at him. But who were you to blame? That man was HOT AS F-

"You heard me- I would like t-" 

"No no, I heard you- but what do you want to file a report for?" He says before setting the donut down into a plate and wiping his hands off with a napkin

"I would like to file a report for a stolen item- some man stole my wallet as I was paying for something at the corner store.." 

The man nods before taking a pen and a notepad before scribbling some things down as you tell him about what happened. A strand of hair falls onto his face, covering his eyes as he nods slowly while writing things down.

Sooner or later, you finish telling him the story and he stops writing things down into the notepad and looking back up at you with a small smile on his face. "Before you go...could you describe how the man looks for me?" The cop says before softening his gaze on you

"Ah, yeah sure!" You say before taking a small deep breath and pointing your two index fingers to your head and making small circles as you point to it. "That man had some ummm...oh yeah, he had some purple hat on his head with some white stripes on it!" You say as you hover your hand above your head while making some imaginary lines on your head as you describe the man.

"Oh yes, he also wore some green shirt thing wish some...white pants? No-No were they grey?! Shit- I don't remember...sorry" you say before letting your hands fall to the side of your body before sighing and crossing your arms 

The cop simply just chuckles a bit and nods slowly before writing some small things down and smiling at you once again and sighing softly  "Thank you, miss. That should help us a bit"

The cop stands up before taking the notepad and standing up from his chair and walking over to the other room behind the front desk before stopping "If we try to find the man then we will do our best to let you know, okay?" He says before smiling warmly at you. You nod and smile back at him before sighing and watching the man leave the room before making your way to leave the police station.

*time skip* 

You're walking down the street over to your your local cafe before bumping into a tall man that blocked your path before grunting as your ass hits the sidewalk. You shoot a glare up at the person you bumped into before suddenly realizing who it was 

"OMG ITS YOU! T-the guy from the police station thingy!" You say before standing back up and smiling warmly at the familiar man you had met a few days ago. "Yep, it's me!" The man says before smiling warmly and helping you prop yourself back up. 

"What a small world we live in..." You say before sighing and looking up at the familiar man as he nods and tilts his head to the side "Oh, by the way, I never got your name.." you say before fumbling around with your fingers unconsciously 

"Oh yeah, sorry about that...my name is Abbacchio, Leone Abbacchio" he says before reaching his hand out to you to properly greet you to which you gladly accept and shake his hand back. 

"I'm Y/n, Y/n (M/n) L/n!" 

*Present Day*

I groan a bit as Abbacchio takes a while to answer the call so I simply sit down at a chair in the front lobby of the hotel I managed to bump into as I was walking to some corner store while waiting for this dumbass to answer the call >:(

After at least 100 calls later, he finally answers the call.

"Hello?" Abbacchio says at the other end of the line. I let out a small sigh of relief as I hear his voice before saying something back

"I'm gunna make this quick. Pick me up at [hotel name]. I have something to tell you.." 

There's a long string of silence as the call goes on before I hear him sigh

"Cant you just tell m-"

"no."

Silence again..

"Fine." 

TIME SKIP WOOP WOOP!

As I'm sitting down on his couch right next to him my phone blasts with notifications from my ex-boyfriend and I let out a small sigh before picking it up and putting it on silent mode. I look back over at Abbacchio as he stares at me after I finished telling him what had happened between me and my ex. 

"Y/n...I'm so sorry that happened to you...he never even deserved you in the first place.." he says before sighing and resting his hand on my cheek "If anything else happens between you and him or anyone else, just know that...I'll always be here for you.." Oh my god, when he holds my face I just feel...warm inside...

I blush faintly before nodding slowly and tilting my head to the side and smiling warmly at Abbacchio. "Thank you, Abbacchio. Thank you so much" I say before sighing and looking away before standing up from the couch. As I stand up he looks up at me slightly puzzled before standing up as well 

"Where are you going?" 

"I dunno...I think I might just stay at some hotel or somethi-

"Stay with me"

I look over at Abbacchio before having my eyes widen a tiny bit before blinking twice and gently scratching my arm to keep my hands somewhat occupied. Sure we've been friends for a really long time but I never really stayed at his house. Yes we have hung out at his place here and there but I never actually had the thought of staying over at his house...

"I-I mean like...where am I gunna sleep?" I say before looking down at the wooden floor and biting the inside of my cheek slightly "Well...I guess you could sleep on my bed and I'll sleep on the couch?" He says it more like a question than a statement.

"You sure? I feel bad about you sleeping on the-

"It's fine..."

"Dude- you really need to stop cutting me off."

Instead of him saying anything, he simply sighs and grabs the wine bottle from the side table before taking a swig of it and putting it back down 

"What? You wanna share the bed with me or something?"

My face heats up as he suddenly says that and I look up at him before opening my mouth but then closing it and looking away. I fumble around with my fingers before hearing him sigh and walk over to the windows and closing the curtains before walking back over to me 

"Abbacchio..."

"Hm?"

"I don't really...I don't really mind sleeping in the same bed with you.."

His eyes widen a bit and he stares at me for a bit before having a small smirk on his face. Abbacchio nods before walking closer to me and gently placing both of his hands on my shoulders. 

Before I can even say anything, he leans in close to me before gently placing a small peck on my lips before letting go of my shoulders and walking over to the hallway "I'm gunna shower, you can go unpack your clothes and stuff from that suitcase. Make yourself feel at home" he says before winking at me and walking over to the bathroom

What a bizarre day.

★★★

Chapter Text

"NAURRRRRRR IM DONE FORRRR EUFHSJAMDMAMC" you say as you stare at the game over screen after being defeat by FUCKING THUNDER BLIGHT GANON OH MY GOD I HATE HIM SO M- ahem...
Anyways!

As you toss the pro controller to the side and suffer in defeat, you can hear your roommate and the guy you had the biggest crush on, Kakyoin, letting out a small chuckle before walking up to you "Damn, isn't this your 5th time trying to beat him?" He says before picking up the controller and sitting down on the floor in front of you as you sit on the couch

"WHAT NO- it's actually my 2nd time thank you very much!" You say somewhat proudly before crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back on the couch. You sigh and watch Kakyoin start the boss battle over again before starting to fight thunder blight ganon all over again

"It's actually really easy to beat him...all you have to do is..." he says before getting lost in thought while staring at the screen while pressing all sorts of buttons on the controller. As he's finishing the boss battle, you hear the front door knock and you look over to it "I'll go get it" you say before standing up from the couch and walking over to the door and opening it.

Pizza! (mozzarella.)

"Oh, thank you!" You say to the delivery man before taking the box out of their hand and paying for the food. You close the door and walk back to the living room before placing the pizza box on the table before sighing and taking a slice from the box and blowing on it to somewhat cool it down before taking a small bite from it

"You wanshom?" You say with some of the pizza in your mouth before chewing and swallowing it while looking at kakyoin as he finally beats the boss battle before putting the controller down "yeah sure, why not" He says before taking a slice and taking a big bite out of it which makes him get some of the sauce get onto his face. You let out a small giggle as you notice the pizza sauce on the side of his face before leaning close to him and wiping some of it off of his face. The tall red head starts to blush a bit before clearing his throat and looking away from you

"Hey Nori?" You say before smiling faintly at him and leaning back onto the couch and yawning slightly. I mean, it was getting pretty late but you guys didn't care because who would. You know you didn't. "Yeah? What's up n/n?" Kakyoin asks calmly while taking another bite of the pizza, making sure not to get any more sauce onto his face

"Wanna prank call some random people!" You say cheerfully before placing your pizza slice down and smiling brightly at the man in front of you "I-I mean...I guess we could..?" He says before smiling back at you and grabbing the Tv remote before turning it off, getting off the floor, and sitting down on the couch next to you. You giggle a tiny bit and grab your phone before dialing up some random number and waiting for the person on the other end of the call to answer to which your surprise, they do!

"Hello?" The person on the other side of the phone says

"Thank you for calling McDonald's. How may I help you? You say while trying to not let out any form of laughter escape your mouth. Kakyoin simply just stares at you in disappointment on how you couldn't think of anything better

"I-I'm sorry?" The person on the other end of the line says. Instead of saying anything else you die from second hand embarrassment and hang up from the call before falling back onto the couch "Y/n...that was the most lamest thing you could have said." Kakyoin says before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose "I knowwww! I just haven't prank called anyone since I was 14!" You say before sighing and continuing to lay back on the couch.

There's a long silence between you guys until Kakyoin breaks it "Hey N/n?" He says before looking down at the floor and blushing very faintly before sighing "Ya? What it is?" You say, lifting your head up from the cushion on the couch and raising your eyebrow slightly. "I know this is out of the blue but...do you...like anyone?" He says before running his hand through his smooth red hair. That single moment made your heart jump and your face slightly heat up but you manage not to show it pretty well

"I uh...kinda- I guess.." you say before biting the inside of your cheek and sitting up on the couch before having your knees pressed up against your chest as you look over at Kakyoin with a small smile on your face "O-oh...well..who is it?" He says softly before looking up at you with a small smile on his face..probably just for show

As soon as Kakyoin says that, you tense up and blush a bit before sighing and moving a bit closer to him. You gently tuck a small strand of hair behind your ear and look down at your hands before biting your bottom lip slightly. Kakyoin gets the message and he blushes softly before smiling warmly at you before leaning close to you and kissing your lips gently before gently holding onto your waist

It takes you a while to realize what happened but you happily give in and kiss him back a bit passionately before wrapping your arms around his neck and moving backwards on the couch, making your back hit the soft cushion on the couch as the red head continues to make out with you for a bit longer before finally pulling back and looking down at you as you lay down on the couch underneath him, making him blush a bit more.

"S-shit...sorry- I couldn't control mysel-" he says before sitting back up until he gets interrupted by you kissing his cheek gently before smiling warmly at him gently caressing his cheek before gently hugging him, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck before sighing happily "don't worry about it...I kinda liked it.." you say before continuing to hold onto him while still blushing faintly after what the both of you guys did a few seconds ago.

"O-oh...alright.." he says before smiling softly and hugging you back and kissing the top of your head before yawning and leaning back on the couch while gently running his fingers through your hair

Chapter Text

Math.

We all know about it. You know, the thing with addition and subtraction and stuff like that!
You were good at it, but clearly, Narancia Ghirga, the boy with messy black hair and pretty violet eyes sucks at it. You were sitting down on the floor in the middle of your bedroom with him, math workbooks all over the floor and a bunch of crumpled papers next to them.

You sigh heavily and regret your decision on taking on the challenge from Fugo to try to tutor Narancia for a week after telling him to relax on the way he teaches Narancia. Crazy thing is...it's already day two and you guys still haven't made that much progress.
"Alright, Narancia...do you at least know how to...I don't know- multiply big numbers or something-?"
You say before cracking your neck and your back from staying in the same position for god knows how long

The raven haired boy smiles brightly before nodding and putting his hands on his hips before proudly saying "Yup! I know how to do that!" He says before smirking proudly even though after failing on how to subtract numbers multiple times-
You sigh and nod before randomly thinking of a math question to give him before getting one pop into your head "alright...well then what's 42 x 83?" You say before looking at him with a bored expression on your face. "Oh! That's easy!" He says before picking up his pencil and scribbling some things down onto his notebook before showing it to you.

42
x83
-------
2686

You look down at the notebook and read what he had written down before scratching your head a bit and sighing. You shake your head and take the notebook out of his hand before picking up your pen and writing down some things onto it to try to correct it "Ah...I see what you did wrong.." you say while still looking down at the paper before looking back up at him and showing the corrections you made

"Instead of multiplying 8 x 4, you did 8 x 3 which is what screwed it all up. 8 x 4 isn't 24, it's 32. So if you add um...if you add...wait what-?" You say before flipping the notebook back towards you and reading over what he had done "Ughhhhhhhh- this is way to hard n/nnnn...can we just take a break please!" Narancia says before flopping down onto the floor before putting his hand over his forehead. You look over at Narancia before sighing and shaking your head and looking back down at the notebook. You pick your pen back up and start to re-write the math problem before doing it yourself

42 x 83 = 3486

You stare at the paper for a bit before biting your bottom lip and sighing. You look over at Narancia and catch him staring at you while having a small blush form on his face before he looks away from you and off to somewhere else. You blush a bit as well before clearing your throat and standing up from the floor and stretching a bit "You know what- yeah, let's take a small break, Nara" you say before walking over to your bed and laying down onto it before picking up the TV remote on your nightstand and turning the TV on. In a few seconds, Narancia joins you onto the bed before snuggling close to you on it.

You blush a bit before going though some random movies and playing one movie called "3 idiots" before getting comfy in your bed. You feel Narancia gently move his hand closer to yours before holding it softly. You look over at him as he holds your hand but he doesn't look back. He just pays attention to the movie. You smile warmly at him before holding his hand back and watching the movie as well.

*time skip*

Bucciaratis pov woah:

As I walk down the hallway filled with the other team members doors, the majority of them locked of course- except one of them. I walk over to it and hear some movie playing so I silently lean over to the door and peek my head into the room. I look at the two people laying on the bed cuddling together before letting a small smile form onto my face. I close the bedroom door before sighing and walking away from the room 

"Those lovebirds..." 

Chapter Text

Caught.

That's what the famous mangaka was. You were pretty close friends with him while having a small crush on him. Okay well maybe not small but a pretty big crush on him. Even though you did your best not to show it, you sometimes slipped up; such as blushing profusely whenever he just made small gestures to you like resting his hand on your shoulder or something like that. Even when he would be practicing some drawing poses and when he would ask you for help, you would always blush whenever he touched your face or something when adjusting your body to the pose he wanted.

But today was different. You had caught him drawing something. Well...someone in particular...

you.

Sure it might not be a big deal but instead of some normal wholesome drawing of you...it was something way different than that. Something...intimate...with him. 

_______________________________

It was a pretty cool day in the town you were living in. You were staying over with one of your best friends and the guy you had a small crush on who was also a famous mangaka: Rohan Kishibe!
You slowly start to get off of the guest bed before yawning and sitting up on it. You sigh and rub your eyes before hearing the faint sounds of scribbling on a paper from across the hall. You sigh and get up from the bed before walking over to the bathroom and getting yourself all propped up for the day before walking out of the bathroom.

You slip on some soft slippers before making your way over to Rohan's work office and knocking on the door gently while waiting for a response.

"O-One sec..." Rohan says on the other side of the door. You shrug and wait for the door to open before yawning softly. As you wait for the door to open, you can hear something drop before the sounds of footsteps become more apparent. The door opens and you look up to see the mangaka before smiling warmly at him "Good morning!" You say softly before noticing his hair being somewhat messed up.

Instead of questioning it you simply just smile at him before blushing a bit from the eye contact so you just look down at the floor. "U-um...oh yeah- Morning," Rohan says before clearing his throat and walking out of the way so you can come into the room which you gladly walk into. "You okay, Rohan? You seem...worried about something?" you say before walking over to his desk and sitting down on it. As you sit down on Rohan's desk, you see his eyes flicker between you and something else.

You raise an eyebrow before sighing and swaying your feet in the air a bit before speaking softly "Hey Rohan, why don't you ever show me any of your drawings?" you say before fumbling around with your thumbs a bit. Rohan looks up at you and shrugs one shoulder before walking over to his desk and picking up one of his sketchbooks to show it to you. But before he can turn back around to face you, he sees you picking up one of the sketchbooks on the floor. 'S-shit..' His face brightens up and he tries to grab it out of your hand but fails "Y/n! Give that back now!" He says while still trying to grab the sketchbook out of your hand "Nooooo! Let me see them! Why are you so emba- oh.." you say before having your eyes widen drastically.

You take a deep breath to stop yourself from blushing like crazy as you look back and forth between Rohan and the drawing before clearing your throat. Rohan stares at you for a bit while blushing like crazy as well before quickly closing the sketchbook. You had caught him drawing something. Well...someone in particular...

you.

Sure it might not be a big deal but instead of some normal wholesome drawing of you...it was something way different than that. Something...intimate...with him. You put the sketchbook down on his desk before looking down at the floor while still blushing deeply. "L-Look, Y/n- it's not what it looks like...You weren't supposed to see that..." Rohan says before taking a deep breath and sighing while running his fingers through his hair.

After seeing the drawing of you and him...doing that you remain blushing deeply. Sure you feel a bit...grossed out but- you feel moderately flattered that he likes you back. Well...not likes you, but loves you.
Before you can say anything to the mangaka, he starts rambling on about him being sorry and shit but all you do is just take a few steps toward him before gently placing your hand on his lips to shush him up. He looks down at you with wide eyes before looking away from you. Before the both of you could say anything else, you gently placed your lips onto his before wrapping your arms around the man's neck

You slowly start to pull away from the kiss before letting your arms flow down onto Rohan's chest before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Before you undo the last button, you look up at him and wait for his permission for you to continue which he allows you to do. You finish taking the man's shirt off before taking your own off. Your silk, black bra perfectly hugs your chest, and you slightly shiver from the cold air after taking it off, your buds slightly hardening up from it. You begin to undress fully before crouching down and fumbling around with his belt before undoing it and slowly sliding his pants down along with his boxers. Before you could do anything, his dick springs out and almost hits your face. You take a look at his raging boner before having your eyes widen from how large he is.

You stare at his member before smirking opening your mouth and gently giving it a small lick on his tip which makes him whimper. You run your tongue onto his dick before fully taking him into your mouth and bobbing your head up and down. As you move your head up and down, Rohan grabs the back of your head before tangling his fingers into your hair. You end up letting muffled sounds escape your lips as you blow him off before finally having the courage to fully take him. You begin to deepthroat him, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. The sight of your face all flustered and messed up as Rohan slightly rocks his hips as you blow him off tips him over the edge which makes him release his warm and sticky load down your throat.

You slightly gag a bit from his sudden release before pulling your head away from his dick and gasping for air from the lack of oxygen you got while blowing him off. Before you could look back up at Rohan, he picks you up bridal style and carries you over to the bed before laying you down on it and flipping your body, causing you to yelp as your face quickly hits the soft pillow underneath your head. You feel Rohans warm hands grip your hips tightly before he gives himself a couple strokes. He slowly begins to slide his long and thick dick into you, making you let a small squeak escape your lips out of pure pleasure.

He continues to rock his hips back and forth a bunch of times before throwing a bunch of degrading words at you as you just simply become a mess, your hair becoming all messed up and frizzy, just like Rohans when you saw him in the morning. He continues to pound your guts before pulling out and releasing his warm and sticky load onto your back. You give up on holding yourself up and collapse onto the bed before Rohan lays down next to you, now showering you with praises and soft kisses on your neck and cheeks.

Soon enough you both fall asleep and yeah 🕺
_______________________________

IM SORRY I GOT LAZT AT THE END 💀
Anyways hope u enjoyed that lmao
That took me forever to finish bc of how much I was thinking on if I should finish it or not 💀

Chapter Text

“Gyro…let’s break up. This relationship isn’t exactly working out–” 

“Y/n, why?! Why–what even is going on? Why do you want to break up all of a sudden!? Don’t you remember all the plans we had for the future, all the new memories we could have made? Hell, even the memories we already made!”

“I dunno, Gyro. I just…I just fell out of love, I guess.” 

Those words echoed relentlessly in Gyro’s mind, like a haunting melody on repeat that he couldn't shake. He stood at the horse training grounds, preparing for the race just days away, but the weight of their conversation felt heavier than any physical challenge he faced. 

Gyro swung himself onto his horse, urging it into a gallop around the training ring. The horse soared over the obstacles that stood proudly in its path, each jump fluid and graceful. As they cleared the final hurdle, Gyro's hat nearly slipped from his head, but he adjusted it just in time, his heart racing—not just from the exercise, but from the whirlwind of emotions still swirling in his mind.

[the day before] 

You stood at the sink, washing the dishes in the cozy home you shared with your boyfriend when a sudden knock at the front door interrupted your thoughts. You turned off the faucet and dried your hands on the towel stuffed in your pocket before walking towards the sound. You peeked through the peephole and smiled softly, your heart fluttering as you quickly unlocked the door.

Gyro chuckled, the sound rich and full of affection, as he wrapped his arms around your waist and stepped inside, using his foot to close the door behind him.

With a playful grin, he effortlessly lifted you off the ground and spun you in the air, your laughter mixing with his. “I missed you as well, Amore mio!” he declared, his eyes sparkling with joy. He set you back down gently, but kept his arms around you, looking into your eyes with a mix of mischief and warmth. “I can’t believe I had to be away for so long. Every moment without you felt like an eternity. How was your day? Tell me everything!”

You kept your arms wrapped around him, looking up with a playful expression. With a dramatic sigh, you teased, “Oh Gyro, I was so tired today! All I had to do was work, work, and work. My feet hurt so much, and my back is killing me!” You pressed a hand to your forehead and leaned into his embrace, pretending to be utterly worn out. Gyro chuckled warmly at your antics, his laughter filling the cozy space around you. “Such a hard life you lead!” he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes as he shook his head. “You really should take better care of yourself, you know. You deserve to relax, especially after a long day like that.”

He stepped back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. “How about I make us dinner tonight? You can take a break while I handle things in the kitchen.” Gyro paused, a playful smirk appearing on his face. “I promise to make something that will put some life back into those tired bones of yours.”

As he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of warmth wash over you. His touch was tender and affectionate, making you feel cherished and understood. “But only if you let me spoil you for a while,” he added, his voice low and teasing. “I can’t have my love suffering from a hard day of work without a little pampering, can I?”

You smiled up at him, playfully rolling your eyes. “Alright, alright, I guess I’ll let you pamper me.”

Gyro’s grin widened, and he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Perfect. Now, sit tight, relax, and let me work my magic.” He gently guided you to the couch, draping a soft blanket over your lap before heading to the kitchen. You settled in, watching as he rolled up his sleeves with a determined look, fully committed to his role as chef for the evening.

Soon, the delicious aroma of garlic and tomatoes filled the air as he stirred a pan of simmering sauce, humming softly to himself. He tossed in freshly cooked penne, stirring it through the rich sauce with a precision that showed he knew exactly what he was doing. A hint of fresh basil and a sprinkle of Parmesan followed, and within moments, he was plating the pasta with a flourish.

Gyro walked over to you, and you offered a small smile as Gyro set the plate of steaming penne in front of you. “Dinner is served, signorina,” he announced with a playful bow. You chuckled softly, though your heart wasn’t fully in it.

“Thanks, Gyro. This looks… really good,” you said quietly, picking up your fork and taking a slow bite. The sauce was rich and perfectly seasoned, but your mind was somewhere else. Across the table, Gyro watched you, unaware of the words you were struggling to say.

He took his seat, twirling some pasta onto his fork. “Only the best for you,” he said, lifting his glass with a warm smile.

You raised yours with a faint clink, managing a soft smile in return. After a few silent bites, you set your fork down and cleared your throat, gathering the courage to finally speak. “Gyro… there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

He looked up, his eyes attentive and curious. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated, looking down at your hands. “Lately, I’ve felt… distant from you. Like, every day, it’s just the race, the training, all these dreams you’re chasing. And I don’t want to be the person who pulls you away from all that… but it’s also made me feel like I don’t fit into your life anymore.”

Gyro’s face softened as he leaned forward, concerned clouding his eyes. “I didn’t realize it was affecting you like this. I’m doing this for us, you know—for our future. I thought you understood that…”

Just as the weight of the conversation began to settle, Gyro leaned back and reached for your hand, a familiar spark lighting in his eyes. “You should come with me, then, so you can see me race!”

You raised a brow, half-amused but hesitant. “Gyro, what would people say about a lady watching things like that? It’s 1890, for god’s sake. Unless some guy in the future resets the universe or something, maybe things could be different!”

Gyro laughed, rolling his eyes with that familiar, playful smirk. "Oh, come on, Y/N! Who cares what people think? I’d love to have you there, cheering me on. Who knows, maybe one day it’ll be perfectly normal for a lady to watch some action, huh?"

You chuckled, leaning back with a grin. “Yeah, and maybe they’ll let women vote and do all sorts of ‘improper’ things! But until then… I’ll be the scandalous lady hiding in the stands.”

Gyro's eyes twinkled as he shook his head. “And that’s why I need you by my side. I don’t care what year it is. You keep life interesting.”

“Guess someone has to.” You shot back with a wink, feeling a bit of your tension ease. Even though the banter helped, the ache of what you still needed to say lingered in the back of your mind.

After a moment, you took a deep breath and continued, more seriously. “Gyro… I feel like I’ve been losing myself, waiting in the background, trying to fit into a life that’s all about your dreams, your race. I’m proud of you, more than you’ll ever know. But I don’t know who I am in your life anymore.”

He looked down, his smile fading, and reached for your hand across the table. “You’ve been everything to me, Y/N. I thought we were in this together.”

A sigh escaped you as you shook your head. “I tried to be that person, the one who would stand by you through everything. But somewhere along the way, I started to feel like I didn’t belong in your future. You’re… you’re meant for big things, for greatness. And I think you need someone who can be all-in with you, someone who isn’t feeling left behind every step of the way.”

Gyro clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists as he fought to keep his composure. “I don’t want anyone else. It’s you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

The crack in his voice nearly broke you, but you forced yourself to stay firm, knowing that if you didn’t, you’d never be able to walk away. “I think… maybe it’s time for us to go our separate ways.”

He sat there, stunned, his hand still holding yours, his grip tightening as if trying to keep you from slipping away. “Wait… what? You want to break up?” His voice cracked, disbelief mixing with hurt. “Y/N, I—where is this even coming from? What happened to the future we talked about? All the memories we made?”

You looked away, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Gyro. Somewhere along the way, I just… fell out of love. Or maybe I got lost in the shadow of everything else you’ve been chasing. I don’t know.”

He sat back, staring at you as if you were a stranger, his hands falling away from yours. And as you looked down at your half-eaten plate, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything more. The weight of your decision sat heavily between you, filling the room with a quiet, aching finality.

Gyro sat in silence, eyes fixed on the table, hands still clenched tightly in his lap. The usual warmth and fire in his gaze seemed to flicker, replaced by something hollow, like the light had dimmed. He swallowed hard, as if trying to find words but feeling them slip away before they reached his lips.

“Is there…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “Is there anything I could do to change your mind?”

You looked away, biting your lip as you felt the sting of tears threaten. Part of you wanted to say yes, to find a way to make it work, but the ache that had grown between you both was too deep, too tangled in the sacrifices you had been quietly making.

“No, Gyro. I think… I think this is what I need.” Your voice wavered, and you forced yourself to look him in the eyes, to show him that you meant it. “You deserve someone who can be there without feeling left behind, without questioning… and I deserve to feel like I have a place in my own life, too.”

Gyro’s hands clenched, then released, his fingers brushing the edge of his hat as he stared down at his lap. “I thought I was building a future for both of us. I didn’t realize…” He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t realize I was pushing you away the whole time.”

You reached out, covering his hand with yours. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Gyro. You’re incredible. You’re everything I’ve ever admired in a person. But sometimes… sometimes love isn’t enough when two people are on different paths. You’re chasing a dream that’s too big to share. And that’s okay.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, filled with all the words that would go unspoken, all the moments you’d never have together. Finally, Gyro lifted his head, his eyes filled with a kind of sadness you hadn’t seen before. “So… this is really it, then?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of it settle over you both. “Yeah. I think it has to be.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze distant, as though already wandering down a road you couldn’t follow. “I’ll… I’ll always care about you, Y/N. No matter where I end up.”

You tried to smile, but it felt empty. “Me too. I want you to be happy, Gyro. I want you to find everything you’ve been searching for.”

He stood, adjusting his hat with a quiet determination, trying to pull himself back together even as the pieces of his heart seemed to scatter. “Guess I’d better get going, then. Got a race to prepare for.”

As he reached the door, he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder one last time, as if committing you to memory. The warmth in his eyes flickered, softened, but a deep sadness lay beneath it. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Gyro.” You barely managed to get the words out as he closed the door behind him.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the empty room, and as silence settled around you, a hollow ache filled the spaces he had left behind. You sank down at the table, your hands clenching around the cool surface, and felt the first tear slip down your cheek.

 Years pass and Y/N stood far away on the sidelines, watching Gyro train with a heavy heart. The sight of him atop his horse, confident and skilled, stirred a mix of admiration and sorrow within them. Memories of their shared moments flashed before Y/N’s eyes—the laughter, the dreams, the feeling of belonging. But alongside those memories was the painful realization of what had changed.

As Gyro galloped around the ring, Y/N felt a pang of longing. They missed the way he used to smile, the spark in his eyes when he talked about their future together. But now, all that remained was a void where love once flourished. With a deep breath, Y/N turned away from the ring, needing a moment to gather their thoughts.

Sitting on a nearby bench, they tried to focus on the sounds of the world around them—the rustle of leaves, the distant whinny of horses, the chatter of trainers. Yet, all they could think about was the conversation they had shared just a few years before. They had been brave, hadn’t they? But courage felt like a double-edged sword; it brought freedom, yet it also brought heartache.

Y/N glanced back at Gyro, who was now dismounting his horse, brushing off his hat and chatting with a fellow racer. He looked so alive, so full of passion, and Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if they had made the right choice. A part of them wanted to run to him, to take back the hurtful words and salvage what was left. But they knew that wouldn’t be fair—not to Gyro, and not to themselves.

The tension in the air felt palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the love that had once thrived between them and the painful reality of their separation. Y/N sighed, closing their eyes as they tried to find solace in the memories, hoping that one day, the ache in their heart would lessen. But for now, all they could do was watch from the sidelines, a spectator in the race of life that had once included them both.

Chapter Text

You were sitting in art class, your gaze fixed on the window as you let your thoughts drift aimlessly. The teacher's voice was a distant murmur, fading into the background as you became absorbed in the view outside. Your attention wandered, and the lesson seemed to slip away, leaving you in a quiet, reflective space of your own. Your head suddenly perked up when your teacher had mentioned pairing up with someone in the classroom.

At first, you totally assumed you could choose who you wanted to partner up with, so you immediately turned your head towards one of your close friends. You were about to give them a big grin when it hit you-maybe it wasn't going to be that simple after all. You turned your head back over to the teacher as soon as they started speaking again.

"Even though you'd probably prefer to team up with your friends, I'll be assigning the class partners" the teacher announced. The moment the words left their mouth, you heard a collective groan and a few murmurs from your classmates around you.

You sigh deeply, then turn to gaze out the window, letting your thoughts drift away like they usually do. You weren't really invested in what the teacher was saying, but your attention snapped back when you suddenly heard your name being called

"Y/N L/N, you'll be working with Kujo Jotaro as your partner. Please sit together at one of the open tables."

You arch an eyebrow slightly upon hearing the other student's name, turning your gaze to Jotaro with a curious glance. With a quiet hum of acknowledgment, you nod. Taking a moment to gather your pencil, you and Jotaro make your way to an open table, where you both settle down. You ease back in your chair, letting it tilt slightly as you get comfortable before glancing at the teacher as they pair up the remaining students.

The classroom quiets down, and the hum of conversations fade. After a few minutes, you shift your gaze back to the teacher, who resumes speaking, the familiar sound of their voice breaking the silence-

"Now that everyone has been paired up, let me explain the assignment. Each of you will take turns drawing a portrait of your partner. I would have liked to organize something more engaging if the budget allowed, but unfortunately, this is what we have to work with."

You watch as the teacher moves to their desk and places two pieces of paper on each desk. When it's finally your turn, you reach out for the paper, but your hand accidentally grazes Jotaro's.

You quickly murmur an apology, trying to mask your slight embarrassment. Jotaro responds with a barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes, his gaze flickering briefly to you before he turns away with a soft, dismissive grunt. The air between you feels charged for a moment, but you quickly refocus on the task at hand.

"The drawing doesn't have to be detailed or anything. Don't be afraid to get creative; this is art class, after all.." The teacher says this before settling back into their desk, likely to grade some papers or handle other work. You, on the other hand, turn your attention back to Jotaro and pick up your pencil. You start by sketching a basic outline of his face, focusing on capturing the general shape and key features. As you work, you try to get a feel for his expression, making a few adjustments here and there.

To break the silence, you glance up and ask, "So...uh, do you have any hobbies or stuff you're into?" You say this before glancing up at Jotaro, making sure to capture the key features of his face in your sketch-the sharp lines of his jawline, the straightness of his nose, and the thickness of his eyebrows. You focus on getting these details right as you draw, trying to reflect his distinct look.

Jotaro looks up at you for a moment before huffing softly and nodding. He tilts his hat down slightly before looking back down at his drawing of you, which is probably going better which you assume.

"Fish."

Fish?

You blink twice, disbelief flickering in your eyes. 'This guy can't be serious...' you think, the thought lingering. Slowly, you nod, your gaze drifting up to Jotaro as you let out a soft sigh. Your fingers release the pencil, reaching for the eraser on the desk, only to catch sight of Jotaro doing the same as you.

As your fingers lightly graze his, the unexpected contact sends a jolt through you, making you quickly look up at Jotaro, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks. You weren't the type to blush easily over such a small gesture, but for some reason, this time, you couldn't help it-it just happened...But you quickly look back down and pull your hand away, choosing to just use the eraser on the top of your pencil.

Looking back at Jotaro having an interest in fish, you're struck with disbelief. How could someone so rugged, enigmatic, and reserved have an appreciation for something so delicate, clear, and vibrant? The contrast between his tough exterior and the gentle nature of his preference feels almost...unbelievable

With all this thinking you were doing, it ended up making you zone out for a while. You get interrupted with your thoughts by the voice of Jotaro calling your name and tapping your paper with the end of his pencil.

tap tap

"Y/n... I'm done with the drawing," Jotaro's voice pulls you sharply back to reality. You glance up at him, clearing your throat as you nod. Looking down at the sketch Jotaro has just finished, your jaw drops in amazement. The drawing captures you perfectly-the lines and details are so precise that it mirrors you almost exactly, from the shape of your nose to the curve of your smile; making you smile in joy!

"Jotaro, this is amazing! You did so good.." You say before looking back up at him, your eyes sparkling with amazement. The only response he gives you is a nod and a tug on his hat. You hear him mumble something but you couldn't hear what he said really well. You hum in response for a second before looking down at your drawing of Jotaro before sliding your paper over towards him.

"It's not the best but I tried" You say before smiling softly and looking down at the desk, fumbling around with your fingers as Jotaros gaze looks down at the paper. You hear Jotaro shift slightly, adjusting his stance to face you more directly. He hums softly, nodding in appreciation before turning his attention away from the drawing. His gaze meets yours, steady and focused "It's good.." you hear him say, which makes you smile softly at him.

Maybe he wasn't really that bad. Maybe he was just simply always minding his business all the time.

Jotaro's compliment takes you by surprise, even if it's brief and understated. It's not often that he expresses himself so openly, and hearing him say something positive about your drawing makes your heart skip a beat. You can't help but smile to yourself, feeling a bit more connected to him in that moment.

"Thanks, Jotaro," you say softly, feeling the warmth of the moment settling between you. His intense gaze lingers on yours for just a moment longer before he looks away, tugging on his hat once again. You can't tell if he's trying to hide a hint of embarrassment or if he's just doing his usual routine of keeping his cool.

The silence between you isn't uncomfortable-it feels peaceful. You glance at his drawing of you again, marveling at how much attention he must have paid to your features. There's a softness in the lines that almost seems uncharacteristic of him, and it makes you wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

After a moment, you break the silence with a soft laugh. "I didn't know you were so talented at drawing. You've been hiding this from everyone, huh?"

Jotaro grunts in response, but there's a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he glances back at you. "It's not something I talk about."

"Well, you should. You're really good at it," you say sincerely, giving him a reassuring smile.

He shifts again, as if unsure how to respond to the praise. "Tch. Whatever."

You shake your head with a light chuckle. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Jotaro raises an eyebrow, giving you a look that says he's heard that plenty of times before. But the edges of his lips twitch upward, just barely, in the smallest hint of a smile. It's fleeting, but you catch it, and it makes you feel like you've won some unspoken challenge.

Before you can say anything else, the bell rings, signaling the end of class. You both gather your things, but before you can walk away, Jotaro speaks again, his voice low and a little hesitant.

"Y/N... if you ever wanna draw again or... talk or whatever, just let me know."

His words catch you off guard. It's not exactly an invitation, but coming from Jotaro, it feels like one of the most open things he's said all day. You nod, feeling a small surge of excitement at the idea of spending more time with him.

"Sure, Jotaro. I'd like that." You give him one last smile before walking away, your heart a little lighter than before.

As you head down the hallway, you can't help but feel like maybe, just maybe, there's more to Jotaro Kujo than meets the eye.

Chapter Text

The classroom feels suffocating, like a cage that you can’t escape from. The teacher’s voice drones on in the background, a constant hum that only gets louder as your mind drifts. The monotonous routine of high school, the endless lessons, the piles of homework—it’s all becoming too much.

You glance at the clock. Only fifteen minutes left until the bell rings . Just get through the day, you think to yourself. But the thought of spending another minute trapped in this classroom makes your stomach churn.

Suddenly, you feel something crumpled being pushed toward you. You look down to see a folded note sitting on your desk. It’s wrinkled, the paper obviously crumpled by the person who passed it to you, but you don’t need to look twice to recognize the messy handwriting. It’s Mista’s.

You shoot a glance behind you, catching his mischievous grin. He’s leaning back in his chair, not even trying to be subtle about it.

You hesitate for a moment before unfolding the note. The handwriting is chaotic, just like you’d expect.

Mista’s Note (written in messy handwriting):

“Wanna skip this boring class and have some fun with me? I promise I’m a good influence. Meet me at the back gate when the bell rings.”

Your heart skips a beat as your eyes flick over the note again. You really weren’t sure about this. You can feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on you. What if you get caught? What if there’s a consequence for skipping?

But then you look back at Mista. He’s still grinning, his eyes daring you to take the risk. That stupid smirk of his—it’s like an invitation to defy every rule, every expectation.

You glance toward the teacher, who’s completely oblivious to what’s going on behind them. The bell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts, and chaos breaks out around you as everyone begins packing up. But you don’t move right away. The decision weighs on you, a battle between caution and curiosity.

You turn back to Mista. His eyes are locked onto yours, waiting, as if he already knows the answer.

You only live once, you think. And before you can talk yourself out of it, you stuff the note in your bag, grab your things, and head for the back gate.

Mista’s already waiting there, leaning casually against the brick wall. His grin widens when he spots you.

"Well, well, look who decided to join me," he says, pushing himself off the wall and flashing you that devil-may-care grin.

You hesitate, glancing back at the school for a moment. "I’m not sure about this," you admit, your voice quiet, though there’s a spark of excitement hiding underneath. "What if we get caught?"

Mista lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. "Oh, come on. You seriously think anyone’s watching us? Let’s make this fun, okay? You’re gonna regret it if you don’t come with me."

You can hear the excitement in his voice, feel the pull of his words. Just once , you think. It won’t be the end of the world. So you finally let go of that last ounce of hesitation, walking over to him.

"Fine," you say, though you can’t help but add, "But you owe me."

Mista chuckles, slapping you lightly on the back with far too much enthusiasm. "Deal! Let’s go before we change our minds."

The walk to the park feels surreal. It’s like the world around you slows down as you leave the school behind. Each step feels freer than the last. The air smells fresh, and for once, the usual pressure you feel seems to melt away.

Mista, as usual, is bouncing with energy. By the time you reach the park, he’s already running toward the swings, kicking one into motion with an exaggerated grunt.

You can’t help but laugh as you watch him. You’re not sure if it’s the reckless energy or the fact that he’s acting like a total dork, but you find yourself feeling lighter. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

You take a seat on a nearby bench, just watching him for a few moments as he swings higher and higher. He catches your eye and grins.

"Come on, don’t just sit there," he calls out. "Get on the swing! It’s not a party until you join me!"

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you stand up. "Are you seriously gonna spend the whole time on the swings?" you tease.

Mista’s grin widens, clearly not offended by your sarcasm. "Why not? Best swings in town. I’m making the most of it. Get over here, I’m not swinging alone."

You walk over and sit on the swing next to him, pushing off the ground with your feet. The wind rushes by as the swing creaks beneath you, and you feel a strange thrill in doing something so... pointless. So carefree. You glance over at Mista, and he’s smiling, enjoying the simple pleasure of the moment.

After a few minutes of swinging side by side, Mista suddenly jumps off his swing, landing with a flourish. "That’s enough of that. You’re not getting off that easy."

Before you can react, Mista sprints over to the jungle gym, climbing it like a kid who’s forgotten all about growing up.

"Race you to the top!" he calls over his shoulder, already halfway up.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but chase after him, climbing up the jungle gym in a flurry of laughter. You’re racing, but not against him. Not really. You’re racing against your own doubts, against the routines that have always held you back. And for once, you’re winning.

By the time the sun starts to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, you both collapse onto the grass, panting and laughing. The park is quieter now, with only a few scattered families enjoying the evening. You stretch out on the ground, feeling the cool earth beneath you, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of school and responsibilities doesn’t seem to matter.

Mista is beside you, lying flat on his back and staring at the sky. His grin is lazy, content. "See? Told you this was worth it," he says, his voice light but satisfied.

You glance over at him, your heart still racing but for different reasons now. "I never thought I’d say this, but... I’m glad I did it," you admit, feeling lighter. "This was exactly what I needed."

Mista turns his head to look at you, and for a moment, his grin softens, but only for a second before it returns in full force. "Of course you are. I’m always right about these things. Next time, we’re going somewhere even more fun."

You laugh and sit up, brushing grass off your clothes. "I’m not sure I’m ready to make this a habit," you tease. "But I guess it wasn’t all that bad."

Mista shrugs, sitting up as well. "You’re already a rebel in my eyes, anyway."

You smile, shaking your head. "Maybe... just maybe," you mutter, but deep down, you know you’ll remember this feeling for a long time. The freedom. The thrill of skipping school and just living in the moment.

"Well, next time, I’m picking the place," you say, already plotting your next escape.

Mista grins. "You got it. But no promises it’ll be as fun as this."

The two of you stand up, heading back to school, but there’s a difference this time. You don’t feel quite as bound by the rules, not anymore. The weight of everything is still there, but now, it feels like you can breathe a little easier.

"Ready to face the world again?" Mista asks, glancing over at you with that mischievous look.

You smile, your thoughts drifting for a moment before you answer. "Yeah. But only for a little while longer."

And with that, the two of you walk back, the secret of your escape tucked away between the two of you, a reminder that sometimes, breaking the rules can be the most freeing thing you can do.

Chapter Text

"tf is this" Diego muttered while looking down at the chicken inside the box—the smell of the fresh and warm food filling the air. You look up at Diego before crossing your arms and blinking twice at him

"bitch be so frl"
"........"

silence fills the room for a moment

"die." Diego says before grabbing a tissue box next to him and smacking the shit out of you with it "BITCH TF YOU DOIN DAYUM CALM DOWN"

erm anyways the both of you calm down after a while and you pinch the bridge of your nose before speaking again "Ok diego, let's try this again. This is chick-fil-a"

"chick-fil-what?"

"CHICK-FIL-A DUMBASS"

you sigh and take one of the chicken pieces from the box before handing it over to him "Since you're kinda half dinosaur, i think you'll be fine with having the bones still in the chicken" You say before taking a chicken piece for yourself and deboning it, taking a bite out of it when you're done.

You look away from the box for a second before hearing a loud crunch—the sound of bones snapping which makes you look back over at Diego just to see him eating all the chicken. "DIEGO YOU FUCKING FATASS"

"i was hungry"

"you still could have saved some of them for me?!"

silence fills the room for a moment once again

"i hate you so much dude" you say before sighing and leaning back on your chair while rubbing your eyes "I love you too pooks"

the end

Chapter Text

"UGHHHH FUGO, THIS IS POINTLESS!" You huff, slumping back. "Just because I can’t solve one problem doesn’t mean you have to dump like, a whole textbook on me."

Fugo’s eyes narrow, and his hand lashes out, grabbing a fork. He stabs it into the table between you, the metal quivering from the force. Leaning forward, he catches your gaze, his eyes flashing like a predator's.

“If you stopped complaining and actually focused ,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “maybe I wouldn’t have to.” He leans in, closing the distance, until he's just inches from your face. His breath mingles with yours, and you can’t help the way your own breath hitches, eyes widening slightly as you meet his fierce, unyielding gaze. His violet eyes hold you captive, the intensity there far more dangerous than any math problem.

“You want to make this easier?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Then pay attention, and stop giving me excuses.”

Your heart pounds as he closes the last bit of distance, his face barely a breath away from yours. You feel the heat radiating from him, each inch closer stealing more of your composure. He tilts his head, gaze flickering over your face like he’s memorizing every detail, and then, just as you're about to say something, his voice drops even lower.

"Tell me," he murmurs, his lips curving into a smirk that makes your cheeks flush, "is the homework still feeling pointless ?"

He doesn’t pull back; if anything, he moves even closer, the subtle hint of his cologne filling your senses and making it impossible to think straight. Your response catches in your throat as his fingers trace down the page of your math homework, the touch light, deliberate, and just a little too slow.

"You asked for my help, didn't you?" His voice is barely a whisper now, his breath warm against your skin. "Then, focus. I don't like wasting my time."

Your cheeks heat up, and you try to look away, but Fugo's fingers tilt your chin back toward him, forcing you to hold his gaze. The intensity in his eyes feels magnetic, pulling you in with an undeniable force. His smirk grows, and for a split second, you swear there’s a spark of amusement in those piercing purple eyes.

"You don’t get to look away," he murmurs, his voice taking on a softer, almost dangerous edge. "Not until I’m sure you understand… everything."

One hand still holding your chin, he reaches with the other to point at the notebook between you both. His fingers brush against yours, sending a shiver up your spine that you can’t quite suppress. His touch lingers a second too long, his thumb grazing over your knuckles before pulling away, and it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

"Now," he says, barely above a whisper, leaning even closer. You’re practically nose-to-nose, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watches your reaction. "Can you focus this time… or am I going to have to give you a real reason to pay attention?"

The words hang between you, dripping with a promise that makes your heart race. It’s impossible to ignore the way his smirk lingers, the way he seems to revel in your flustered expression as his thumb lightly grazes along your cheek before he pulls back, finally giving you room to breathe—though you’re not sure if you even remembered how.

Fugo clears his throat, breaking the tension just enough to leave you both a bit breathless, before picking up the pencil and tapping it against the paper. He points at one of the problems with a cool, controlled look. “Now, solve this question: 247 x 300 .”

You blink, still feeling the lingering heat of his presence so close, and it takes a second to gather your thoughts. Your mind is a blur, but Fugo’s expectant gaze pulls you back to reality. You manage to grab your own pencil, trying to ignore the way your hand trembles slightly.

As you begin to work through the problem, he watches every move with a focused intensity that makes you feel as if he’s studying more than just your math skills. Each time you pause, his gaze sharpens, and he leans closer, his breath brushing against your cheek as he speaks.

“Don’t hesitate,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you were ready to learn. Or do you need more… motivation ?”

You feel your cheeks heat up again, the challenge in his tone unmistakable. With a defiant look, you scribble down your answer, handing the pencil back to him.

His eyes flick down to your answer before his lips curve into a satisfied smirk. “Good,” he says, voice low and approving. “See what a little focus can do?” 

Fugo’s smirk lingers as he sets the pencil down, his fingers brushing over yours just a moment longer than necessary. You swallow, your pulse racing from his closeness and the way his gaze seems to hold you in place.

"Now," he says, his voice soft but commanding, "let’s see if you’re up for a real challenge." He leans back slightly, just enough to give you a sliver of space, but his eyes never leave yours. With a smooth, almost taunting motion, he flips to a new page in the notebook and writes down an even harder problem: 389 x 672 .

You stare at the numbers, your mind whirring, but his gaze doesn’t waver. His eyes are alight with that same predatory spark, like he’s savoring every moment of your struggle. You can feel your cheeks heating up under his scrutiny, but you try to concentrate.

"Don’t keep me waiting," he murmurs, his fingers tapping against the edge of the notebook. "Or maybe you’re not as focused as you think."

You narrow your eyes at him, caught between the urge to prove yourself and the undeniable effect he’s having on you. You grip the pencil, determined, and start to work through the steps. Each line of numbers feels like a battle against his presence—against the way his voice, his smirk, his everything has made it nearly impossible to concentrate.

As you reach the final answer, you look up, triumphant, and push the notebook back toward him. "There. Happy now ? "

Fugo glances down, inspecting your answer before nodding, an approving gleam in his eyes. "Impressive," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Seems I underestimated you… but maybe I’m not the only one who’s been distracted."

Before you can respond, his fingers brush along your hand again, trailing slowly over your knuckles, sending a thrill up your spine. He leans closer, his lips hovering by your ear, his voice barely a whisper.

"Keep this up," he says, his tone warm and daring, "and I might just have to give you a reward for all that… focus."

Later that night, you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, but sleep feels impossible. Every little detail from earlier that day—the way Fugo looked at you, the subtle smirk, his voice so close to your ear—plays in an endless loop in your mind, keeping you wide awake. Just as you’re about to give up on sleep entirely, there’s a soft knock at your door. You sit up, startled, as the door cracks open and the hallway light spills into the room, revealing none other than Fugo standing there.

He slips inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. In the dim light, his gaze finds yours, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as though sharing a secret.

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest as you search for words. “Y-Yeah,” you manage, your voice sounding almost as breathless as you feel. “Something… kept me up.” You don’t say it out loud, but you can see by the slight raise of his eyebrow that he understands exactly what you mean.

He takes a step closer, and suddenly the room feels charged, like there’s something unspoken hanging between you. “Funny,” he says, his voice laced with a playful edge. “I was thinking the same thing.” He pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. “I was wondering if maybe you needed a little… extra help with focus.”

You laugh softly, the sound coming out more nervous than you intended. “Oh? And you think a surprise late-night tutoring session is what I need?”

Fugo smirks, closing the distance even more, until he’s standing just inches from you. “Let’s call it a… follow-up. Just to make sure the lesson really stuck.” His fingers brush lightly over your hand, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

You swallow, trying to find the words as his gaze holds you firmly in place. “Is this… part of the lesson plan?” you ask, the question half-teasing but edged with real curiosity.

He lets out a low chuckle, his voice warm and unwavering. “Only for those who catch my attention,” he says, his tone softer, almost daring you to respond.

You meet his gaze, feeling a surge of confidence as you lean in slightly. “I don’t know, Fugo. I might surprise you.”

You smirk, a sudden boldness rushing through you as you grab Fugo’s blue tie, yanking him closer, the distance between you both becoming almost nonexistent. His breath hitches as you meet his gaze, eyes flicking from his intense stare to his lips, feeling a surge of anticipation.

You’re ready to make the first move, to take control of this simmering tension. But before you can even think about it, Fugo’s hands grab your shoulders, and in one swift motion, he pulls you even closer, his lips crashing against yours.

The kiss is rough, unrestrained, and it sends a shock of warmth through your entire body. Your spine straightens, and you can't help but gasp against his lips. His mouth is soft, yet the force behind it makes your breath quicken, leaving your legs weak and your pulse racing. Every inch of you responds to the heat of his touch, the way his hands grip you, pulling you closer, almost as if he’s trying to consume you. You can feel the sharpness of his desire as his lips move against yours, his every movement asserting dominance.

Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss, feeling the intensity escalate. But it’s not just the kiss—it’s the way your body is set alight with every touch, the electricity crackling between you both, pushing and pulling like a magnet. It’s almost too much, but neither of you are pulling away.

After what feels like an eternity of heated kisses, the two of you pull away, both gasping for air, your chests rising and falling with the intensity of the moment. The room is thick with the unspoken desire hanging between you. Before you can fully collect yourself, Fugo’s hands are on you again, and in one swift move, he pushes you gently onto the bed. You barely have time to react before he’s hovering over you, his lips trailing down your neck with a hunger that makes your heart skip a beat.

His kisses are firm and insistent, his teeth lightly grazing your skin as he nips at the sensitive spots. The feel of his lips moving against your neck sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help the soft, breathless gasp that escapes you when he sucks gently on a particularly sensitive spot near your collarbone.

You arch your back instinctively, unable to suppress the small sound of pleasure. Fugo’s grip tightens on your waist, pulling you even closer, his lips never leaving your skin as he marks you with his touch, each kiss leaving a trail of heat that only intensifies with every second. His hands slip under your shirt, feeling the heat of your skin as he explores, making it clear that he’s not letting go anytime soon.

The air between you both is thick with a burning desire, every touch making the room feel smaller, the world outside fading into nothing.

As Fugo’s hands roam across your skin, you feel every touch like electricity, each one sending a wave of warmth through you. His fingers slide behind your back, and with a swift motion, he unhooks your bra, the fabric loosening effortlessly.

His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, his voice low, almost reverent. “Y/N, you have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he says, pausing for a split second as if the weight of his words is just as much a part of this moment as anything physical. “You’re so beautiful, and I don’t know where I’d be without you. So… thank you.”

His words hit you like a wave, making your heart flutter in your chest. You can feel your lips curving into a smile, genuine and soft, the intensity of the moment wrapping around you like a blanket. “No problem, Fugo,” you reply, your voice breathless, “I can really say the same thing about you, and—”

You’re cut off as Fugo pulls your shirt off in one fluid motion, his hands moving quickly, expertly. The sudden exposure to the cool air makes you shiver, but the heat between you both is enough to keep you warm. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see something deeper than lust in his eyes. There’s love there, too—raw and intense, swirling with the same hunger and need.

The world outside this room feels like it’s gone. It’s just the two of you, your hearts pounding, breaths shaky in the silence between your words.

Fugo leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You don’t know how much I needed this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

Fugo’s words send another shiver through you, his breath warm against your ear. You can feel your pulse quicken as his fingers trace gentle patterns along your skin, each touch grounding you in the moment, yet making you feel like you’re floating.

Your hands find their way to his face, tracing the line of his jaw and brushing a stray strand of blond hair from his forehead. “I didn’t know… you felt that way,” you whisper, your voice soft but filled with as much emotion as his own. “Guess I’m not alone, then.”

For a brief moment, his gaze softens, and he lets out a small, breathy laugh. “Hardly. You’re all I think about.” He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as if he’s savoring this closeness. His hands, still warm against your back, pull you a little closer, your bodies fitting together effortlessly.

Slowly, he lifts his head, his violet eyes meeting yours with a new intensity. The quiet between you both fills with meaning, every second stretching longer as he leans in and captures your lips once more, this time with a gentleness that leaves you breathless. The kiss is slow, deliberate, as though he’s memorizing every part of this moment.

As the kiss deepens, his hand slides up, threading his fingers through your hair, holding you in place as he pulls you closer. You can feel the steady beat of his heart against you, and it’s both exhilarating and comforting all at once.

When you finally pull back, his hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. He looks at you with a mix of tenderness and awe, as though he’s still taking in the fact that this moment is real. “Stay with me,” he whispers, the vulnerability in his voice making your heart skip.

You smile, your hand resting over his. “I’m not going anywhere, Fugo.”

With a relieved exhale, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your breasts. He starts moving down your body, leaving kisses all over your waist to your stomach before he finally reaches down to your crotch. Fugo looks up at you, waiting for your approval, to which you give him a small nod. He smirks and pulls your pants down along with your panties. 

Fugo stares down at your pussy hungrily, gently running his finger from your opening all the way up your clit. You let a small moan escape your lips and you toss your head back slightly. You look down at him, a devilish smirk plastered on his face. He looks back down at your clit before gently sticking his tongue out, moving the warm, wet muscle against it. You gasp softly, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, anchoring yourself in the warmth of his presence.

He flicks his tongue up and down, over and over again against your clit, soft, breathy sounds escape your lips, each one betraying the growing tension between you, your fingers tangling deeper into his hair as the moment intensifies. He then suddenly sucks on your clit, your grip on his hair getting tighter the second he does that. 

He smirks against your skin, a quiet sigh slipping from his lips, “Someone’s sensitive, hm?” Before you can even respond, he sticks in one of his fingers inside you, curling his fingers up. You moan out and toss your head back onto the pillows, one of your hands grabbing onto the bed sheet for dear life. 

Fugo starts pumping his finger in and out of you, making sure to hit that sweet spot of yours that he found pretty quickly. As you’re a moaning mess, he chooses to keep that going by bringing his mouth back to your clit and doing his wondrous magic on it. He picks up his pace with his fingers before slipping another one into you, the feeling of being stretched out does hurt, but only for a split second. 

“F-Fuck! Fu-Fugo please, just– AH!” You say, moans and whines slipping out your mouth, resulting in you not even forming a proper sentence. Fugo pulls his mouth away, tilting his head to the side teasingly. “Use your words.” he says firmly. You whine slightly, lifting yourself up and using your elbows to give you support. “Please, I need you, Fugo!” you mumbled softly to him. 

His lips curve into a mischievous smile as he meets your gaze, his voice laced with playful challenge. "Hm? I didn’t catch that... What did you say?" he murmurs, his fingers moving with a tantalizing slowness that leaves you breathless, each deliberate movement intensifying the heat between you. 

You let out an annoyed whine as you toss your head back. You gather up the courage to speak, looking back down at him, “Just fuck me, Fugo! I can’t take it anymore! Please, please, pleaseeee” A sudden, unrestrained gasp escapes your lips, loud enough to surprise even you. Embarrassment floods your face as you quickly cover your mouth, but Fugo only chuckles, his eyes smoldering with a mix of amusement and desire as he takes in your reaction.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…might as well.” He swiftly unbuckls his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down right after before grabbing your hips, pulling you close to his body before aligning his dick against your pussy. Without a word, he draws you close, his movements slow and deliberate, building a rhythm that leaves you breathless. A deep warmth floods over you, and a quiet, surprised sound escapes your lips as he pulls you deeper into the moment, his gaze never leaving yours, intense and filled with unspoken emotion. 

The steady rhythm of his movements has you melting beneath him, your eyes fluttering shut as strings of moans and whispered praises fall from your lips, filling the room with the heat of the moment.“Fuck, you feel so good,” Fugo breathes against your ear, his voice low and intoxicating, before capturing your lips in a deep, heated kiss. His rhythm picks up, each movement more intense. As his thrusts become more aggressive, you can already start to feel your first orgasm coming in hard. You were kinda expecting him to be rough when it comes to sex, but nevertheless, you loved it. 

You can feel his dick hitting against your g spot perfectly, making your back arch and your nails digging into Fugos back. “Cum with me, tesoro. ” Fugo grunts while fucking your brains out. Your moans grow louder and louder gradually, hinting that you're closer to your peak. He lets one last hard thrust inside you, painting your insides white with his warm, sticky cum. On cue, you cum with him, a loud high pitch moan slipping from your lips.  

He pulls himself out of you, watching the mixture of his cum and yours spill out of your pussy. With a smirk, he takes two of his fingers before dipping it in the cum spilling out of you and bringing it to your lips. “Suck.” Without hesitation, you open your mouth and gently suck on his fingers, swirling your tongue around them as well while getting a good taste of his cum mixed with yours. As he slides his fingers from your mouth, a soft, almost tantalizing pop lingers in the air, leaving a spark in the silence between you.

"See? I told you I’d reward that impressive focus of yours."

Chapter Text

The warmth of the water cascades over your skin, washing away the last traces of soap as a sigh of relief escapes your lips, tension melting with every drop. Steam clouds the air, wrapping around you in a comforting haze as the water flows over your shoulders, washing away the stress of the day. You let out another sigh, savoring the warmth as it soothes your tired muscles. The last remnants of soap slip away, leaving your skin soft and refreshed, a calm settling over you like a gentle embrace.

Reaching for your towel, you wrap it around yourself, feeling the soft fabric against your skin. Just as you start to dry off, your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter, the screen lighting up with Doppio’s name. You pause, curiosity piquing as you pick it up, feeling a small smile tug at your lips. With a quick swipe, you unlock your phone, the glow of the screen bright in the dim, steam-filled bathroom. 

Doppio’s message reads, 

< Hey… are you busy? > 

Simple, but something about it feels a little off—like he’s hesitating, unsure. Wrapped in your towel, you type back, 

< Not at all! What’s up? >

You watch as the little typing dots appear and disappear a few times, as if he’s struggling to find the right words. Finally, his message comes through: 

< I just… it’s been a tough day. Didn’t know who else to talk to. >

You can almost hear his voice in that text. That soft, uncertain tone. Without a second thought, you text back, 

< Hold up, I’m just finishing up here. I’ll call you in a sec, okay? >

A second later, his reply pops up: 

< Okay. Thanks, Y/N… really. >

Smiling softly, you quickly finish getting ready, slipping into something comfortable, walking into your bedroom, flopping onto your bed before picking up your phone again. As the phone rings, you feel a tiny spark of warmth in your chest, knowing he reached out to you. The call connects, and after a pause, you hear his voice on the other end, a little shy but grateful.

"Hey… thanks for calling," he says, his tone already sounding lighter, a hint of relief in his words. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, and you can just picture him rubbing the back of his neck, probably glancing away even though you can’t see him. “Didn’t mean to bother you or anything… just thought I’d text.”

“Doppio, you know you can text me anytime,” you say, your voice warm. “I’m here for you, so don’t even worry about it.”

There’s a soft silence on the line, and you swear you can almost feel him relaxing on the other end. He lets out a quiet sigh, his voice softer. “Guess I just needed someone to talk to... you really know how to make things feel easier.”

Hearing that, your heart warms, and you can’t help but smile a little bigger. “Good,” you say, leaning back as you settle in, ready to keep him company however long he needs.

He hesitates again, and you stay silent, giving him time to gather his thoughts. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and tinged with frustration. “Sometimes I just feel like I’m walking on eggshells. My boss… he’s not exactly easy to please. One wrong move, and it’s like…” He trails off, struggling to explain. “It’s like there’s no room to mess up, you know? He’s got all these… expectations.”

You nod, sensing the tension in his words. “That sounds intense, Doppio. It’s hard when you’re under that kind of pressure. Do you think he even realizes how much he’s asking from you?”

Doppio lets out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Honestly? Probably not. He’s got his mind set on his own… goals. There’s no room for anything else.” He pauses, then adds, almost in a mutter, “I’d probably do anything for him, though. Been with him a long time, you know?”

“Sounds like you’re really loyal to him,” you say gently. “But even so, that doesn’t mean he can’t be considerate.”

“Exactly! That’s exactly it.” There’s a mix of relief and frustration in his voice, like he’s finally been understood. “And there’s this other guy at work who’s been… I dunno, throwing everything off. He’s some blond guy and just…ugh. He doesn’t listen, thinks he’s got it all figured out, he’s getting in the way of work and it's just—” He stops, letting out a frustrated sigh. “It’s like I’m trying to juggle everything, and he’s just… in the way.”

You chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood. “So, this guy is your work nemesis, huh?”

Doppio laughs, a little surprised by the humor. “Guess you could say that.” There’s a pause, then he adds in a softer voice, “I don’t mean to dump all this on you… it’s just easier to talk to you about this stuff. You make it feel… like I’m not alone in it.”

His words linger in the air, and you can feel the warmth in your chest grow. “You’re not alone, Doppio. I’m here anytime you need someone to talk to. Besides, I like hearing from you.”

He goes quiet, but you can almost feel his smile through the phone. “Thanks… that means a lot. Really.”

You feel the warmth in his voice, the way it seems to soften with each word, and you can’t help but smile in return. “Anytime, Doppio. You don’t have to thank me.”

There’s a brief silence, comfortable but meaningful, like both of you are just content with the quiet moment. You hear him shifting on the other end, and when he speaks again, his tone is more relaxed, almost lighter.

“You know, it’s not just about the work stuff. It’s… it’s just nice to hear your voice. Makes everything feel a little less heavy.” He chuckles, sounding a little embarrassed but sincere. “I guess I don’t say that enough, huh?”

You grin, warmth flooding your chest. “I’m happy to be a distraction whenever you need one. Even if it's just to listen to you vent for a while.”

“Definitely helps,” he mutters softly, like the weight he’s been carrying is starting to lift. “You really have no idea how much...”

You hear the soft click of something—maybe a door or a chair being moved. He continues, his voice quieter now. “I think I might actually be able to get some rest tonight… without stressing over everything.”

“That’s all I want for you,” you say gently. “Get some sleep. You deserve it.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice already sounding more distant, like he's settling in. “I think I will. Thanks for everything, seriously.” His tone shifts, just a little teasing now. “Maybe you’re my good luck charm. Every time I talk to you, things seem to feel better.”

You laugh softly, a little embarrassed but touched. “I’m glad I can help. Get some sleep, Doppio. You’ve earned it.”

Another small laugh escapes him. “Okay, okay. I’m going. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Doppio.”

The call ends, but you can’t shake the soft smile that lingers on your face. The quiet feeling of relief on his end makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were the one who needed to hear his voice tonight.

Chapter Text

“I… I thought you hated me,” you admitted, your voice shaking as you tried to keep your emotions in check.

Weather’s brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing slightly. “I never hated you,” he said quietly, his tone steady but firm.

The ghost room was silent except for the faint hum of energy that always seemed to linger in the air. The shelves were packed with weathered books and odd trinkets, their presence giving the space an eerie, almost timeless quality.

You stood by the bookshelf, fingers trailing across the spines of dusty volumes as you pretended to search for something. Anything. In truth, your mind was too busy circling its own storm.

He probably hates me, you thought bitterly, pulling a random book from the shelf to occupy your hands. The way I’ve been acting around him… avoiding him, dodging questions, never saying what I really mean. Of course, he hates me.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to be around Weather. On the contrary, you wanted it too much. Every moment in his presence sent your heart into overdrive, and every time his steady, piercing gaze landed on you, it felt like he could see right through you. It was overwhelming, and instead of facing it head-on, you’d chosen the coward’s route—distance.

The weight of avoidance bore down on you now, suffocating in the quiet of the room. You tightened your grip on the book, as if it could anchor your spiraling thoughts.

Then, you felt it—a shift in the air, a faint presence at your side.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

The voice was so close it sent a shiver down your spine. You hadn’t even noticed Weather move from the piano, let alone come up beside you. His quiet, steady tone lingered in the air, and you turned your head sharply, heart skipping a beat when you saw him standing just a breath away.

“What?” you stammered, the book nearly slipping from your hands.

Weather’s gaze was calm, but his proximity made it impossible to ignore the weight of his question. “You’ve been acting… different. Avoiding me. If I’ve done something to upset you, I’d like to know.”

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as his words sank in. He noticed. Of course, he noticed. Weather Report noticed everything, even when it seemed like he wasn’t paying attention.

“N-no,” you stammered, clutching the book tightly to your chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His brow furrowed slightly, the subtle change in his expression hitting you like a quiet jolt. “Then why?” His voice was softer now, as though he didn’t want anyone but you to hear.

The question hung in the air, unanswered. You could feel the tension stretching between you, growing heavier with each passing second. You wanted to tell him the truth, but how could you? How could you admit that the problem wasn’t him—it was you?

Your silence must have said enough, because Weather leaned back slightly, his shoulders stiffening. His gaze dropped to the floor. “I see.”

Something in his tone made your chest ache, like you’d just stepped on a fragile piece of glass and shattered it.

You opened your mouth, desperate to explain, but before the words could form, the door creaked open.

“Hey!” Jolyne’s voice broke the tension like a sudden clap of thunder. She strolled in, followed closely by Ermes and F.F., who was balancing a precarious stack of snacks in her hands. “We’re all heading back to the main room. Emporio says he’s found something new about Pucci.”

That caught your attention. “What about Pucci?”

Jolyne shrugged, her tone grim. “Some clue about his Stand. Emporio said it’s important, and we need to talk about it.”

Ermes raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and Weather. “Everythin’ okay in here?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, your voice coming out more strained than you intended.

Weather didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly before stepping back and heading for the door. He didn’t look back.

As the others filed out, you stayed frozen in place, your fingers gripping the book so tightly your knuckles turned white.

He thinks I hate him.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, all you could do was stand there, the faint hum of the room pressing against your ears.

The others’ footsteps faded down the hall, leaving the ghost room shrouded in silence once more. You remained rooted in place, the weight of your thoughts holding you captive. You tried to move, to shake yourself free of the spiraling loop in your head, but your body refused.

Every word Weather had spoken replayed like a broken record. “Did I do something wrong?”
“I see.”

Your heart clenched, frustration and guilt swirling together in your chest. How could you have let things get so out of hand?

The sound of the door creaking open startled you, and you looked up sharply. Your breath hitched when you saw Weather standing there, his icy blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

“You’re not going with them?” you mumbled, leaning back against the bookshelf as if it could keep you upright.

Weather shook his head slowly, stepping inside and letting the door close softly behind him. He didn’t say anything at first, just made his way toward you with deliberate, measured steps.

By the time you realized how close he was, he was already leaning in, his presence overwhelming in the small space. His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and steady.

“I was… going to go with you,” he mumbled, his breath warm against your skin.

Your pulse raced, his quiet words sending a shiver down your spine. You turned your head slightly, your gaze meeting his from impossibly close. “With me?”

He nodded, his expression unreadable, but his proximity made it hard to think straight. “You stayed behind,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “So I did too.”

The air between you felt heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite name. You searched his face, trying to decipher the quiet intensity in his gaze, but it only made your chest tighten further.

“Why?” you asked, the word tumbling out before you could stop it.

His eyes softened, the faintest flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. “Because I couldn’t leave things like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His words, his tone, his presence—it all felt too much and not enough all at once.

“I… I thought you hated me,” you admitted, your voice shaking as you tried to keep your emotions in check.

Weather’s brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing slightly. “I never hated you,” he said quietly, his tone steady but firm. “I thought you hated me. ”

Your chest ached at his words, the weight of the misunderstanding hitting you like a blow. “I could never hate you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a taut wire. Then, slowly, Weather lifted a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but it sent a spark through you that made it impossible to look away.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured, his gaze flickering to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “You were so distant… I thought I’d done something to push you away.”

You shook your head, your voice thick with emotion. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” he asked softly, his fingers lingering against your skin.

“Scared of how I feel about you,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “Scared of wanting to be close to you.”

Weather’s expression shifted, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his face. Then, without a word, he closed the small gap between you, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he whispered, his voice so soft it barely reached your ears.

Before you could respond, he tilted his head, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was as gentle as it was consuming.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost like he was waiting for you to pull away, but when you didn’t, Weather’s hand shifted to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.

It was as though the world around you melted away, the hum of the ghost room and the faint echoes of the others’ voices fading into nothing. All you could focus on was him—his warmth, his steady presence, the way his lips moved against yours with a quiet intensity that left you breathless.

You hesitated for only a moment before leaning into him, your hands reaching up to rest against his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath your palms, a grounding rhythm that contrasted the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Weather deepened the kiss slightly, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every moment. His other hand came to rest lightly on your hip, pulling you just a little closer. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was unspoken reassurance, a way of telling you without words that he meant every single action.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the small space between you, his eyes searched yours. “I didn’t want to leave,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Neither did I,” you admitted, your cheeks warm, your heart still racing.

His lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile—a rare expression that made your chest tighten even more. “Then don’t.”

The simplicity of his words hit you like a wave, their weight sinking in as he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one firmer, more assured.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his coat as his arms wrapped around you, anchoring you against him. The bookshelf pressed into your back, but you barely noticed, too lost in the warmth and steadiness of him.

Each kiss felt like a silent promise, unraveling the knots of doubt and fear you’d carried for so long. With him this close, with his touch so deliberate and his presence so unwavering, there was no room for misunderstandings or second-guessing.

It wasn’t until a soft knock at the door echoed through the room that you remembered the others might notice your absence. You both froze, your breaths still mingling as you stared at each other.

“Y/N?” Jolyne’s voice called out from the other side. “You in there? Emporio’s about to explain everything!”

You swallowed, your voice shaky as you replied, “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll be right there!”

Weather didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he stayed close, his hands still resting lightly on your waist, his gaze steady and unreadable.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, your lips curving into a small smile. “I am now.”

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as though reluctant to let go. But when you stepped back, his arms fell to his sides, and he gave you a faint nod.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice calm and even, though there was still a glimmer of something softer in his eyes.

You followed him out of the room, your heart still pounding but lighter than it had felt in weeks. Whatever was waiting for you with the others, you knew one thing for sure: there was no more misunderstanding between you and Weather.

Chapter Text

“It’s not just about the plants,” he says, his tone quieter now. “It’s about what they represent. Growth. Care. A chance to create something beautiful out of nothing.”

You blink, surprised by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “That’s… actually really sweet,”

You weren’t expecting Giorno to call you so early in the morning, his voice soft but steady through the phone. ‘ I was wondering if you could help me with something today, ’ he asked, a hint of hesitation laced in his words, like he wasn’t used to asking for favors. Curious (and a little flattered), you agreed before he could explain further, and now here you were—standing in his garden, surrounded by rows of vibrant flowers and the faint hum of bees in the air.

"So… how exactly do you want me to help you?" you ask, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow, your finger tapping your chin like you’re trying to piece together some kind of garden mystery. Giorno pauses, glancing your way, and then he smiles—a soft, almost effortless expression that makes your heart do a little flip.

The breeze picks up just then, tugging at his blond hair in a way that’s almost unfair. ‘Damn…this guy is majestic as fuck,’ you think to yourself, trying not to get too distracted by how the sunlight seems to frame him like he walked straight out of a painting. "I’ve been working on this garden for a while," Giorno explains, his voice calm as his gaze drifts over the vibrant blossoms around you. "It’s not just for me. I… have a vision for what it could become, but I need another pair of hands to bring it to life."

You glance at the flowerbeds, an explosion of colors arranged so neatly it’s almost intimidating. It’s clear he’s poured a lot of thought into this. "Okay, fair enough," you say, kneeling down near a row of half-planted daisies. "But heads up, I’m no gardening expert. If you’ve got any fancy techniques, you’re gonna have to dumb it down for me."

Giorno chuckles softly, crouching down beside you. "I’ll guide you. Besides, you’ve already got the most important quality."

You raise an eyebrow again, smirking. "Oh yeah? And what’s that?"

His emerald eyes meet yours, steady and warm. "Patience," he replies simply, the word hanging in the air like he meant more than he let on.

For a second, you almost forget what you’re doing, caught in the gentle weight of his words. Then you snap yourself out of it, clearing your throat. "Alright, Mr. Philosopher, where do we start?"

Giorno’s smile lingers as he gestures to the half-finished section of the garden. “We’ll start here. These daisies need to be replanted deeper in the soil, or their roots won’t hold.” He reaches for a small trowel, handing it to you, his fingers brushing yours in a way that feels too deliberate to be accidental.

You nod at his words while taking the tool. “Got it,” you say quickly, kneeling down to start digging. His presence beside you is hard to ignore, especially when he leans in slightly, his knee almost bumping against yours as he watches your movements.

A minute passes before he speaks again. “You don’t have to be so precise,” he says gently, reaching over to place his hand lightly over yours. The warmth of his touch catches you off guard, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he guides the motion. “Like this—let the soil move naturally.”

Your heart skips as his hand lingers just a moment longer before pulling away, his focus still on the daisies. “You take this gardening thing pretty seriously, huh?” you tease, trying to shake the sudden fluttering feeling in your chest.

He leans back slightly, giving you a thoughtful look. “It’s not just about the plants,” he says, his tone quieter now. “It’s about what they represent. Growth. Care. A chance to create something beautiful out of nothing.”

You blink, surprised by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “That’s… actually really sweet,” you admit, your teasing tone softening. “I didn’t know you were such a deep thinker.”

Giorno’s lips curve into a faint smile, and for a moment, the sunlight catches in his green eyes, making them shine like polished gemstones. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” he says, his voice dipping lower, almost like a challenge.

Your heart skips again at the way he’s looking at you now—calm but so sure of himself. You quickly look back to the soil, mumbling, “Well, if we’re gonna finish this garden, you’d better stick to showing me how to plant these things, not making me lose focus.”

“Of course,” he replies smoothly, but there’s a teasing edge to his tone now. “I wouldn’t dream of distracting you.” As you continue to work, you notice how his presence seems to fill the space in a way that’s hard to describe—unobtrusive, yet undeniable. His movements are graceful, his attention divided between the daisies and you. Every now and then, his fingers brush against your hand as he reaches for a nearby flower or adjusts something in the soil, each touch light, but enough to make your pulse race.

“You’re doing well,” he says, his voice softer now, as if he’s measuring each word. His hand hovers just a few inches away from your own as he shifts the soil in front of you, his knuckles grazing yours in a way that feels deliberate. The air between you grows thick with the silence, the only sound being the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds nearby.

You try to focus, but it’s hard when his touch is so constant, yet so subtle—his fingers brushing your arm when he leans over to help you with the trowel, or the slight pressure of his hand against your back as he guides you to the next spot. It’s as if he’s trying to communicate something without saying a word.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your thoughts on the task at hand. “You really don’t have to keep helping me like this,” you say, your voice betraying a small hint of nervousness as you focus on your hands, not daring to meet his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got the hang of it.”

He pauses, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. For a brief moment, you catch a flicker of something—something deeper—before he quickly hides it behind his usual calm demeanor.

“I’m not just helping you with the garden,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that you almost miss it. He’s standing a little closer now, and the space between you feels charged in a way that it didn’t before.

You glance up, meeting his eyes, your heart skipping once more as you realize he’s not talking about the flowers at all.

Before you can respond, he gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. It’s a simple touch—gentle, almost tender—but it sends a shock of warmth through you that’s impossible to ignore.

For a second, everything else fades away—the garden, the task at hand, even the world beyond this quiet moment. It’s just you and him, standing there in the sunlight, caught in something neither of you can quite name.

He clears his throat softly, stepping back just slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on you, steady and almost searching. “Perhaps I should let you finish this part,” he says, though the hint of a smile still plays at the corners of his lips. “I’m afraid I might distract you too much if I stay.”

As Giorno starts to move away from his original spot, you instantly let go of the trowel and grab onto his wrist, looking into his eyes. “Stop. Wait, don’t go…I’m not getting distracted, don’t worry–”

He freezes, his body stiffening just slightly at your touch. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the garden, the breeze, even the time itself. His emerald gaze holds yours, calm but intense, like he’s waiting for something unspoken.

You let go of his wrist quickly, as if realizing how forward your action was, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, Giorno gently places his other hand on top of yours, his fingers brushing across your skin with a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You don’t have to hide it,” he says quietly, his voice low, the soft edge of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I know you’re not distracted, but… it’s okay to let yourself feel something.”

You swallow, trying to steady your breath. The words feel heavier now, like they’re carrying something more than just a simple comment. The way he’s looking at you—so open, yet still so guarded—makes your heart race in a way that’s hard to describe. It’s as if he’s seeing right through you.

“I…” You start, but your words get caught in your throat. What exactly are you supposed to say to something like that?

Giorno steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours. His thumb lightly brushes over the back of your hand, sending a spark through you at the tender gesture. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, like he’s sharing a secret just between the two of you. “I don’t mind waiting. You don’t have to pretend like you don’t care.”

You feel your pulse quicken, the tension in the air thickening as his presence surrounds you. It’s like everything is suddenly more real, more immediate, and the world outside of this moment doesn’t seem to exist.

“Giorno…” You breathe his name, not sure what exactly you’re trying to say, but everything feels like it’s building up to something, something just on the edge of being said.

He leans in slightly, and for a brief second, you think he’s going to kiss you. His breath is warm against your skin, and you feel the brush of his lips against your ear as he speaks, his voice almost a whisper. “I’ve waited a long time for a moment like this.”

The words send a flutter through your chest, and for a second, it feels like time slows down. You don’t know what to say or how to respond, but somehow, it doesn’t feel like you need to. Everything is just right in this moment, the space between you charged with something undeniable.

“Come on, let’s go back to my place. The wind is getting stronger.” Giorno says, his voice calm, but there’s a subtle urgency in the way he gently pulls you closer to his body.

Before you can react, the ground shifts beneath you as you stand, and your body falls against his, hands instinctively pressing against his chest to catch your balance. His warmth is overwhelming, his presence completely surrounding you in the moment, and for a heartbeat, you’re both still, suspended in time.

You quickly clear your throat, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks, and instinctively step back. “Sorry,” you mumble, fumbling for a moment, your fingers brushing against your own arms to steady yourself. “I didn’t mean to... uh, bump into you like that.”

Giorno doesn’t seem flustered at all. Instead, he offers you a quiet smile, the kind that’s almost unreadable. “It’s alright,” he replies smoothly, his hand resting on the small of your back as he leads the way. “We should head inside before the wind gets any stronger.”

You nod, a little too aware of the lingering warmth from where your body touched his. The air around you seems to buzz with something unspoken, something that lingers between the two of you, but neither of you mention it.

As you walk together, the quiet hum of the world around you becomes almost deafening, each step feeling like it’s carrying you further into this unexpected moment. Giorno’s presence beside you is steady and sure, and for some reason, you don’t want to break the silence.

He glances over at you, his eyes glinting in the fading light. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice gentle, as if he’s waiting for you to speak up if something’s on your mind.

The question feels a little loaded, but you nod again, unable to find the words to describe the chaos of thoughts swirling inside you. “Yeah,” you say softly, offering a small smile. “I’m fine.”

The door creaks shut behind you as you step into Giorno’s house, the warmth of the interior contrasting with the chilly breeze outside. You take a deep breath, the atmosphere inside cozy and calm, almost soothing. Giorno leads you into the living room, his hand lightly guiding you by your shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring.

You step into the space, your gaze sweeping over the elegant yet simple decor—nothing too extravagant, but the place has a comforting, personal feel to it. Giorno gestures toward the couch. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he says, his tone inviting.

You nod and sink into the soft cushions, letting out a small sigh as you settle in. It feels a little surreal, being here, with him—after everything that’s happened outside, after that shared moment in the garden.

Giorno sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the faint warmth from his body. There’s a slight hesitation in the air, but it’s different this time—not awkward, but expectant, like you’re both waiting for the next step to unfold. He turns toward you, his gaze soft yet steady, his eyes searching yours for something. The silence between you both stretches, and your heart starts to race a little faster, unsure of where this moment is going.

Then, without a word, Giorno reaches up, his fingers brushing gently through your hair. He tucks a stray strand behind your ear with the kind of tenderness that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You feel your pulse quicken as he watches you closely, as if waiting for something, his eyes never leaving yours. His touch lingers a moment longer than necessary, and there’s a quiet question in his gaze.

With a slight tilt of his head, Giorno leans in just a little, his lips brushing against your own. He stops, his face close enough that you can feel his warm breath against your soft lips. He looks at you again, his eyes soft but searching for any sign of hesitation, his voice barely a whisper. “May I?”

The question hangs in the air, gentle but loaded, as if he’s giving you the space to decide, to choose. Your heart races as you meet Giorno's gaze, a quiet moment stretching between you. There’s something almost magnetic in the way he looks at you, like he’s giving you a choice, a chance to back out if you want. But something inside you says you’re ready for whatever happens next.

You nod, just a slight movement, but enough for him to understand. “You may,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, the words a quiet consent.

Giorno’s expression softens, his eyes glimmering with something deeper than before—appreciation, but also something that hints at desire. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the small distance between you, his lips brushing gently against yours at first, testing the moment.

The initial brush is soft, a tender press of warmth, but the second his lips meet yours more fully, there’s a shift. His hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers lightly threading through your hair, pulling you a fraction closer, as if he can’t get enough of the closeness between you two.

Your breath hitches, and before you can even process it, the kiss deepens. Giorno’s lips are warm and insistent now, his body turning toward you, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible. He leans in, his other hand coming up to cup your face, fingers lightly grazing your skin as if memorizing the feel of you.

You respond, your body pressing closer to his without thinking, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the heat of his body under your fingertips. His kiss is slow but intense, each movement pulling you deeper into the sensation, making everything else fade into the background.

The air between you both feels charged, like every second is pulling you both further into something you can’t easily pull away from. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong against your chest as you sink further into the kiss. His touch is everywhere—on your face, your back, his body pressing against yours with a growing intensity that makes your breath come in quicker gasps.

He pulls back for a split second, eyes heavy with desire, as he looks at you. “Are you sure?” he breathes out, his voice raspy, almost hoarse.

You nod again, your fingers moving to the collar of his shirt, tugging him back in. The heat between you both intensifies as your lips meet again, this time with more urgency, more need.

His hands roam with purpose now, sliding down your back, pulling you even closer. The kiss turns from gentle to hungry, and the air in the room seems to thicken with everything unspoken, everything that’s been building between you two.

In the back of your mind, you realize that this moment is unlike anything you’ve experienced before—and you’re not sure if you want it to stop.

Without warning, Giorno takes the lead, his hands firm but gentle as he carefully guides you backward onto the couch, your body sinking into the cushions. His eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, everything is still. The intensity in his gaze is clear—he’s not just here physically, but fully present, and his touch speaks volumes without a single word.

You can’t help but stare up at him, your heart racing, as your hands instinctively reach for the braid that’s so meticulously tied back. His hair is soft against your fingers, the strands slipping through your hands with a silken ease. You gently pull at the braid, unraveling it with slow, deliberate movements.

Giorno’s breath hitches ever so slightly, his eyes fluttering shut as a quiet sigh escapes his lips at the sensation of your hands running through his hair. His head tilts slightly as you comb through the strands, a small but pleased smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You feel good,” he murmurs softly, voice a little breathless as he opens his eyes to look down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. The way his gaze sweeps over your face makes your stomach flutter with anticipation, but before you can respond, he leans down again, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s tender but full of a quiet hunger.

This time, the kiss is deeper, more urgent. His lips move slowly, brushing against yours before pulling back just enough to leave a trail of kisses down your neck, each one sending a shiver through your body. You arch your neck instinctively, inviting him closer, the heat between you both growing as his kisses continue to travel lower, each touch gentle but purposeful.

His lips leave soft, lingering kisses against the curve of your neck, a trail of warmth spreading across your skin. The sensation makes your chest tighten with a mix of desire and anticipation, and you can’t help but softly gasp as his lips reach the base of your throat, his breath warm against your skin.

You run your fingers through his hair again, the strands softer than you expected, and you pull him back up to kiss him again, your lips seeking his in a fevered rush, as if you can’t get enough of him.

Giorno’s hand slides down your side, pulling you closer against him, his chest pressing against yours, his body language showing you that he’s just as lost in this as you are. Every inch of him feels like fire against your skin, and it’s like the world outside of this moment doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just the two of you, caught in a quiet whirlwind of need and something deeper than either of you anticipated.

The air between you two is thick with tension, every touch and kiss sending waves of heat through your body. Giorno’s hands are everywhere now, moving with purpose as they explore the curves of your body. You can feel his breath quicken, his chest pressing against yours, and the more he kisses you, the more desperate his movements become.

His lips leave your neck and travel down, pausing just at the edge of your collarbone. You gasp softly as his lips brush against the delicate skin there, his tongue flicking out to taste you, leaving a trail of warmth that sends your body into a frenzy.

You arch into him, your hands gripping his shirt, fingers trembling as you tug it free from his body, desperate to feel more of him. Giorno lets out a low, approving hum as you push the fabric off his shoulders, exposing the smoothness of his skin beneath. The moment you touch him, his hands fly to the back of your shirt, pulling it up, desperate to feel the heat of your skin against his.

He pulls back just for a moment, his eyes darkened with desire, scanning your face for any sign of hesitation. But all you can do is nod, a silent invitation for him to keep going. His lips curl into a sly smile, and in one fluid motion, he pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it aside with a practiced ease.

His mouth is back on you in an instant, his hands sliding down your sides and over your hips. You feel his fingers move to the button of your pants, slowly unbuttoning them, taking his time as if savoring every second. When they’re finally undone, he glances up at you again, eyes burning with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver through you. The question is no longer just about consent—it’s an invitation to cross a line, to push both of you further into something neither of you can turn back from.

Without a word, you pull him closer, your hands moving to the waistband of his pants, urging him to do the same. He doesn't hesitate, his body leaning over yours as he removes his clothing with a quickness that betrays how badly he wants this. You’re left breathless, exposed before him, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, making your pulse race even faster.

With a final kiss, urgent and hungry, Giorno grabs your thighs and brings them up to his shoulders, your knees pressing up against your own chest, before moving against you again, his body pressing into yours as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “Fuck…already so wet for me, tesoro ?” The moment is electric, the friction between you two almost unbearable as he pushes himself deep inside you, each movement slow at first, testing your limits.

Every inch of him feels like absolute bliss, his touch like a brand that leaves you wanting more. As he moves, the intensity builds—each kiss, each caress, and each thrust taking you both further into a place where words no longer seem to matter. It’s all just raw, overwhelming sensation, and all you can do is hold onto him as he takes control, guiding you both through the crescendo of desire.

The room fades away, the world outside ceases to exist. It’s just Giorno and you, tangled in each other, lost in the pull of something deeper, something unstoppable. The sounds of skin slapping against each other fills the room, as well as the sounds of gasps, whimpers, and sinful moans. You can feel every inch of him deep inside you, “F-fuck! You’re s-so good…” you manage to whimper out. 

With each thrust if his, your body starts to tremble with pure ecstasy. Your eyes roll back and your arms fly out to grab anything you could. All you manage to do is grab onto his blond locks before arching into his body once again. Giorno lifts his body up, leaving your legs to lock around his waist before thrusting himself more roughly, hitting your g-spot perfectly.

You feel your orgasm creeping closer and closer with every thrust as you beg for more from him. The warmth between you crescendos into something that feels almost infinite, like the two of you are caught in your own world where nothing else matters. Giorno’s touch remains tender, yet his movements speak of unspoken promises, a silent reverence for the connection unfolding between you.

As your breaths come in unison and the moment peaks, there’s a shared stillness, a quiet understanding passing between you. Giorno’s hands remain steady on you, his touch grounding you both in the intimacy of the moment. He looks down at you, his golden hair falling around his face like a halo, and his lips curl into a soft smile—a smile meant only for you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice low and steady, the care in his tone evident.

You nod, smiling up at him as you run a hand through his tousled hair. “More than alright,” you reply, your voice breathless but filled with contentment.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as his arms wrap around you, pulling you close to him. The sound of your breathing fills the quiet space, the rhythm of your hearts still in sync, as if tethered to each other.

For a while, neither of you speaks, basking in the warmth and closeness of each other. Giorno’s fingers trace absentminded patterns along your arm, and you can feel the quiet strength of him as he holds you.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with emotion.

“For what?” you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

“For trusting me… for being here,” he says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

You smile at his words, your chest swelling with warmth as you lean up to kiss him again, this time gently, savoring the tenderness of the moment. “And you’re everything I didn’t know I was waiting for.”

The two of you stay entwined like that for a while, the world outside forgotten as you fall into a peaceful quiet, secure in the knowledge that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

Chapter Text

Love becomes it's cruelest when doubt speaks louder than devotion.

The blindfold presses tightly against your face, the fabric rough and unrelenting. You can’t see him, but you can feel him. His presence looms just a few feet away, the tension between you thick enough to choke on. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you fight to steady your breathing.

“You haven’t been honest with me,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions roiling inside you.

There’s a pause. The kind that makes your chest tighten, that stretches out into forever. You hear the faint rustle of his clothing, the subtle shift of his weight, before his voice finally cuts through the oppressive silence.

“You’re treading on dangerous ground.” His words are low, calculated—a warning wrapped in steel.

You swallow hard, your throat tight, but you don’t back down. “I don’t care,” you snap, stepping forward despite the darkness that surrounds you. The floor is rough beneath your feet, grounding you, but it does nothing to quell the ache in your chest. “Do you think I haven’t noticed? The way you avoid me, the way you brush me off? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Stop.” His tone is darker now, sharper, like a blade pressed against your skin.

But you don’t stop. You can’t. “No. I won’t stop. I’m not some puppet for you to string along, Diavolo. I’m not blind—well, not completely.” You laugh bitterly, gesturing at the blindfold. “But you’ve been keeping me in the dark for so long, I might as well be.”

“Enough,” he snaps, his voice tight with restraint.

“Oh, so now I’m the problem?” you spit, taking another step forward, your hands trembling. “You think I don’t notice the lies, the secrets? You think I don’t feel how distant you are, how cold you’ve become? All I’ve ever done is try to be here for you, and you—”

“That’s enough!” His voice thunders through the room, sharp and commanding, but it only fuels the fire inside you.

“No!” you yell back, your voice cracking with the weight of everything you’ve been holding in. “It’s not enough! It’s never enough for you, is it? You keep me blindfolded, literally and figuratively, and then expect me to just sit here and trust you? Do you even care about me, or am I just some pawn in your game?”

“You don’t understand.” His voice drops, quieter but somehow more dangerous.

“Then make me understand!” you shout, stepping closer again. You’re so close now, you can feel the faintest hint of his warmth, the barely-contained rage simmering beneath his surface. “Tell me what’s so important, so monumental, that you can’t even let me in! Or is it that you just don’t care?!”

His breathing is heavier now, harsh and uneven, and you know you’re pushing him to his limit. But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

“Answer me!” you demand, shoving at his chest. Your hands meet unyielding muscle, and though he doesn’t move, the action makes something in you snap. “Am I that insignificant to you? That replaceable?”

The slap comes so suddenly, it stuns you. The sharp crack of his hand against your cheek echoes in the room, louder than his shouting ever was. You stagger back, the sting blooming across your face as you raise a trembling hand to touch your skin.

For a moment, everything is silent. Your breath hitches as you struggle to process what just happened, the throbbing pain mingling with the ache in your chest.

“Am I not enough for you?” The words leave your lips in a broken whisper, trembling and raw.

When he speaks, his voice is cold, detached. “You never were.”

The room feels impossibly still, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a crushing wave.

Chapter Text

Healing starts when we stop facing the pain alone and let someone else carry a piece of it with us

The mansion felt eerily quiet tonight. You sat alone in your room, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Your legs burned with a dull ache, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in your chest. Every breath felt heavier than the last, and no matter how hard you tried, the tears kept spilling.

Your head dropped into your hands, fingers curling into your hair as you tried to steady yourself. The tissues on the bed were scattered, stained, and crumpled, but you couldn't bring yourself to throw them away. Not yet. Not when the weight of everything was still pressing down on you so violently.

The sound of muffled laughter drifted in from the other end of the mansion. You could tell some of the others were still awake, likely sharing stories or teasing each other. Normally, you might have joined them, but tonight, the idea of facing anyone felt impossible.

You didn’t hear the footsteps at first. Lost in your own head, you hadn’t noticed the faint creak of the floorboards outside your door. It wasn’t until the quiet hum of Bruno’s voice reached your ears—soft, a melody barely audible—that you realized someone was nearby. 

Your breath hitched, and you froze, your heart racing. The pain in your legs kept you rooted to the bed, unable to move, even though you knew he was close. Too close. 

Outside, Bruno slowed his steps. He wasn’t sure what had caught his attention at first, but then he heard it—a faint sniffle, a sound you hadn’t meant for anyone to hear. Bruno stopped just outside your door, his brow furrowing as he listened. The sound came again, quieter this time, like you were trying to stifle it. It wasn’t like you to sound so… fragile.

He hesitated, his hand hovering near the door. “Y/N? Everything okay in there?” he called softly, careful not to startle you.

Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice, clear and laced with concern. Panic gripped you as you glanced down at the mess surrounding you—the tissues, the stains on the edge of your blanket, and your tear-streaked face. Your hands scrambled to hide it all, shoving the tissues beneath a pillow, tugging the blanket tighter around your legs.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound steady. “Just tired, Bruno.”

There was a long pause. You prayed he’d leave it at that, but deep down, you knew better.

“May I come in?” he asked, his tone gentler now, like he already knew the answer wasn’t as simple as you were trying to make it. Your heart sank. You swallowed hard, trying to think of an excuse, a way to make him go away, but your mind was blank. The ache in your legs flared again, a cruel reminder of your own turmoil.

“...Just a second,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

You hurried to wipe at your face, clearing away the tears as best you could. The evidence was still there—your red, puffy eyes, the trembling in your hands—but you pulled yourself together enough to sit upright, pretending you were fine.

“Come in,” you finally said, the words shaky but audible. The door opened slowly, and Bruno stepped inside. The moment his eyes landed on you, his expression softened, concern etched deeply into his features.

“Y/N…” he said quietly, taking in the way you sat hunched on the edge of the bed. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Nothing. I’m fine, really.”

But the words sounded hollow, even to you. Bruno wasn’t someone you could easily fool—not with the way his eyes studied you, searching for the truth you were trying so desperately to hide. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was afraid of overwhelming you. “Y/N,” he said again, his voice softer this time, “I can see that you’re not fine. Please… let me help.”

Your lips trembled as you opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. The lump in your throat grew tighter, the tears threatening to fall again despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. You hated this—hated feeling so exposed, so vulnerable.

Bruno knelt in front of you, his hands resting on his knees as he looked up at you, his dark eyes filled with an empathy that made your chest ache even more. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to go through this alone, either. I’m here.”

The dam broke. A choked sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, unable to hold it all in any longer.

“It’s too much,” you finally managed, your voice shaking as the words spilled out. “I can’t—I don’t even know where to start. Everything feels so… heavy.”

Bruno didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached out, his hand gently brushing against yours. You flinched slightly but didn’t pull away, and he took that as a sign to continue. His fingers wrapped around yours, grounding you in a way that felt both unfamiliar and comforting.

“Take your time,” he said, his voice steady but trembling ever so slightly. “Whatever it is, I’ll listen. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his words shattered whatever walls you’d been trying to keep up. Through shaky breaths, you began to talk, your words tumbling out in fragments, raw and unfiltered. You told him about the weight you’d been carrying, the way it felt like the world was pressing down on you, how hard it was to keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Bruno listened intently, his brows knit together as he absorbed every word. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. He simply let you speak, his hand never letting go of yours.

When your voice finally faltered, and the silence settled over the room, Bruno’s grip on your hand tightened slightly. His own eyes glistened now, his emotions mirroring the depth of your pain.

“I wish I could take away the pain,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I wish I could make this better for you, Y/N. You don’t deserve to feel like this.” His words made your heart ache in a different way—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming care he was showing you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel alone.

The weight of his words lingered in the air, heavy and raw. You stared at him, your chest tightening even more as his words settled in your mind. You wanted to believe him, to feel the comfort that he was offering. But part of you still felt like you didn’t deserve it.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, wrapping your arms around them in a feeble attempt to hold yourself together. The pain that had been gnawing at you for so long felt all the more intense now, the floodgates of emotion wide open. The tears came faster, uncontrollable, and this time, you didn’t bother hiding them.

Bruno didn’t move. He remained close to you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm you felt inside. He didn’t try to stop your tears or rush you through the pain. He simply sat beside you, his hand still holding yours with gentle insistence.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick with all the things that had been left unsaid for so long. Then, in the quietest voice, almost as if he were afraid to disturb the fragile peace between you, Bruno asked, “How long has it been this way, Y/N?”

You bit your lip, your mind swimming with the heaviness of the question. You wanted to answer, wanted to tell him everything. But the words felt like they would break you all over again.

"I... I don’t know," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "It just… keeps building. And I don’t know how to make it stop."

Bruno shifted, leaning in just enough to show that he was listening, that he was waiting for you to find your words. His thumb traced small, calming circles on the back of your hand, offering a quiet comfort.

“You don’t have to fight it alone,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice almost tangible. "You never have to do this alone."

You closed your eyes, the weight of his promise sinking in. It was as if the world had paused for just a second, giving you the space to feel safe for the first time in what felt like forever. You could lean on him, let him carry some of the weight, even if just for a moment.

But even then, doubts crept into your mind. Would you always feel like this? Was it ever going to get better? The thoughts swirled, and you couldn’t escape them.

Bruno, sensing the shift in your emotions, squeezed your hand a little tighter. "It will get better, Y/N. I promise you that." You wanted to believe him, but it was hard. So, instead of responding, you simply let the tears fall, taking solace in the fact that for once, you didn’t have to hold it all in alone.

Your voice broke again, and this time, you couldn’t hold back the flood of words. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart,” you whispered, your hands trembling as you wiped at your eyes, but it didn’t stop the tears. “I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words just kept pouring out. “I’ve been stuck in this loop for God knows how long,” you continued, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It just keeps going. Over and over. And I… I just want it to stop.”

The confession seemed to hang in the air between you two, the heaviness of it settling in like a weight on your chest. You knew Bruno could hear the truth in your words, feel the depth of the despair that you’d been hiding for so long. You glanced down at your hands, your fingers trembling as they grazed over the edge of your sleeve. You had hoped he wouldn’t notice, that you could somehow keep this part of yourself hidden. But the truth was already slipping out.

“I…” you hesitated, feeling the shame flood your chest as you finally spoke what you’d kept locked away. “I’ve been hurting myself. I… I don’t know why, Bruno. I just... it feels like the only way to feel something. Anything.”

You could barely look him in the eye. But you didn’t need to see his expression to know he was shocked—his grip on your hand tightened almost involuntarily, his fingers shaking slightly as if he wasn’t sure how to process the words you’d just said. 

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His breath caught in his throat, and you could feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on him, too. He looked at you, his eyes wide, as if he was seeing you for the first time.

But then he exhaled slowly, reaching up with his other hand to gently place it on your shoulder. His voice cracked, though he tried to keep it steady. “Y/N…” His voice trembled. “You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to hurt yourself. I know it feels like everything’s too much, but… this isn’t the answer.”

You clenched your fists in your lap, trying to push away the shame that threatened to suffocate you. “I just… I don’t know what else to do,” you muttered, your voice barely audible now. Bruno leaned closer, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder, his gaze softening as he looked into your eyes. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. I’m here. Whatever you’re feeling… I’ll help you through it. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself.”

The sincerity in his words made something inside you crack open, but there was a part of you that still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that someone like Bruno would want to stay. That anyone could want to stick around when you were so… depressed.

“I… I don’t know how to stop,” you whispered, your voice raw. “It just… feels like it’s the only way to get relief. I don’t know if I can keep going like this. I’m scared.”

Bruno’s hand slowly moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had fallen. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised quietly, his voice filled with emotion. “And I’ll help you find another way. We’ll get through this. I swear it.”

The warmth of his touch, the tenderness in his words—it felt like the first real comfort you’d experienced in a long time. And, for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean into it.

“I’m here, Y/N. And I’ll help you. But you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

You felt the tension in your body slowly ease, just a little, under the weight of Bruno’s words. His presence was a steady comfort, like an anchor in the storm of your emotions. Slowly, you began to relax, your chest no longer so tight, though the pain still lingered. It was like the first crack of light breaking through the darkness.

Bruno didn’t rush you. He stayed by your side, his hand still resting on your shoulder, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin in a silent promise. After a few moments, he spoke again, his voice soft but certain.

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he said. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Maybe it wouldn’t all get better overnight. Maybe it would take time—lots of it. But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so alone.

Bruno’s gaze never left you, and though the pain was still there, you realized that it was okay to let someone in. It was okay to lean on him. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to keep you going.

He gave your hand one final squeeze, a quiet promise in his touch. “You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, the simplest moments mean the most

The sound of the rain pounding against the windows was almost as loud as Narancia’s groan. He was slumped down on the couch, music blaring in his headphones, flipping through a stack of comics. You were sitting on the floor next to him, idly scribbling on your homework, though you’d stopped actually doing the work at least twenty minutes ago.

"Hey, Y/N," Narancia muttered, peeking over the top of his comic, "how much longer are we gonna pretend we’re gonna finish this stupid math stuff?"

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “As long as you don’t keep distracting me.”

Narancia grinned sheepishly, lifting his hands in surrender. "I swear, I’ll stop... after this last page, okay?" He flipped another page, eyes glued to the colorful panels. You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward. You could tell that if you didn’t take matters into your own hands, the homework would never get done. But honestly, what was the harm in a little fun?

As if on cue, Narancia let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back on the couch and stretching dramatically. “I’m so bored, Y/N. The rain’s been going for hours, and there’s nothing to do!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. "Well, I could think of something… but it involves putting that comic down for a second."

He paused, staring at you like you’d just proposed climbing Mount Everest. “What? What could we possibly do that’s more fun than this? Besides, Fugo’s probably gonna make us do this again tomorrow, anyway.”

You stood up, hands on your hips. "How about a pillow fight? It’s the best way to release all that energy you’ve been building up."

Narancia blinked, then broke into a grin that could only be described as a mischievous grin. "A pillow fight? You’re on!"

Before you could even react, he lunged at the pile of pillows beside the couch, grabbing one and flinging it at you. The force sent you stumbling back, but you quickly recovered and grabbed your own pillow, swinging it with all the force you could muster.

It didn’t take long before you both were in full-on pillow war mode, giggling and trying to outwit each other. Every time Narancia would try to sneak up behind you, you’d turn just in time to smack him with the pillow. The whole living room was a mess, but neither of you seemed to care.

"Come on, Y/N! You can do better than that!" Narancia laughed, ducking behind a cushion like he was trying to shield himself from an incoming attack. "You gotta bring your A-game!"

"You’re about to get so much more than that," you threatened, getting ready to charge again.

As you took a step forward, you suddenly found yourself knocked off balance when Narancia came out of nowhere and swung his pillow with impeccable timing. You fell into a heap, laughter bubbling out of you as he stood over you, looking victorious.

"Victory is mine!" he shouted dramatically, holding his pillow triumphantly.

You gave him a playful shove. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get too cocky. I’m just getting warmed up!”

"Sure you are," Narancia said with a wink, tossing the pillow aside. "But maybe we should move on to something else. What do you think?”

You sat up, catching your breath. The storm outside continued to rage, but you didn’t mind. Not with Narancia by your side, making the whole day feel like an adventure in itself.

"Alright," you said with a grin. "How about a card game? But with your rules , of course."

Narancia raised his eyebrows. "You know what? I’ve got a better idea."

You raised an eyebrow, watching him as he scrambled to the corner of the room where a few sketchbooks and markers were stashed. "Better than a pillow fight and card games?" you teased.

He shot you a grin over his shoulder. "Way better."

A second later, he returned with a sketchbook in hand, plopping down next to you. "How about we both draw something? You know, like... a little competition."

You chuckled. "Oh, this should be good. You do realize you’re not exactly Picasso, right?"

Narancia puffed out his chest, trying to act all serious. "I’m a master of art. You just wait."

You both flipped open your sketchbooks, and Narancia handed you a set of colorful markers, dramatically handing you a red one. "Alright, the first challenge: Draw something ridiculous ."

"Ridiculous?" You smirked, taking the marker. "Alright, if that’s the game, I’m in."

Narancia grinned, grabbing a green marker for himself. "And no copying, okay? We both draw something completely ridiculous, and then we’ll judge."

You both got to work, and Narancia dove in with enthusiasm, sketching something that resembled a mutant pizza slice with arms and legs. You couldn’t stop laughing as he added tiny stick figures holding tiny slices of pizza as if they were part of a pizza mafia.

As you worked on your own creation—a dinosaur wearing sunglasses and dancing—Narancia occasionally peeked over to see what you were doing. "Hey! No peeking!" you scolded, holding your sketchbook tighter to your chest.

He put his hands up in mock surrender. "I’m just admiring your skills," he said with a wink.

When you both finished, you set your drawings down on the floor. Narancia leaned in close, giving your dinosaur a look. "Not bad, not bad," he said, clearly impressed. "But this pizza guy?" He pointed to his mutant pizza creation. "He’s on another level of greatness."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? That pizza looks like it needs a vacation."

Narancia snickered. "Well, he is a pizza slice with legs. He's been on the move."

You both burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the drawings. The silliness of it all made the room feel warmer, cozier, despite the cold rain outside.

“Alright,” Narancia said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Your turn. Draw... a monster. But make it cute. It’s a monster, but also... adorable. Like me.”

You raised an eyebrow at his confidence. “Oh, this I’ve got to see.”

You got to work on drawing a fluffy, round monster with big eyes and little tiny feet, complete with a bowtie. Meanwhile, Narancia had already started drawing his own version of a cute monster—a tiny dragon with giant wings and a huge toothy grin. It wasn’t even close to being scary, but it was definitely adorable .

"Y’know, I think we’re both pretty talented," Narancia said, sitting back and admiring both of your drawings. "We could open up an art gallery with these masterpieces."

You grinned, giving him a playful shove. "Maybe one day."

The two of you sat back, looking at your creations, laughing at how ridiculous and fun the drawings had turned out. The rain outside continued to pour, but inside, you both were surrounded by warmth, creativity, and the comfort of  each other’s company. 

As the laughter died down, you had an idea. "Hey, what if we drew each other?" you suggested, grinning at Narancia. "I mean, we’ve been drawing all sorts of weird stuff—why not draw each other for once?"

Narancia blinked, then broke into a grin. "That sounds awesome! Alright, you first," he said, grabbing his markers, ready for the challenge. "I bet you’re gonna make me look super cool."

You chuckled, your fingers already itching to sketch. "Let’s see if you’re still saying that after I’m done."

You took a moment, studying Narancia's goofy grin as he eagerly looked at you, his enthusiasm practically spilling out of him. You decided to focus on capturing his playful energy. You drew him sitting cross-legged on the couch, holding his markers up like he was ready to conquer the world with his art. You even threw in a little exaggerated detail with his wild hair and wide grin.

After a few minutes, you stepped back to assess your work. Narancia, still focused on his own sketch, was clearly excited to see what you’d drawn.

He leaned over, peering at the page. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. "That’s me! You totally got my best side. I look good!"

You laughed, enjoying the way he was hyping himself up. "I mean, I’m not complaining ," you teased.

Narancia grabbed his sketchbook, clearly eager to show you what he’d drawn. With a proud flourish, he flipped it open to reveal a drawing of you and him holding hands. The way he’d captured the moment was surprisingly sweet. You weren’t sure when the idea had even come to him, but it was as if he’d created a little scene of the two of you, carefree and happy. His version of you looked like you were laughing, while his character had the same goofy grin he always wore.

You stared at the drawing for a moment, a little caught off guard by how wholesome it was. It felt... warm. "Narancia," you said softly, "this is... really sweet."

He looked at you with a wide grin. "Well, I thought it would be nice! I mean, we’re friends, right? So why not draw us like that?"

Your heart skipped a beat, a rush of fondness flooding over you. "Yeah," you said quietly, "it’s really nice."

Then, it was his turn to look at what you’d drawn. His eyes lit up as he took in the drawing of himself. "That’s amazing!" he said, his voice full of admiration. "You actually made me look cool!" He gave you a playful shove. "I gotta say, I didn’t know you were such an artist."

You smirked. "I’m full of surprises."

Narancia looked at your drawing once more, grinning even wider. "You made me look awesome, but I think this," he said, gesturing to his own drawing of you two holding hands, "is my favorite."

You didn’t know why, but hearing that made your chest feel warm. "I’m glad you like it."

With that, you both sat back in comfortable silence, appreciating the drawings and the company. The storm raged on outside, but inside the blanket fort, everything felt perfect.

Chapter Text

Some connections are felt, not spoken

The late afternoon sun spilled golden light through Rohan’s studio windows, casting warm hues over the scattered art supplies and stacks of sketchbooks. You stood in the center of the room, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Despite having known Rohan for a while, his intense presence never failed to make you feel like you were under a microscope.

"So," you began, watching him meticulously arrange his pencils in a neat line, "what kind of reference do you need?"

"All of it," he said without looking up, his tone casual but absolute.

"All of it?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Rohan’s emerald gaze finally met yours, sharp and unwavering. "Expressions, poses, movement. The whole range. I thought that would be obvious."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, biting back a sarcastic comment. "Fine. Whatever you say," you replied, feigning nonchalance. You’d learned it was easier to go along with his whims than to question him—especially when he was in one of his “creative zones.”

"Good. Stand there," he instructed, gesturing to an open area in the room.

You moved into place, folding your arms awkwardly as he sat down with his sketchbook. He flipped to a clean page, the sound of the paper crisp in the quiet room, before he twirled a pencil between his fingers and glanced up at you.

"Pose," he said simply.

"Pose how?"

"Use your imagination," he replied, a hint of impatience in his voice.

Biting your lip, you hesitated before striking a stiff stance. One hand rested on your hip while the other hovered mid-air like you were about to reach for something. It felt ridiculous, but you figured it was better than nothing.

Rohan lowered his pencil and sighed, his head tilting back slightly in exasperation. "Unbelievable. Is that supposed to look natural?"

"I’m not a model, Rohan," you shot back, your cheeks warming slightly.

"Clearly," he muttered, standing abruptly. The scrape of his chair against the floor sent a shiver through the quiet room. "Don’t move."

Your heart skipped a beat as he approached, his footsteps deliberate. Before you could protest, he was in front of you, his hands brushing against your arms as he adjusted your position. His touch was firm but gentle, tilting your elbow, angling your shoulder, and even guiding your chin with the lightest pressure of his fingers.

"Not like that," he murmured, leaning in slightly. "Relax your hands—don’t make them look like claws. Tilt your head just… there."

The faint scent of ink and paper surrounded him, mingling with something warmer, uniquely him. Your skin burned under his touch, the proximity making it hard to focus. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, pooling in your cheeks as you struggled to keep your breathing steady.

"Relax," he said, almost like it was an order.

"Yeah, sure. Easy for you to say," you managed, your voice quieter than you intended.

Rohan stepped back and surveyed his work, his expression unreadable. His hands were now stuffed in his pockets as he gave a small nod. "Much better. Don’t move."

You tried not to fidget as he returned to his seat, flipping his pencil upright and starting to sketch. You could hear the soft scratch of the graphite against the paper, the rhythm steady and methodical. Every so often, he would glance up at you, his gaze sharp, before returning to his sketchbook.

Minutes passed like this, and though you kept still, your mind wandered, replaying the sensation of his hands on your skin. You shook the thought away, focusing instead on the faint hum of the pencil strokes and the golden sunlight pooling around the room.

"Your expression is too neutral," Rohan said abruptly, breaking the silence.

"Okay, what do you want me to do? Smile? Frown?"

"Something emotional," he replied, his tone clipped. "Anger, joy, despair—anything. Just make it believable."

You thought for a moment, then let a mischievous grin spread across your face. "How’s this for joy?"

He paused mid-stroke, his brow twitching. "What is that supposed to be?"

"You said anything," you teased, the grin widening.

Rohan scoffed, but there was the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips. "Fine. Hold it. It’s passable." You laughed softly, relaxing just a little as the tension in the room eased. Watching him sketch with such focus, you couldn’t help but admire the way his intensity softened slightly when he was in his element. 

Time passed quietly except for the steady scratch of Rohan’s pencil against the paper. You’d gotten used to his intense concentration by now, but there was something different about the way he looked at you today. His eyes, sharp and discerning, lingered just a second longer than usual, tracing the outline of your form with an almost delicate focus.

"Stop fidgeting," he muttered, not glancing up from his sketchbook.

"I’m not fidgeting," you retorted, though your voice lacked conviction.

"You’re blinking too much."

"Sorry, I’ll just stop breathing while I’m at it," you quipped, unable to resist the sarcasm.

Rohan’s lips twitched, and for a moment, you swore you saw the ghost of a smile. He didn’t say anything, but the soft curve of his mouth didn’t go unnoticed.

"Just hold still," he said, though his tone was less curt this time.

You exhaled quietly, trying to keep your posture. The quiet hum of the room, paired with the golden light streaming in, made the moment feel strangely intimate. You watched him as he sketched, the slight furrow of his brows and the way his lips pressed together in concentration.

"Why are you staring at me?" he asked suddenly, not even looking up.

Your cheeks flushed. "I’m not!"

"You are. It’s distracting."

"Well, excuse me for existing," you mumbled, looking away quickly. Your heart raced as you stared at the wall, hoping he couldn’t see the heat creeping up your neck.

He sighed, placing his pencil down and leaning back in his chair. "Look at me."

You turned your head slowly, hesitating. His expression was unreadable, his gaze unwavering as he studied you—not just for the sketch, but something deeper.

"Your posture’s slipping again," he said softly, standing and walking toward you.

"Oh, come on, I’m trying—"

Before you could finish, he was already beside you. His hands, warm and steady, found your shoulders, gently pushing them back. "Straighten your spine," he murmured, his voice quieter this time.

You swallowed hard as his fingers grazed your arm, moving down to adjust the angle of your wrist. His touch was careful, deliberate, yet it sent a shiver up your spine.

"There," he said, stepping back slightly but still close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of his presence. "Perfect."

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded instead, keeping your gaze locked on a random point across the room.

"Why are you so tense?" he asked, his tone curious now, almost gentle.

"I’m not—"

"You are," he interrupted, tilting his head. "I can see it in your face."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way he was looking at you made the words catch in your throat. His gaze wasn’t sharp or judgmental like usual—it was softer, almost searching.

"I’m fine," you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Rohan didn’t look convinced, but he returned to his chair, picking up his pencil. "If you say so."

The scratch of the pencil resumed, filling the silence between you. But now, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his touch lingering on your skin or the way his voice softened when he spoke to you.

"You know," he said after a while, his tone unusually calm, "this is turning out better than I expected."

"Really?" you asked, glancing at him.

He nodded, his focus still on the sketch. "You’re… less difficult than I thought you'd be."

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Take it however you like," he replied, his lips curving into that familiar, self-assured smirk.

For a moment, the air between you felt lighter. Despite his usual sharp edges, there was something about moments like these that made you realize just how much you valued being around him—even if he’d never admit he felt the same.

The pencil scratched against the paper with a deliberate rhythm, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was seeing in you that made him so focused. Every now and then, his gaze would flick up, those sharp eyes drinking in every detail before returning to the page.

"Relax your hands," he said again, not for the first time.

"They are relaxed," you grumbled.

Rohan’s sigh was soft, almost imperceptible, before he set his pencil down. "Clearly not." He rose from his seat once more, the chair creaking slightly as he stepped toward you.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he reached for your hands, his fingers wrapping lightly around yours. His touch was cool and confident, sending a jolt up your arm that made your breath catch.

"Like this," he murmured, guiding your hands into a softer position. His movements were slow, almost lingering, as if he was taking his time to feel the shape of your fingers beneath his.

Your throat went dry, and your heart raced in a way you couldn’t ignore. His focus was absolute, and yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of how close he was, how his touch affected you.

"See? It’s not that hard," he said, his voice low, his hands still lightly holding yours.

"Easy for you to say," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t move. The room felt still, the quiet hum of the afternoon light wrapping around you both. You could feel his eyes on you, sharp yet unreadable, like he was sketching you with his gaze alone.

"You’re blushing," he said suddenly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your stomach flipped. "I—I’m not!"

"You are," he countered, his voice calm but tinged with amusement. "Is this really that embarrassing for you?"

"No," you lied, though your voice betrayed you with its unsteady pitch.

Rohan leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. "Interesting."

"Interesting how?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

His lips quirked into that familiar, infuriating smirk. "You’re usually so composed. It’s fascinating watching you unravel."

Your face burned, and you yanked your hands out of his grasp, taking a step back. "I’m not unraveling," you said quickly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Rohan chuckled softly, the sound low and unexpectedly warm. "If you say so." He returned to his seat, picking up his pencil again, but his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer than they should have.

You stood there, flustered and fuming, trying to steady your breathing. He didn’t say anything as he resumed sketching, but the smirk on his lips hadn’t faded.

After a while, curiosity got the better of you. "Are you almost done?"

"Almost," he said, his voice smooth and focused. He didn’t look up, but there was a certain tension in the air now, subtle but undeniable.

When he finally leaned back and set his pencil down, he tilted his head, studying the sketch with a critical eye. Without a word, he stood and walked toward you, holding the sketchbook out for you to see. Your breath hitched as you took it in. The lines were bold yet precise, capturing you with a level of detail that felt almost intimate. The softness in your expression, the light in your eyes—he’d drawn you not as you thought you looked, but as he saw you.

"It’s… really good," you said quietly, your voice faltering.

"Of course it is," Rohan replied, his confidence unwavering. He stepped closer, just enough that you could feel his presence again. "But I think the real thing is still better."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked up at him, meeting his gaze. His smirk was gone now, replaced by something softer, something that made the air between you feel heavy with unspoken words.

"You should let me draw you again sometime," he said, his voice quieter now, almost like a suggestion. You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. "Maybe," you managed to say, though your voice wavered.

Rohan’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. "Good."

Rohan tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved yet. His sharp eyes narrowed, and then, with a snap of his fingers, he said, "I’ve got a new idea."

You blinked, your brows knitting together. "What kind of idea?"

He didn’t answer right away, instead setting his sketchbook down on the nearby table. Walking over to you, he placed his hands on his hips, his gaze scanning you in a way that made your skin prickle.

"This one’s going to require a bit more involvement," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"Involvement how?" you asked hesitantly, suddenly very aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you two.

"You’ll see." Rohan reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your wrist. Without waiting for permission, he guided your hand upward. "Hold this here," he murmured, placing your hand just above your chest.

Your heart pounded as you obeyed, his touch lingering longer than necessary. "Okay…"

He stepped behind you, his hands settling on your shoulders to adjust your posture. His proximity sent a wave of heat down your spine, and you could feel the faint brush of his breath against the back of your neck.

"Relax," he said softly, though his tone had a hint of something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken.

"Kind of hard to do when you’re breathing down my neck," you mumbled, though your voice was shaky.

Rohan chuckled, a low, almost teasing sound that made your face flush. "You’re so easily flustered," he remarked, his hands gliding down your arms to adjust their angle.

"You don’t exactly make it easy," you shot back, though the words came out weaker than you intended.

He moved to face you again, tilting your chin up with the gentle pressure of his fingers. The gesture was so unexpected, so uncharacteristically tender, that it left you momentarily speechless.

"Look at me," he said quietly, his eyes locking onto yours. His thumb brushed against your jawline as he positioned your head, the motion so deliberate and intimate that it left your skin tingling.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "Is this really necessary for a sketch?"

Rohan’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze—something softer, almost vulnerable. "You wanted to help, didn’t you?"

"I didn’t think it would feel like…" You trailed off, unable to find the right words as his hand lingered for just a second too long before pulling away.

"Like what?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

You shook your head, your cheeks burning. "Nothing."

Rohan arched an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he stepped back slightly, though the intensity of his gaze didn’t waver.

"Stay like that," he said, his voice lower now, more serious. "Don’t move."

You tried to ignore the way your heart raced as he returned to his seat, picking up his pencil. His focus was unwavering as he sketched, but the tension in the room was palpable, wrapping around you like a tight coil.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound was the scratch of his pencil. You felt exposed under his gaze, as if he was seeing more than just your physical form. It was both thrilling and unnerving, the kind of tension that made your skin buzz with anticipation.

When he finally leaned back, setting his pencil down, he exhaled softly. "Done."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. "Can I see it?"

Rohan hesitated for just a moment before standing and walking toward you. He turned the sketchbook around, revealing his work.

Your breath caught in your throat. The sketch was stunning, almost painfully so. He’d captured you in a way that felt raw, vulnerable—a version of yourself you’d never seen before.

"It’s…" You struggled to find the words, your voice faltering.

"Beautiful," he said simply, his voice soft.

Your eyes snapped to his, and for a moment, the air between you felt electric. His expression was unreadable, but the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made your chest tighten.

"Rohan…"

Before you could finish, he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Do you finally understand why I needed you for this?" Rohan’s voice was low, deliberate, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Your heart pounded as you searched his face for answers. "Why?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching up to gently cradle your chin. His touch was featherlight, yet it commanded your full attention. Tilting your head upward, he leaned in, his breath brushing against your skin as he whispered near your ear.

"Because it’s you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. "It’s always been you."

The words hung in the air, heavy and electrifying. Your cheeks burned, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, your gaze darting to the side as your heart threatened to leap out of your chest.

"Rohan…" you managed to say, your voice shaky, but he didn’t let you finish.

"Shh," he interrupted, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. "You don’t have to say anything—just let me ask you something." His eyes locked onto yours, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable yet still laced with that quiet confidence that was so uniquely his.

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly, unable to find your voice.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice soft but steady, the words sending a spark through your veins.

For a moment, you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, but then you nodded again, this time more deliberately. "Yeah," you whispered, barely able to get the word out.

Rohan didn’t waste a second. His hand slid to the side of your face, his fingers threading lightly through your hair as he leaned in. When his lips met yours, it was slow, deliberate, and utterly consuming. His kiss wasn’t rushed; it was intentional, as though he wanted to savor every second, every sensation.

Your hands hesitated at first, unsure of what to do, but instinct took over, and you found yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. The soft rustle of fabric and the faint sound of your breaths filled the quiet room, the world outside fading into nothing.

Rohan pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his forehead resting against yours. His lips were curved in the faintest of smiles, his usual confidence shining through. "I knew you’d say yes," he teased, though there was a warmth in his tone that softened the words.

"Shut up," you mumbled, your face burning, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Oh?" Rohan’s smirk widened, and he leaned back in, his lips brushing against yours again—this time more insistently, more fervently. His hands found your waist, his touch firm but careful, as though he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

You matched his intensity, your body pressing closer to his as the kiss deepened. It was as if every unspoken word, every lingering glance, every moment of tension between you two had culminated in this one electrifying instant.

His fingers trailed along your sides, sending shivers across your skin. When he pulled back again, his breath was uneven, his usual composure slipping just slightly.

"I think I’ve found another new favorite hobby.." he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your nerves and flustered state giving way to something warmer, something that felt like home.

"Just shut up and kiss me again," you said, your voice bold despite the blush still coloring your cheeks.

And Rohan, for once, obliged without another word

Chapter Text

“Relax, amore mio, ” Giorno murmured against your skin, his voice warm and soothing. “Let me take care of you.”

The door to Giorno’s office closed with a soft, deliberate click, the sound cutting through the otherwise still air. It felt louder than it should have, as if marking the beginning of something significant. Your heart skipped a beat, and you couldn’t help the slight flutter of nerves building in your chest.

Giorno stood near his desk, golden hair catching the sunlight that filtered through the tall windows behind him. The usual poise in his posture seemed laced with something different today—something heavier, more intense. His emerald eyes locked onto yours, and though his expression remained calm, there was a heat in his gaze that sent your thoughts spiraling.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady, smooth as honey yet carrying an undercurrent that made your skin prickle. “Thank you for coming. I needed to speak with you about… something important.”

You hesitated for only a moment before replying, “Of course, Giorno. What’s going on?” You tried to sound casual, but the weight of his gaze made it difficult to keep your tone from faltering.

He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”

You complied, the leather cool against your skin as you settled into the seat. But before you could adjust fully, Giorno moved—not to take his place behind the desk, but to step around it, positioning himself behind you.

The sound of his footsteps was soft, deliberate, each one reverberating in your chest. You tensed slightly, hyper-aware of his presence looming just behind you. The scent of his cologne—a heady mix of citrus and something musky—enveloped you, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

“Y/N,” he began again, this time softer, his voice dipping into something far more intimate. “There’s something I need your help with. Something… personal.”

The warmth of his breath brushed against your ear, and you swore you felt the faintest graze of his lips as he spoke. The words sent a ripple of heat down your spine, pooling in your stomach.

“W-What kind of personal?” you managed to ask, though your voice wavered, betraying the cool façade you desperately clung to.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, his hands came to rest on your shoulders. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but the warmth of his palms seeped through the fabric of your shirt, grounding you and setting your nerves alight all at once.

“You already know,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, the tease in his tone unmistakable.

His hands squeezed gently before sliding down to rest just above your elbows, holding you steady. “Can I?” he asked softly, the question hanging in the charged air between you.

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, the way he waited, giving you space to respond. Slowly, you nodded, the motion small but unmistakable.

“Yes,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

That was all he needed. The gentle pressure of his lips against the curve of your neck stole the breath from your lungs. The kiss was featherlight, testing, as though waiting for your reaction. When you didn’t move, didn’t protest, he pressed his lips to your skin again—this time firmer, lingering, as if savoring the moment.

A shiver ran through you, and you couldn’t stop the way your eyes fluttered shut, your body leaning ever so slightly into his touch. His breath was warm, each exhale against your neck leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Giorno,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips before you could stop it.

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above your skin. “You don’t need to hold back with me, Y/N. Not here. Not now.”

Giorno’s lips trailed along the curve of your neck, each kiss deliberate, as if he was mapping every inch of your skin. His hands slid lower, grazing the length of your arms before coming to rest lightly on your waist. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric, grounding you even as your thoughts threatened to scatter.

Your breathing grew uneven, and though you tried to keep still, you couldn’t stop yourself from tilting your head slightly to give him more access. He took the silent invitation with grace, his kisses growing bolder, more purposeful. Each press of his lips was followed by a pause, his breath brushing against your skin, leaving you to anticipate the next touch.

“Giorno…” you whispered again, though this time his name carried a hint of something more—a plea, a confession, a surrender.

He hummed against your neck, the vibration sending a shiver coursing through your body. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice low, rich, and full of warmth. “I could lose myself in you.”

His words sent a wave of heat through you, and you felt your resolve slipping further away. One of his hands moved from your waist, sliding up to your jaw. His fingers brushed your skin gently, tilting your head back just enough for him to meet your gaze.

The intensity in his eyes was breathtaking, a mixture of affection, desire, and something deeper that made your heart ache. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, and you realized you’d been holding your breath.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly, his tone unshakably sincere.

“It’s not,” you replied quickly, your voice firmer than you expected. “Don’t stop.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, filled with a tenderness that left you dizzy. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every second, every reaction.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you catch your breath, his forehead rested against yours. “You have no idea how hard it is to keep this a secret,” he whispered, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “Every time I look at you, all I want is this. You.”

Your hands found their way to his arms, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor yourself. “Then don’t hold back,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but carrying all the conviction you felt.

Giorno’s lips curved into a small smile before he leaned in again, his kisses trailing from your lips to the corner of your mouth, then along your jawline. Each kiss was unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to commit every moment to memory.

His hands shifted again, one resting on the small of your back, drawing you closer, while the other tangled gently in your hair. The sensation of his fingers threading through the strands was enough to make your breath hitch, and you leaned into him instinctively.

“You drive me insane, Y/N,” he murmured against your skin, the words punctuated by another kiss just beneath your ear. “Every day, pretending I don’t feel this, hiding what I want to say to you… It’s torture.”

You swallowed hard, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. “You don’t have to hide it now,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze.

With a fluid, almost effortless motion, Giorno lifted you, placing you on the cool surface of his desk. The subtle scrape of papers and pens shifting beneath you was drowned out by the racing of your heartbeat. The heat of his hands lingered on your waist as he stepped between your legs, his movements deliberate yet unhurried.

Your palms pressed against the desk behind you for support as you leaned back slightly, your breath hitching when his emerald gaze flickered down to meet yours. There was an intensity in his eyes, a silent promise that made your pulse quicken.

He crouched slightly, his hands sliding down the curve of your thighs, his fingers brushing your skin like a whisper. His touch sent waves of heat coursing through you, and the anticipation of what came next made it impossible to hold still.

“Do you know,” Giorno began, his voice low and rich, “how long I’ve wanted to have you like this?”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “Giorno…” His name escaped you in a whisper, a mix of surprise and longing, but any further words were lost as his hands gripped your thighs gently, parting them further.

His touch was reverent, as though he were handling something precious. His thumbs drew small circles against your skin, the friction both grounding and electrifying. He tilted his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of your knee before trailing upward. Each kiss was deliberate, a silent exploration that left no inch of skin untouched.

Your breathing grew heavier, the tension in the air almost suffocating. You couldn’t look away from him, from the way his golden hair caught the light, casting an almost angelic glow around him—a stark contrast to the sinful way his lips and hands claimed your body.

As he worked his way upward, his gaze flickered up to meet yours, and the smirk that tugged at his lips sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a silken tease. “Does this excite you, amore mio ?”

You bit your lip, a soft sound escaping you as his fingers brushed higher, his caresses becoming more insistent. “You already know the answer to that,” you replied, your voice trembling but laced with honesty.

His smile deepened, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he whispered, “Say it for me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the weight of his request settling over you. Giorno’s hands caressed your thighs with a maddening slowness, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as though urging you to give in completely.

“I…” Your voice faltered as you fought to form a coherent thought, the heat of his touch scattering your focus. “You excite me, Giorno,” you admitted finally, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and desire.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and indulgent. “Good,” he murmured, placing another kiss higher up your thigh. “Because you do the same to me, il mio cuore. ”

With those words, his hands slid higher, his touch skimming the fabric that separated your skin from his. You gasped softly, your hands clutching the edge of the desk behind you as you fought to keep your composure.

Giorno leaned in, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his breath warm and tantalizing. His movements were unhurried, each kiss and touch deliberate, as though savoring every reaction he pulled from you. He looked up at you again, his emerald eyes darkened with intent.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered, his voice thick with admiration. “So honest, so beautiful.”

The words sent a shiver racing through you, and you couldn’t help but arch toward him, your body moving of its own accord. His hands steadied you, grounding you with his touch as he leaned closer.

One hand slid to your waist, holding you firmly as his other traced delicate patterns along your thigh. The contrast between his firm grip and his featherlight touch left you dizzy, your thoughts entirely consumed by him.

“Giorno…” His name spilled from your lips again, softer this time, a plea you couldn’t suppress.

He tilted his head, his expression softening for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked gently, his tone full of care despite the intensity of the moment.

The sincerity in his question made your heart ache. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Don’t stop.”

Giorno smiled at your answer, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “As you wish,” he murmured, his voice carrying a promise that sent a thrill down your spine.

His hands moved with purpose, sliding along your hips as he carefully removed the last barriers between you. The fabric slipped away, and you felt the cool air against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from him.

Your breath hitched as Giorno settled between your legs, his hands steadying your thighs as he leaned in closer. He paused, his gaze meeting yours with an unspoken question, his thumb brushing soothingly against your skin.

When you gave a small nod, he smiled, his lips brushing lightly against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before trailing closer to your core. The sensation sent a wave of anticipation through you, your fingers curling against the edge of the desk.

His touch was gentle, deliberate, as he pressed a lingering lick just where you needed it most. Your body jolted slightly at the sensation, your breath escaping in a soft gasp. Giorno hummed softly, the sound vibrating against you, his movements slow and precise as though savoring your every reaction.

The room was silent save for your uneven breathing and the faint rustle of fabric as his hands shifted to hold you closer. Each touch, each kiss, felt like an unspoken declaration of how deeply he cared for you, and it left you dizzy, your thoughts consumed entirely by him.

“Relax, amore mio, ” Giorno murmured against your skin, his voice warm and soothing. “Let me take care of you.”

Your heart raced at his words, the gentleness in his voice contrasting with the fire coursing through your body. Giorno’s hands held you firmly yet tenderly, his touch grounding you even as the rest of the world seemed to melt away.

He took his time, each movement purposeful, as though savoring every moment. The intensity of his focus made it impossible to think of anything else; his presence consumed you, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. Your hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter, your head tilting back as a soft sound escaped your lips.

Giorno’s kisses deepened, his lips and tongue exploring you with a careful rhythm, coaxing reactions from you that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. Your breathing grew heavier, uneven, each sensation building on the last until the tension within you became almost unbearable.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and laced with admiration. “Every part of you.”

His words sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching down, your fingers threading through his golden hair. The soft strands felt cool under your touch, a stark contrast to the heat pooling in your core. Giorno tilted his head slightly, leaning into your touch as though encouraged by the silent gesture.

Time seemed to blur, every passing second stretching into eternity as Giorno continued, his movements growing more insistent, more focused. Your breaths turned into soft, broken gasps, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control.

“Giorno…” you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

He slowed for a moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was something raw and vulnerable in his expression, a tenderness that made your chest ache. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, his tone full of care despite the intensity of the moment.

You nodded quickly, your voice trembling but firm. “Yes… Don’t stop.”

The corners of his lips lifted in a small, satisfied smile before he resumed, his movements precise and deliberate, as though he wanted to draw out every ounce of pleasure he could from you.

Before you could even process the next moment, a gasp escaped you as you felt Giorno’s fingers slide inside, his movements confident and purposeful. The unexpected sensation made your legs tremble, your body instinctively responding to his touch.

Your grip on his golden hair tightened, your fingers threading through the soft strands as a string of praises spilled unbidden from your lips. Each word was shaky, fragmented by the pleasure building rapidly within you. Giorno’s name fell from your mouth like a mantra, each syllable laced with a mixture of desperation and bliss.

He tilted his head slightly, his emerald eyes flicking up to watch you. A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips as his fingers curled just so, perfectly hitting that spot that sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through you. Your back arched instinctively, a choked whine escaping you as your body surrendered to him completely.

“Just like that, hm?” Giorno murmured, his voice low and steady, as though coaxing you further into the haze of sensation. His free hand moved to steady your trembling leg, his grip firm but gentle, a grounding presence in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure.

Whines and whimpers spilled from you uncontrollably, the sounds filling the quiet room as his fingers worked with a rhythm that was both precise and maddeningly perfect. Each movement seemed to draw you closer to a precipice you couldn’t quite reach, and yet you didn’t want it to end.

“ Bellissima, ” he whispered, his words dripping with admiration. “You’re incredible like this—so honest, so beautiful.”

His praise only added to the intensity, your body reacting as though his voice alone was enough to drive you further. Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, your head tipping back as the tension in your core coiled tighter, threatening to snap.

Giorno leaned closer, his lips brushing against your trembling thigh as his fingers continued their calculated rhythm. The combination of his touch, his words, and the adoration in his gaze left you completely at his mercy.

The rhythm of Giorno's fingers never faltered, each movement steady and deliberate as he expertly coaxed you toward the edge. Your breaths came faster, sharper, each gasp and whimper spilling uncontrollably from your lips as your body grew taut with tension. The sensation was building within you, a wave that threatened to crash, and your grip on Giorno’s hair tightened even further.

Your chest heaved as the pressure in your core tightened, the feeling of his fingers hitting that spot sending you spiraling closer to your release. You couldn't help but buck against his hand, your back arching as you chased that feeling, the world around you blurring.

"Giorno..." you gasped, the word leaving your lips in a breathless plea. The desperation in your voice made his eyes gleam, the satisfaction evident in the way he continued his gentle but insistent movements.

"Let go," he murmured, his voice smooth and coaxing, a quiet command that sent a wave of heat through your body.

The pleasure coursing through you intensified, the tension in your body unbearable as your legs trembled, the control you had over your body slipping away. With one final, perfect stroke, the wave crashed over you, and your entire body shuddered, your back arching as an overwhelming rush of sensation overwhelmed you.

You cried out softly, the sound escaping you without thought as your body convulsed in the aftershocks of your release. Giorno’s hand remained steady, ensuring that the moment didn’t end too soon, guiding you through it with care. Your breath was ragged, the world slowly coming back into focus as the overwhelming sensations ebbed away.

As your body relaxed against the desk, Giorno pulled away slowly, his fingers slipping from you with a soft, lingering pressure. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, a rare tenderness in his expression.

“You’re amazing,” he said quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle and soothing.

You couldn’t find the words to reply immediately, your body still trembling with the remnants of the experience. Instead, you simply closed your eyes, leaning into his touch as the room filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment hanging between you both.

As your breathing began to steady, Giorno reached for a nearby cloth, his touch uncharacteristically delicate as he cleaned you up with quiet care. The act was intimate, yet there was no tension in his movements—just a simple, earnest tenderness that made your heart swell.

Once finished, he helped you back into your clothes, his hands lingering slightly as he adjusted your disheveled appearance. Giorno’s emerald eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in them now softened by something warmer, something deeply genuine.

“You’re incredible, amore mio, ” he murmured, his voice low but filled with conviction. “I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but the exhaustion in your body made it hard to respond with anything more than a small, bashful smile. Giorno cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as he leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You mean so much to me,” he said quietly, his tone almost vulnerable. “More than I can put into words.”

You felt your chest tighten at his confession, your fingers reaching out to curl around his wrist. “Giorno,” you said, your voice still unsteady from earlier, “you mean the world to me too.”

A rare, genuine smile broke across his face—a smile that was meant for you and you alone. Giorno helped you down from the desk with ease, keeping his arm wrapped securely around your waist as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“Stay with me for a while,” he said softly, guiding you to the couch near the corner of the office. “You don’t need to leave just yet.”

You nodded, leaning into him as you sat together, the warmth of his body against yours soothing and grounding. The intensity of the previous moments faded into something calmer, more peaceful, as the two of you remained entwined.

As you rested your head against his shoulder, Giorno’s fingers found yours, intertwining them in a gentle hold. The quiet that filled the room wasn’t empty—it was full of unspoken promises and the comfort of simply being together.

For now, there was nothing else in the world but him, and that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

Love is just two people trying to make each other smile, even on the quietest days

The summer sun hung lazily in the sky, its warm glow softened by the gentle sway of the trees lining the park. The faint scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the sugary sweetness of the ice cream cone in your hand. Beside you, Josuke walked with a slight swagger that seemed to falter whenever your eyes met his.

“[fav ice cream flavour], right?” he asked, handing you the cone with a grin. “Thought it matched you—sweet and, uh, colorful.”

You laughed, the sound light and airy, as you accepted the cone. “Good call. You’ve got a good memory, Josuke.”

His grin widened, but his gaze darted away, the tips of his ears tinged pink. “Yeah, well, I pay attention.”

The two of you wandered through the park, the sun dappling the path with patterns of light and shadow. Children’s laughter echoed in the distance, blending with the rhythmic chirping of cicadas. You couldn’t help but feel at ease, the moment so perfectly ordinary yet comforting.

Josuke, however, was far from relaxed. Every now and then, he glanced your way, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. The sunlight caught the soft curve of your smile, and he felt like his ice cream might melt faster than he could eat it.

“So…” he began, his voice slightly shaky. He stuffed his free hand into his pocket, his thumb nervously brushing against the fabric. “Uh, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You turned to him, your brows lifting in curiosity. “What’s up?”

He hesitated, his polished confidence slipping for once. He cleared his throat, his grip tightening on the cone in his hand. “Okay, this might sound kinda dumb, but… I really like you.”

Your eyes widened slightly as he rushed to clarify. “Not just as a friend or anything! I mean, you’re… amazing. You’re kind and funny, and I—I’d really like to take you out. Like, for real.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart flutter. His cheeks were flushed, and his usually confident posture seemed almost shy, but his eyes were steady, filled with hope.

“Josuke…” you said softly, a smile spreading across your face. “I’d like that, too.”

His reaction was instantaneous. Relief washed over him, and his lips parted into a boyish grin that was almost too radiant. “You’re serious?!” he asked, his excitement spilling over.

You nodded, biting back a laugh. “Of course I’m serious.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but his gaze dropped to your lips, and his expression shifted. “Uh, hold on a sec,” he said, stepping closer.

“What? Why?” you asked, confused.

“You’ve got…” He gestured vaguely toward the corner of your mouth. “Ice cream.”

Before you could react, his thumb brushed gently against your skin, swiping away the offending smear. The touch lingered for a split second longer than necessary, and you found yourself holding your breath as he smiled sheepishly.

“Got it,” he said, popping his thumb into his mouth without thinking. “Man, you’re messy.”

“Hey!” you protested, your cheeks heating up as you nudged him with your elbow.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said, laughing. “Guess I just couldn’t resist helping.”

As the two of you continued talking, neither of you noticed the trio crouched behind a dense bush nearby, their heads barely concealed by the leaves.

“Oh my gosh, he actually did it!” Koichi whispered, his voice brimming with excitement.

“Took him long enough,” Okuyasu muttered, rolling his eyes but smiling. “He’s been talking about this for weeks.”

Yukako, crouched between them, tilted her head with a fond smile. “They’re adorable together. I’m glad he didn’t chicken out.”

Koichi nudged Okuyasu. “I can’t believe we’re spying on him right now. If he catches us—”

“He won’t,” Okuyasu interrupted, though his voice dropped an octave as he ducked lower. “Besides, he’ll thank us later for witnessing his ‘big moment.’”

You turned your head slightly, your brows furrowing as you scanned the area. “Did you hear something?”

Josuke glanced around, his brows knitting together for a second before he shrugged. “Nah, probably just the wind or something.” He looked back at you, his grin returning. “Anyway… you wanna grab another scoop? My treat this time.”

You laughed, falling into step beside him. Behind you, Koichi, Okuyasu, and Yukako high-fived each other before sneaking away, their mission a success.

Chapter Text

I deadass can't make up any quote rn so js pretend something super duper ultra mega amazin is here and its like some Shakespeare type shi 🙏

The sun shone brightly, casting a golden glow over the soft, grassy meadow. Wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors scattered like paint across the canvas of green. Birds chirped melodiously from the trees lining the clearing, creating a serene symphony that blended perfectly with the whisper of the wind. Narancia was practically bouncing on his toes as he led you by the hand, his energy radiating like the sun overhead.

“We’re almost there,” he said, glancing back with a wide grin. His excitement was contagious, and you found yourself smiling despite not knowing what he had planned. He had been secretive all morning, insisting that today was “special” but refusing to share any details. Now, his childlike enthusiasm was enough to keep you intrigued.

When he finally stopped, you gasped softly. In the middle of the clearing was a checkered blanket spread out over the grass, surrounded by a few carefully placed snacks and a bright blue kite lying on top. The sight was simple but heartwarming, and you couldn’t help but feel touched by the effort he had put in.

“You did all this?” you asked, glancing between him and the picnic setup.

Narancia rubbed the back of his neck, his grin turning sheepish. “Yeah, well… I just thought it’d be fun to do something chill, you know? We don’t get days like this a lot. And… I wanted to spend it with you.”

Your chest warmed at his words, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before sitting down on the blanket. Narancia plopped down beside you, immediately rummaging through the pile of snacks. He held up a bag of chips triumphantly. “Check this out! Found these at the store—some crazy flavor. Might be terrible, but hey, it’s worth a try, right?”

You laughed, taking the offered chip and giving it a cautious taste. The tangy flavor surprised you, but the way Narancia’s face lit up when you gave it a thumbs-up was worth it. The two of you spent the next hour sampling snacks, swapping stories, and basking in the peaceful atmosphere of the meadow. The gentle rustle of the leaves and the occasional chirp of a cricket made it feel as though the world had slowed down just for you two.

After finishing off a sandwich, Narancia grabbed the kite, holding it up proudly. “Alright, time for the main event! Watch this—I’m gonna get this thing so high, it’ll touch the clouds!”

He darted off across the clearing, his laughter ringing out as the kite caught the breeze and began to lift. It soared upward, wobbling slightly as Narancia maneuvered it. For a few glorious moments, it seemed like he’d succeeded… until a sudden gust of wind sent the kite spiraling into the branches of a nearby tree.

“Oh, come on!” Narancia groaned, stomping his foot. He stared up at the tangled mess, hands on his hips. “Stupid tree. Always in the way. Don’t worry, I’ll get it down.”

Before he could start climbing, you grabbed his arm, laughing. “Hold on, let’s work together. I’m not letting you fall out of a tree over a kite.”

“I wouldn’t fall!” he argued, but his pout melted into a grin when you nudged him playfully. “Fine, let’s do it your way.”

The two of you worked together, carefully untangling the kite. Narancia held branches aside while you reached for the strings, your arms brushing occasionally. At one point, you were both reaching for the same knot when your hands touched, causing him to freeze. He glanced at you, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Ow,” you muttered, pulling your hand back slightly. A small scratch from the branches had formed on your hand, a bead of blood welling up. Narancia’s eyes immediately zeroed in on it, his expression turning concerned.

“You’re hurt,” he said, taking your hand gently in his, wiping the blood off gently. Without hesitation, he brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss just above the cut. “There. All better now, right?”

His earnest expression and the warmth of his touch made your heart flutter. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended. “Thanks, Narancia.”

“Anytime,” he said with a grin, his usual playful energy returning. “Now, let’s finish this kite mission!”

With your guidance, the kite soared gracefully into the sky, its vibrant blue contrasting beautifully against the golden hues of the setting sun. Narancia whooped and cheered, pumping his fist into the air as he watched it climb higher and higher. His joy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he spun around, pulling you into an impromptu dance of celebration.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, the two of you were lying side by side on the blanket. The kite rested nearby, its adventure over for the day. Narancia turned his head to look at you, his expression uncharacteristically soft.

“Thanks for today,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere. “It was… really nice. Just us.”

You reached over, lacing your fingers with his. “It was perfect,” you replied, and in that moment, as the stars began to peek out from the darkening sky, everything truly was.

Chapter Text

A gift from the heart isn't just something you give—it's something you cherish, together

The sun was beginning to sink low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the path ahead of you and Johnny. The light danced off the trees as the breeze stirred the leaves, the sounds of nature mixing with the quiet hum of Johnny’s wheelchair as it rolled along the dirt trail. The air had a cool crispness to it, making the day feel peaceful yet alive with possibility. You walked beside him, the steady rhythm of his wheels accompanying your steps, the two of you perfectly in sync.

Despite the distance you’d traveled together over the past few days, the silence between you wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, one that was comfortable and filled with understanding. Johnny had always been the more brooding one, lost in thought much of the time, but when he was with you, those thoughts seemed quieter, more bearable. You had that effect on him.

Every now and then, you’d glance over at him, taking in his relaxed posture, his expression peaceful, though you knew his mind was likely whirling with the memories and burdens of his past. But tonight, for some reason, he seemed more centered, more at ease. The only thing that stood between him and complete peace was that one thing he’d been hiding—a small, precious secret he’d been carrying with him for days.

"Hey, Y/N," Johnny said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet, a softness to his tone that immediately caught your attention.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "Yeah, Johnny?" you responded, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Johnny stopped his wheelchair, the wheels coming to a slow halt on the dirt path. He stared ahead for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before turning to you with a slight flush on his cheeks. There was something different about his usual demeanor tonight—an underlying vulnerability that he didn’t always show. He looked at you, his eyes searching yours as though weighing the moment.

"I, uh… I got something for you," Johnny said, his voice quiet, but there was a certain excitement in it that made your heart flutter slightly.

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, your curiosity piqued. "For me? What is it?" You tilted your head slightly, not sure what to expect.

Johnny hesitated for a second, almost as if second-guessing himself. But then, with a small, sheepish smile, he reached into the pouch on the side of his wheelchair, pulling out something carefully wrapped in soft leather. He handed it to you with a little nervousness in his eyes, as though he were unsure of how you would react.

Your fingers brushed his ever so slightly as you took the gift from his hands, a quiet moment of connection that made Johnny’s heart beat a little faster. You studied the pouch in your hands, the leather worn but sturdy, the craftsmanship simple yet elegant. It didn’t look like much, but something told you that this was special—something meaningful.

"You didn’t have to get me anything, Johnny," you said, your voice gentle, but you could feel your own curiosity intensifying. "You really didn’t have to."

Johnny chuckled softly, though it was a little awkward, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to explain himself. "I know, I know. But... it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I wanted to give you something... just to show how much you mean to me. You’ve been there for me more than anyone else ever has." His voice softened with sincerity, and you could tell he meant every word.

You looked at him, your heart fluttering as his words sank in. It was rare for Johnny to open up like this, to let someone into the more vulnerable parts of him. It made the moment all the more precious.

Without saying a word, you untied the leather pouch, your fingers gently working the knot. As the pouch opened, you could feel the anticipation building in the air. Inside was a small golden charm—a star, delicate and intricate, its edges shining as though it had captured the very light of the sunset. The charm was stunning, simple, but in its simplicity, it held so much meaning.

You held it up to the light, watching the way the gold glimmered in the fading sunlight. It was the kind of piece that seemed to tell a story, one that only Johnny could have known. You felt your heart swell as you looked up at him, your eyes soft with gratitude. "Johnny, this... this is beautiful," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Where did you find this?"

Johnny smiled, his expression a mix of relief and warmth. "I saw it when we were passing through that little town. It just… it seemed like something you’d like. And every time I looked at it, I thought about you. How you’ve always been there for me, and how much I appreciate that." He looked down for a moment, his hand resting on the armrest of his wheelchair. "I wanted to get you something to show how much you mean to me. I don’t… I don’t say it enough, but you really do."

You stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. He was always so careful with his emotions, always guarded. But this—this was real. This was Johnny letting his walls down, and you could feel the honesty in every syllable.

"You’ve already done so much for me," you said softly, your heart swelling with affection. "Just being here with me… that’s more than enough."

Johnny chuckled, the sound a little more relaxed now, and his gaze softened as he met your eyes. "I don’t know about that. You deserve more, Y/N. You deserve the world." He hesitated for a moment, his hands gripping the wheels of his chair a little tighter as if he was trying to find the courage to say more. "I don’t know how to make up for all the things you’ve done for me... but I want to try."

Your smile softened as you knelt down in front of him, your heart beating a little faster as you looked into his eyes. You gently placed the charm in his hand, your fingers brushing against his once more. The gesture was intimate, a quiet promise that no words were needed for him to understand how deeply you cared.

Johnny swallowed, his breath coming a little faster as you leaned in closer. His eyes darted to your lips, then back to your eyes. The air between you seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension, the weight of your shared connection building with every passing second.

For a brief moment, neither of you said anything, the silence stretching on, heavy with everything left unspoken. You could feel your heart racing, the world around you narrowing until there was only Johnny, his presence filling every space. He seemed to feel the same, his usual guardedness slipping away as he met your gaze with something softer, something real.

Before either of you could speak, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his forehead in a soft, tender kiss. Johnny’s breath caught, and for a second, the world seemed to stop, the moment suspended in time. He closed his eyes, taking in the warmth of your touch, his heart hammering in his chest.

As you pulled away, you noticed the slight flush on his cheeks, the vulnerability in his eyes that made him seem almost unsure, but still undeniably sincere. And without thinking, you leaned in again, this time capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it full of urgency—it was a kiss that spoke of everything you had shared, everything that was yet to come.

When you finally pulled back, you found yourself breathless, your cheeks flushed with warmth. Johnny’s lips curled into a shy smile, his hands trembling ever so slightly as they rested on the arms of his wheelchair.

"Does that... does that mean I’m not so bad after all?" Johnny teased, his voice low, though there was a playfulness in his tone that hadn’t been there before.

You laughed softly, your hand still resting against his. "You’re more than just not bad, Johnny. You’re everything."

And in that moment, with the world around you slowly fading into the background, you knew this was only the beginning of something beautiful.

Chapter Text

the wildest storms bring the calmest moments—if you’re with the right person

The rain fell in relentless sheets, drumming against the car like the erratic rhythm of a snare drum. You shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, watching the windshield wipers struggle to keep up with the downpour. Water blurred everything outside, turning the road ahead into a swirling haze of black and gray. The occasional flash of lightning illuminated the storm, casting jagged, fleeting shadows that made you shiver.

Mista’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, his jaw set as he squinted through the downpour. “Man, this weather is brutal,” he muttered, mostly to himself. His voice, though tinged with frustration, carried that casual, familiar warmth that always made you feel a little more at ease.

“Maybe we should’ve stayed back at the hideout,” you suggested, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself.

He huffed out a laugh, glancing at you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. “Yeah, well, hindsight’s a real pain, huh? How was I supposed to know a fuckin’ monsoon would come outta nowhere?”

You bit your lip, glancing nervously out the window as another gust of wind rattled the car. The tires skidded slightly on the slick pavement, and you gripped the door handle instinctively. “Mista, maybe you should—”

“I know, I know!” he interrupted, his voice raised slightly as he fought the steering wheel. “I’m parking. This wind’s insane.”

The car jolted as he veered off to the side of the road, steering into what looked like a small gravel lot surrounded by trees. Once he killed the engine, the sudden quiet—aside from the hammering rain—was almost deafening. The car creaked faintly as the wind pushed against it, but at least it wasn’t moving anymore.

“Well,” Mista said, letting out a long sigh and leaning back in his seat. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

You stared at him, unsure if you should be relieved or annoyed. “You couldn’t have checked the weather before we left?”

He shot you a crooked grin. “And ruin the surprise? C’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Getting stranded in the middle of a storm isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”

“Hey, could be worse,” he said, leaning his head back against the headrest. His voice softened, the teasing edge giving way to something calmer. “At least we’ve got a roof over our heads. And each other.”

The way he said that last part made your stomach flip unexpectedly. You quickly looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the rain streaking down the window. “Yeah, I guess.”

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, the storm filling the quiet with its relentless patter. The occasional flash of lightning lit up the interior of the car, throwing fleeting shadows across Mista’s face. His features were sharp yet somehow relaxed, his eyes half-closed as if he was perfectly content to just sit there.

The peaceful rhythm of the rain was oddly soothing, lulling you into a rare sense of calm despite the circumstances.

“You know,” Mista said suddenly, breaking the silence. “This isn’t so bad.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You mean being stuck in a car in the middle of nowhere during a storm?”

“Exactly.” He flashed you a grin, and even in the dim light, you could see the playful sparkle in his eyes. “Think about it—no distractions, no missions, no annoying teammates breathing down our necks. Just us and the rain. Kinda nice, don’t you think?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. When you finally nodded, he smiled, leaning back again as if he’d won some unspoken argument.

The conversation drifted after that, shifting to lighter topics. You talked about what you’d do when you got back to the hideout—Mista jokingly suggested making a big pot of pasta for everyone, claiming he could cook better than anyone in the gang. You laughed, teasing him about the time he almost set the stove on fire trying to boil water.

“I was distracted!” he protested, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Fugo was yelling at me about somethin’—how was I supposed to focus?”

“Sure, Mista. Blame Fugo,” you said, smirking.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I like you, y’know that?”

His words caught you off guard, and you felt heat creep up your neck. You turned away, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, don’t get all shy on me now,” he said, leaning slightly closer. His voice dropped into a playful, almost conspiratorial tone. “I mean it—you’re pretty great to be stuck with. Makes this whole mess almost worth it.”

You swallowed hard, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’re just saying that because you’d go crazy sitting here alone.”

“Nah,” he said, his voice softening again. “I’d pick you every time, storm or no storm.”

Your heart skipped at the sudden sincerity in his tone. You glanced at him cautiously, but his expression was open, unguarded.

“Why do you always say stuff like that?” you asked, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“Because it’s true,” he said simply, leaning back in his seat again. “And because I like seeing you blush. It’s cute.”

“I’m not blushing,” you mumbled, though you could feel the warmth on your face giving you away.

Mista laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the small space and made your chest feel strangely light. “Whatever you say, bella.” 

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. Outside, the rain began to ease, the once deafening storm now a gentle patter against the windows. The world felt smaller, quieter, like it was just the two of you and nothing else.

“Hey,” Mista said after a while, his voice softer now. “Thanks for putting up with me. I know I’m not the easiest guy to deal with sometimes.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “You’re not so bad,” you admitted, smiling shyly.

He grinned, and for once, he didn’t tease you. “Glad to hear it.”

As the storm continued to fade, you found yourself wishing the moment could last just a little longer.

Chapter Text

In the quiet moments, hearts speak the loudest 

The soft hum of the coffee shop fills the air, mingling with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the occasional clatter of cups. You balance a tray of steaming drinks and pastries, expertly weaving between tables as the late afternoon crowd settles in. It’s been a long week, but there’s something—or rather, someone—that’s been keeping your spirits up.

He’s there again. The tall man with the sharp blue eyes and a scowl that seems permanently etched onto his face. He always sits in the same corner by the window, his hat pulled low over his dark hair as he scribbles into a notebook. There’s an air of mystery about him, one that you’ve found yourself drawn to despite his intimidating presence.

Today is no different. As you approach his table with your notepad in hand, you try to ignore the slight flutter in your chest. His eyes lift from his notebook as you get closer, locking onto yours. There’s something piercing about his gaze, yet it doesn’t feel hostile—just... observant.

“Hi there,” you say, offering a polite smile. “Ready to order?”

He studies you for a moment before answering. “Black coffee. No sugar.” His voice is deep, almost gravelly, but not unkind. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, quickly jotting it down. “Got it. Anything else?”

“No.” He’s already looking back at his notebook, the conversation over as quickly as it began. You’re used to his curt responses by now, but something about the way he holds himself makes you think he’s not as cold as he seems. There’s a story behind that stoic exterior, and you can’t help but wonder what it is.

It's been a few weeks and you’ve begun to anticipate his arrival. It’s become a sort of routine: the doorbell jingles in the late afternoon, and you look up from the counter to see him stride in. His presence is commanding, despite his quiet demeanor. He always heads straight to his table, sets down his bag, and opens his notebook. In a way, it’s comforting to have this steady rhythm amidst the chaos of your shifts.

Today, you bring his coffee over without waiting for him to order. He looks up as you place the cup on the table, his eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise.

“You’ve got me figured out, huh?” he says, his lips twitching in what might be the faintest hint of a smile.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “You’re pretty predictable.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, and you feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. Then he picks up the cup, his fingers brushing against yours as he does. The contact is brief, but it’s enough to send a jolt through you.

“Thanks,” he says simply, his voice softer than usual.

“Anytime,” you reply, hoping he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. As you turn to leave, you can’t help but glance back. He’s already focused on his notebook again, but there’s a slight curve to his lips that wasn’t there before.

It’s the end of your shift when you notice he’s still there. Most of the other customers have left, but he’s stayed, his attention fixed on whatever he’s working on. You’re wiping down tables when he stands and walks up to the counter, his notebook tucked under one arm. Up close, he’s even more intimidating—taller than you’d realized, with a presence that seems to fill the room.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says, his tone sincere.

“Oh, uh, you’re welcome,” you reply, caught off guard. “Long day?”

He nods, glancing at his notebook. “Yeah. Work stuff.” He hesitates, then adds, “I’m a marine biologist. It’s a lot to keep up with.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Wow, that’s amazing. The ocean’s always fascinated me.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Most people don’t get it.”

“Well, I think it’s incredible,” you say, smiling. “Maybe you could tell me about it sometime?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t brush you off. Instead, he nods, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Maybe.”

You watch as he adjusts his hat and heads for the door, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a faint smile. Tomorrow, you think, you’ll learn a little more about the man who’s been occupying both the corner table and your thoughts.

Chapter Text

I cant come up w some cute quote on this one so pretend i said something so smart and amazing

The Italian sun cast a warm golden glow over the streets of Naples, reflecting off the cobblestones as you weaved through the bustling crowds. Your heart was heavy, weighed down by the complexity of your feelings—feelings you’d tried so hard to bury, knowing they could never be reciprocated without risking the harmony of the group. It wasn’t easy being in Passione, much less working closely with both Bruno Bucciarati and Leone Abbacchio. They were your teammates, your friends, and, painfully, each other’s partners.

You’d known about their relationship for some time now. It was subtle in the way they moved around each other—the gentle touches, the unspoken glances that spoke volumes, each one a bittersweet reminder of the connection you longed for but felt you could never have. While you admired their bond, it only deepened the ache in your chest. Somewhere along the line, your admiration had turned into something deeper, something more painful. You’d fallen for both of them, and the realization left you reeling.

So you distanced yourself. It started small at first—declining invitations to spend evenings together, brushing off conversations with polite excuses. But soon, you found yourself avoiding them altogether. It was better this way, you told yourself. Better than letting your feelings spiral out of control and risk damaging the delicate balance of your group.

But it didn’t go unnoticed.

Bruno’s sharp eyes followed you as you slipped out of the room after a meeting, your steps quick and deliberate. “She’s been avoiding us,” he murmured, his voice low but certain.

Leone leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched the door you’d just exited. “I noticed,” he admitted, though his tone carried a hint of irritation. “It’s unlike her.”

“Do you think something’s wrong?” Bruno asked, concern flickering across his features.

Leone sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. “If there is, she’s not telling us. And that’s the problem.”

You’d thought you were being subtle. That was your first mistake. The second was thinking Bruno and Leone wouldn’t notice. So when you found yourself cornered in the quiet courtyard of a villa—Bruno standing in front of you with his arms crossed, Leone leaning casually against a nearby wall—you realized there was no escape.

“We need to talk,” Bruno said firmly, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. “About what?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

“About you avoiding us,” Leone cut in, his piercing gaze unrelenting. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lied, your voice wavering just enough to betray you.

Bruno’s expression softened slightly, though his determination didn’t waver. “Y/N, we’re your friends. If something is bothering you, we want to help. But we can’t do that if you keep pushing us away.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly broke you. You looked down, unable to meet their gazes any longer. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled. “Really, I—”

“Stop lying,” Leone interrupted, his tone sharper than Bruno’s. “We care about you, and it’s obvious something’s been eating at you. So tell us.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as their words sank in. They cared about you. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Taking a shaky breath, you finally looked up, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I… I’ve been avoiding you because I… I’ve fallen for both of you.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and raw. “I know you’re together,” you continued, your words spilling out in a rush. “And I would never want to come between that. So I thought it would be better if I just kept my distance.”

Silence followed your admission, heavy and charged with unspoken emotions. It wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t entirely comforting either—more like the stillness of a storm just before it breaks, filled with anticipation and unvoiced understanding. You dared a glance at them, expecting anger or disappointment. Instead, you found Bruno and Leone exchanging a look—one that was both knowing and… relieved?

“You should have told us sooner,” Bruno said gently, stepping closer to you.

“Wait, what?” You blinked, confusion overtaking your fear.

Leone pushed off the wall, his lips curving into a rare, soft smile. “You’re not alone in how you feel, you know.”

“We’ve had feelings for you for a while now,” Bruno explained, his voice calm and reassuring. “But we didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. So we waited, hoping you’d say something first.”

You stared at them, your mind racing to process their words. “You… you both…?”

Leone nodded, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. “Yes, we both care about you. Deeply.”

Bruno stepped closer, his warm smile easing the tension in your chest. “There’s room for you in this, if you want it.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as the weight you’d been carrying for so long lifted, leaving you feeling lighter than you had in weeks. It was as if a dam had broken, and in its place flowed a sense of relief so profound it was almost overwhelming, filling you with hope for what was to come. You nodded, unable to find the words but hoping they could see the gratitude and relief in your expression.

Leone’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re not alone anymore, Y/N.”

Bruno placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”

As the words settled between you, Bruno leaned in first, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. The warmth of his affection made your heart flutter. Before you could process the gesture, Leone followed suit, leaning in to place a tender kiss on your other cheek. The warmth of their affection radiated through you, wrapping you in a sense of safety and belonging. It was as if all the uncertainty and hesitation melted away, replaced by a quiet, undeniable certainty that you were cherished by them both. The sensation of their closeness, their gentle affection, sent a wave of comfort and joy through you.

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to smile. The path ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but with Bruno and Leone by your side, you knew it was a path worth taking.

Chapter Text

The night began innocently enough. You and Narancia had decided to head into town for a little fun—just a couple of drinks, some laughs, and maybe a karaoke performance if Narancia could be convinced. The bar you stumbled upon wasn’t anything fancy, but the atmosphere was lively, and the drinks flowed freely. Too freely, it seemed.

“You gotta try this one!” Narancia said, shoving a brightly colored cocktail into your hands. His cheeks were already tinted pink, his grin wide and slightly lopsided. “It’s like…candy but, like, stronger!”

You took a sip, laughing at his enthusiasm. The sugary drink went down easily, and before long, you were matching his energy, the room spinning just a little as the two of you danced, laughed, and toasted to who-knows-what.

Hours passed in a blur of neon lights and slurred laughter. One moment, Narancia was singing a terribly off-key rendition of a pop song, and the next, the two of you were leaning against each other, giggling uncontrollably as he slurred, “Y’know you’re like the coolest person ever.”

“No, you are!” you countered, poking his chest.

He grabbed your hand, holding it dramatically. “No, listen! We should…we should do something crazy. Like, the craziest thing ever.”

Somehow, that ‘crazy thing’ ended up being a spur-of-the-moment wedding at a gaudy little chapel down the street. The officiant barely batted an eye at your stumbling entrance, and within minutes, you and Narancia were standing at the altar, trying to keep straight faces as you exchanged vows.

“I do,” Narancia said with an exaggerated solemnity, his grin betraying his mock-serious tone.

“I guess I do too,” you said, biting back a laugh.

Rings were exchanged, a camera flash blinded you, and before you knew it, you were husband and wife. The realization didn’t fully hit until the next morning.

Your head throbbed as sunlight streamed through the curtains. Groaning, you tried to sit up, but a flash of gold on your finger caught your eye. The ring. Your heart began to race as the hazy events of last night flooded back. The chapel, the vows, the ridiculous laughter…

“Oh my god,” you muttered, clutching your head. “No, no, no.”

Turning to the other side of the bed, you saw Narancia sprawled out, snoring softly. “Narancia!” you hissed, shaking him urgently. He groaned, swatting at your hand before slowly blinking awake.

“Huh? Wha…?” he mumbled groggily, sitting up. His own eyes widened when he noticed the ring on his finger. “Oh. Uh…whoops?”

“Whoops?!” you snapped, panic bubbling in your chest. “We got married! Like…actually married! What were we thinking?”

Narancia rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin forming. “I mean…it’s kinda funny when you think about it, right?”

“Narancia, this is not funny! We need to fix this. What if the others find out? They’re going to kill us!”

Narancia’s face scrunched up as he thought. “Okay, okay. Don’t freak out. Here’s what we’ll do…we’ll just not tell anyone. Yeah! We’ll keep it a secret.”

“A secret? You think they’re not going to notice we’re wearing wedding rings?” you countered, holding up your hand for emphasis.

“Uh…we’ll…say it’s a…friendship thing?” Narancia offered weakly. At your incredulous stare, he threw up his hands. “Look, do you have a better idea?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “No, but this is a terrible plan.”

“It’ll work! We’re great at keeping secrets. Totally.” Narancia’s grin was far too confident for your liking, but with no alternative coming to mind, you reluctantly nodded.

“Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, it’s your fault.”

“Deal,” he said, extending his hand. You shook it begrudgingly, already dreading the inevitable chaos this would bring.

Back at the mansion, the tension was unbearable. Every step inside felt like walking on a tightrope, and Narancia’s attempt at small talk was painfully over the top.

“So, uh, nice weather today, right?” he said loudly, his voice cracking as he fidgeted with his collar. Meanwhile, you couldn’t stop glancing down at your hand, nervously twisting the ring around your finger in a futile attempt to make it less noticeable.

It worked…for all of five minutes.

“Is that…a wedding ring?” Fugo’s sharp voice cut through the room, freezing you both in place. He had the kind of expression that could dissect you in an instant, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“What? No! Of course not—” you stammered, shoving your hand into your pocket like a guilty child.

“And Narancia has one too,” Fugo added, crossing his arms. “What exactly did you two do last night?”

The entire room fell silent. Giorno paused mid-page in his book, Trish raised an eyebrow from her seat on the couch, and Abbacchio’s groan of irritation was audible before he even spoke.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Abbacchio muttered, rubbing his temples.

Bucciarati’s gaze was calm but pointed as he stepped forward. “Would you care to explain?”

Narancia looked between you and the rest of the group, his grin forced and far too wide. “Uh…maybe?” he squeaked.

“Maybe?!” Fugo’s voice rose an octave as he threw his hands up in frustration. “Do you even understand how reckless that was? What if someone had recognized you? What if the authorities got wind of it?”

“Okay, okay, calm down!” you said, raising your hands defensively. “It was a mistake. We didn’t plan for this to happen, alright?”

Abbacchio’s scoff was full of disdain. “A mistake? You don’t just accidentally get married. And here I thought Narancia couldn’t stoop any lower in stupidity.”

“Hey!” Narancia shot back, his face turning red. “It’s not like I dragged Y/N to the chapel kicking and screaming!”

“Oh, great defense,” Trish interjected dryly, flipping through a magazine. “You two are lucky you didn’t end up plastered across the tabloids. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘Wanted Members of Italian Mafia Tie the Knot in Drunken Vegas Fiasco’?”

Giorno finally spoke, his voice measured but firm. “What’s done is done, but the repercussions could have been disastrous. We need to be more careful.”

Narancia flopped onto the couch with a loud groan. “You’re all overreacting. It ain’t even a big deal…It’s not like the world’s ending.”

“Not a big deal?!” Mista’s indignant shout nearly shook the walls. He pointed an accusatory finger at Narancia, his expression one of genuine betrayal. “You got married without me! I’m your best friend! I should’ve been your best man!”

“Oh, come on, Mista…” Narancia started, but Mista wasn’t done.

“Do you know how long I’ve been planning your wedding speech in my head? Since forever! I was gonna talk about how you’re like a brother to me, how much we’ve been through together, and now? Now, I don’t even get to wear a tux?”

“We didn’t even wear tuxes,” Narancia muttered under his breath.

Mista threw himself onto the couch dramatically, grabbing a pillow to bury his face in. “This is the worst day of my life!”

“Enough,” Bucciarati said, his tone commanding as he held up a hand. “What’s done is done. But I expect the two of you to sort this out—quietly. We don’t need any more unnecessary attention.”

“Fine,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning as you avoided everyone’s gaze. Narancia gave a sheepish nod beside you, clearly feeling just as cornered.

As the group began to disperse, Trish gave you a knowing smirk. “I’ll give it a week before you two do something just as stupid again.”

You sighed, slumping back against the couch. Narancia leaned over, whispering conspiratorially. “Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

You shot him a look. “Are you kidding me?”

Despite the chaos and scolding, there was an undeniable glimmer of humor in his eyes. Slowly, you felt a smile tugging at your lips. As disastrous as this was, it was still a memory neither of you would be forgetting anytime soon.

Chapter Text

The Venetian sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the skies in hues of orange and pink. The salty tang of the sea hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearby café. Gulls called out overhead, their cries punctuating the gentle lapping of waves against the harbor’s stone walls. You sat on the stone steps of the harbor, stealing a moment with Giorno while the gang was preoccupied elsewhere. His hand brushed yours, hesitant yet deliberate, a silent testament to the bond you both cherished in secret.

“I think we’ll get caught eventually,” you murmured, glancing at him. Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the whirlwind of anxiety swirling in your chest. The weight of secrecy pressed heavily on your shoulders, and the thought of your brother’s inevitable wrath sent a shiver down your spine. Yet, as you looked at Giorno, his serene expression and steady presence grounded you. Even amidst your fear, there was a spark of warmth—a reassurance that, no matter what happened, you weren’t alone in this. His golden locks shimmered in the dying sunlight, and his emerald eyes held that familiar calm resolve.

“If we do, I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice steady. “I’d endure anything for you.”

You wanted to believe him, but your brother’s face flashed in your mind. Leone Abbacchio, the overprotective, perpetually scowling elder sibling who’d crush any fly daring to buzz too close. The thought of him finding out about you and Giorno was both hilarious and terrifying.

Still, you couldn’t imagine letting go of Giorno. The way he looked at you, spoke to you, and held your hand when no one was watching—it all felt too precious, too irreplaceable. He wasn’t just the young leader of Passione—he was your Giorno.

But fate had a cruel sense of timing.

“ You’ll endure anything, huh? Let’s test that. ”

The voice that shattered your peace was unmistakable. It cut through the tranquil rhythm of the waves like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. You froze mid-breath, the warmth of Giorno’s presence suddenly overshadowed by a cold, suffocating dread. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to flee, yet your feet remained rooted to the spot as the realization hit: there was no escape now. You froze, your breath hitching. Abbacchio stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. Behind him, the rest of the gang was gathered—Narancia and Mista looked like kids who’d just overheard the juiciest gossip, while Fugo pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Even Bruno, who usually remained composed, raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

“Leone,” you started, but he cut you off with a raised hand.

“Don’t ‘Leone’ me. How long has this been going on?” His tone was sharp, each word laced with fury.

You exchanged a quick glance with Giorno, who stepped forward, placing himself protectively in front of you. “Long enough for me to know that I care deeply for her.”

Abbacchio’s lips curled into a humorless smirk. “Oh, you care deeply, do you? Let me explain something, Giovanna . If you so much as make her cry—”

“I would never.” Giorno’s interruption was calm but firm. “She means everything to me. I swear on my honor, I’ll never hurt her.”

The sheer conviction in his voice gave Abbacchio pause, though his glare didn’t soften. “Your honor? A teenager who conned his way into Passione is talking to me about honor?”

Bruno stepped in before the tension could escalate further. "Abbacchio," he began, his voice calm but authoritative, "you know as well as I do that Giorno has earned his place here. And while I understand your concern, I also believe he deserves a chance to prove himself in this matter." His gaze swept over the group, briefly resting on you and Giorno, before returning to Abbacchio. "Let’s handle this with the same trust and respect we’ve always maintained as a team." “Abbacchio, we’ve all trusted Giorno with our lives. Perhaps it’s not so unthinkable to trust him with something more personal.”

Abbacchio shot Bruno a look but eventually sighed, the anger in his posture giving way to reluctant resignation. “Fine. But,” he pointed a finger at Giorno, “don’t think for a second that I trust you completely. Hurt her, and I’ll bury you.”

Narancia let out a whistle. “Whoa, Giorno might be family now. Imagine him at Christmas!”

“Shut it, Narancia,” Abbacchio snapped, earning a laugh from Mista.

As the gang dispersed, you lingered, fingers intertwining with Giorno’s under Abbacchio’s watchful gaze. His grudging acceptance was a small victory, but you knew it would take time for him to come around fully.

“I told you I’d handle it,” Giorno whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smiled softly. “You always do.”

The Day Before

The secret rendezvous had been thrilling, but it also left you on edge. Every stolen kiss and whispered promise carried the risk of discovery. You remembered vividly the moment you and Giorno first decided to keep your relationship hidden. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the gang; it was Abbacchio’s inevitable reaction that loomed over you like a dark cloud.

“He’s going to kill me,” you had joked one night, lying on the soft grass with Giorno beside you.

“Not if I can help it,” he’d replied, his tone so serious that it made you laugh.

That night felt like a lifetime ago as you faced your brother’s fury. Yet, deep down, you knew Abbacchio wasn’t just angry—he was protective. And as frustrating as his overbearing nature could be, it stemmed from love.

Later that evening, after the confrontation, Abbacchio pulled you aside. “Do you really trust him?” he asked, his voice softer than you expected.

“I do,” you said without hesitation. “He’s not just a leader, Leone. He’s kind, and he listens. He makes me feel safe.”

Abbacchio studied your face for a long moment before sighing. “Fine. But if he screws up, don’t expect me to hold back.”

You hugged him, grateful for his begrudging acceptance. “Thank you.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but his arms tightened around you briefly before letting go.

Weeks later, things began to settle into an uneasy routine. Abbacchio still grumbled under his breath whenever Giorno entered the room, but his sharp glares gradually softened to mere scowls. Narancia, emboldened by the tension, made it his personal mission to tease you at every opportunity. “So, does Giorno send you love letters in golden envelopes?” he joked once, earning a half-hearted slap from Fugo and a groan from Mista, who had just lost another bet on when Abbacchio would finally snap. Bruno, ever the mediator, made an effort to include Giorno and you in group discussions, subtly guiding the dynamic back to normalcy. 

Though awkward at times, it became clear that the gang—even Abbacchio, in his gruff way—was slowly adjusting to the new reality. Abbacchio still glared daggers at Giorno whenever they crossed paths, but he didn’t outright forbid your relationship. Narancia continued to tease you both mercilessly, while Mista placed bets on how long it would take for Abbacchio to “crack.” Fugo, ever the pragmatist, advised you to keep the peace.

Giorno, true to his word, remained steadfast. He treated you with the same quiet devotion as always, proving time and time again that his promises were not empty. And though Abbacchio’s approval was still tentative, you knew that, with time, even he might come around fully.

For now, you had Giorno—and that was enough.

Chapter Text

The corridors of Dio’s palace seemed to stretch endlessly, the silence almost oppressive. Only the steady echo of Vanilla Ice’s boots against the pristine marble broke the stillness. His grip on your arm was iron-tight, a clear warning not to resist. Not that you dared.

The golden glow of the sconces lining the walls cast flickering shadows, their dance unsettling. Every step brought you closer to the unknown, your stomach twisting with unease. Why you? Why now?

Vanilla Ice didn’t offer answers. His stoic expression betrayed nothing, and the tension in the air spoke volumes. You’d kept to yourself, never drawing attention. In this palace, being invisible was a blessing. Yet, tonight, Dio himself had summoned you. At last, the two of you stopped before an immense set of gilded double doors. Their ornate carvings depicted scenes of power and domination, almost alive in their detailing. Ice’s grip tightened briefly before he pushed the doors open, their weight groaning in protest.

The throne room stretched out before you, an expanse of cold elegance. The room was oppressively dark, shadows curling in every corner like living things. The faint flicker of torches along the walls barely offered any light, their weak flames casting long, wavering shapes across the marble floor.  The dimness seemed to amplify Dio’s presence, his figure an unmissable silhouette against the dark backdrop of his throne.  At its heart, reclining like a king—no, like a god—was Dio.

He sat on his throne, legs crossed, one hand cradling his chin as if in idle thought. His crimson eyes locked onto you the moment you entered, sharp and piercing as though they could see right through you.  You knelt down where Vanilla Ice had shoved you, your knees aching against the cold stone floor. The lingering pain grounded you, but it did little to calm the hammering of your heart. 

The quiet crackle of the torches was the only sound, broken occasionally by the faint rustle of Dio’s red cloak as he adjusted it, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. They were fixed on you, sharp and unrelenting, as though he were peering directly into your soul.

“Ah, you’ve arrived.” His voice was smooth, deliberate, laced with an unsettling charm. You couldn’t muster a response, your throat dry and tight, so you simply stayed still, hands trembling slightly where they rested on your thighs.

Vanilla Ice released your arm without ceremony, stepping back into the shadows like a dutiful wraith. Dio’s lips curled into a smirk, his fangs just barely visible. “On your knees already? How obedient. I didn’t even have to ask.”

You rolled your eyes as your mouth went dry, words sticking in your throat, getting back up to your feet. His presence was overwhelming, an oppressive aura that seemed to press down on you from all sides. You forced yourself to look up, meeting his gaze.

“You called for me, my lord,” you managed, your voice trembling just enough to betray your nerves.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Indeed, I did. Tell me—do you know why?” No matter what, you couldn’t even bring yourself to look into his eyes, that’s when he called you out though..

 “Look at me,” he commanded, his tone sharp enough to cut through the thick air.

You hesitated for only a second before obeying, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes were like molten rubies, their faint glow almost hypnotic in the darkness. You felt your breath hitch, every instinct screaming at you to look away, but you couldn’t. His smirk widened, pleased by your compliance.

You hesitated, unsure if there was a right answer. “No, my lord. I-I don’t know why you called for me…”

Dio tilted his head, studying you like a predator appraising its prey. “Interesting. You must wonder why I would summon someone so... unremarkable .”

The jab stung, but you stayed silent.

“You should take it as a compliment,” he continued, standing from his throne with an effortless grace. He descended the steps slowly, his every movement deliberate, calculated. “I do not summon just anyone. Only those with... potential.” He stopped a mere breath away, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. You swallowed hard, heart pounding as he leaned forward from his throne to reach out and tilt your chin upward with a single finger. His touch was cold, yet it burned all the same.

“I have a task for you,” he murmured, his crimson gaze locking with yours. “One that requires your undivided attention. Your loyalty .”

You nodded slowly, unsure of what else to do. His smirk widened, satisfaction flickering across his sharp features.

“Good,” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

Dio’s hand moved from your chin, his fingers brushing the edge of your cheek, a predatory glint in his eyes. The air in the room felt thick with his presence, suffocating in its intensity. You could barely breathe, your chest rising and falling in shallow, anxious gasps.

“Tell me,” Dio’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, “how far would you go to prove your worth to me?”

Your mind raced. The options seemed endless, and none of them felt safe. You could feel your heart pounding in your ears as you kept your gaze lowered, refusing to make eye contact with him again. The silence stretched, heavy, unbearable.

“Answer me,” Dio demanded, his voice a low growl. He leaned closer, elbows resting on his knees, and you flinched at the proximity, the weight of his words sinking deep into your skin. “Would you submit to me if I asked? Would you... serve?”

You swallowed thickly. You knew there was no escaping him, no bargaining your way out of this situation. The consequences for refusal were unthinkable, and the idea of defying him brought a cold sweat to your back. So, despite every instinct telling you to run, you nodded. A small, almost imperceptible movement, but it was enough.

“Good,” Dio purred, his satisfaction evident in the way his lips twisted into a cruel smile. “You’re smarter than I thought.”

He moved before you had time to react, his hand gently grabbing your hair tilting your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your heart race even faster, as if he could see straight through you—right into your soul.

“Get on your knees, then. Show me your obedience.”

Without a word, you obeyed. Every part of you screamed for you to stop, to run, but your body betrayed you, dropping to your knees in front of him. The cold floor pressed against your skin, and you felt every inch of your vulnerability in that moment. You had no choice but to submit. Lowkey yeah he was fine as fuck…but damn he was also scary as hell–

Dio let out a slow, amused breath, watching you closely. His hand slipped beneath your chin, tilting your face up just enough to meet his eyes again.

“I could make you beg,” he said, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “But I think we both know you won’t need to. I’ll give you the chance to prove your worth.”

You held your breath, waiting, unsure of what exactly he wanted. His gaze softened just slightly, a flicker of something akin to amusement dancing in his crimson eyes.

“Go on,” he encouraged, his voice now a dangerous whisper. “Show me how well you can serve.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, the gravity of the situation pressing down on you harder than ever. Despite your trembling hands and the hesitation that clung to your every movement, you didn’t dare defy him. 

Slowly, you moved closer to his legs as he sat on this throne, your hands shaking as they reached for his waistband. The task before you was humiliating, terrifying—but you knew it was the only way to survive this.

Dio’s gaze never left you, as if he were studying your every move. His smirk never wavered.

“That’s it,” he murmured approvingly, his voice a soft command. “Just like that.”

The room was eerily silent except for the faint rustle of Dio’s golden pants as he adjusted it, watching you with that ever-present, confident smirk. The weight of his gaze kept you frozen for a moment longer before you swallowed hard and forced yourself to move. Every muscle felt heavy, unwilling, but you knew better than to disobey.

You lifted your trembling hands, hesitating for a breath before carefully brushing against the fine material of his clothing. The rich texture was cold beneath your fingers, much like his aura—untouchable and unnerving. Dio didn’t move, watching your every action with calculated amusement.

“Don’t be shy,” he said softly, his voice dripping with false encouragement. “You won’t break me, darling. Go on.”

His words sent a flush of heat to your face, humiliation blooming as you forced yourself to obey. Your movements were slow, hesitant, but deliberate. As you finally took off his pants and boxers, each action of yours started to feel heavier than the last as you fumbled, your heart pounding in your chest. 

Slowly moving your lips towards his ginormous dick, Dio’s presence loomed larger than life, his crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you followed his unspoken instructions. You began to lick his tip before slowly filling your mouth up with his dick. 

“That’s better,” he murmured, his tone approving but laced with condescension. “See? It’s not so difficult, is it?”

You didn’t dare look up at him, your focus locked on the task at hand. You bobbed your head up and down on him, each motion felt like an eternity, every shift in his expression a reminder of the precarious balance you were navigating. You were keenly aware of every approving hum, every slight shift of his body. 

You continued to move your head up and down on him before taking him fully. You began to deepthroat him, your eyes watering before having you close them tightly.  Dio’s hand moved then, brushing lightly through your hair. 

The gesture was deceptively gentle, but you could feel the power behind it, the way it reminded you of just how little control you had. His fingers curled slightly, gripping the back of your head to guide your pace.

“There,” he said softly, the word almost a purr. “You’re beginning to understand your role.”

Time seemed to blur as the room filled with an uncomfortable tension, every second stretching endlessly. You were surprised at how he somehow wasn't being rough with you, but you didn’t think much of it. Dio’s approving murmurs were the only sounds that broke the silence, each one a reminder of the hold he had over you.

Finally, with a low sigh of satisfaction, he began to release his cum deep into your throat, forcing you to swallow it all  before he released his grip on you, pushing your head away slightly. You stayed in place, your breath uneven as you waited for his next command, unsure if he was finished.

“You’ve done well,” he said, his tone almost dismissive as he straightened his posture. His hands moved to adjust the collar of his shirt, as though nothing extraordinary had just occurred. “Perhaps you’re more useful than I initially thought.”

You dared a glance upward, catching the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes as he leaned down slightly from his throne, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I might call on you again,” he said, his breath cool against your ear. “Should I find myself in need of such... devotion.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of relief and dread settling in your chest. Dio stepped back, his commanding aura still as suffocating as before, and waved a hand dismissively. “You may leave now. Ice will escort you out.”

You hesitated for only a moment before scrambling to your feet, your knees weak and unsteady. Vanilla Ice appeared from the shadows, his expression unreadable as he gestured for you to follow. The doors loomed ahead, massive and foreboding, as they creaked open to release you from the suffocating grip of Dio’s throne room.

As the doors closed behind you, sealing you off from the golden glow and overwhelming presence of the vampire lord, you let out a shaky breath. Relief was fleeting, replaced quickly by the realization that Dio’s words weren’t a suggestion—they were a promise.

Chapter Text

The ghost room was your sanctuary, a strange little pocket of solace in the chaos of Green Dolphin Street Prison. It wasn’t much—a cramped space with cracked walls and furniture that had seen better decades—but it was where people went to escape, even if just for a moment. The mismatched chairs, the splintered table, the faint flicker of the fluorescent lights above—it all gave the room a worn but oddly comforting charm.

You sat at the table, resting your elbows on its uneven surface, staring down at the broken remains of your bracelet. The thin black cord had finally given out after years of use, snapping cleanly in your hands when you’d absently pulled at it earlier. Now, the colorful beads lay scattered across your palm, each one catching the dim light as if mocking you.

This bracelet had been with you for years. Each bead held a piece of your history, a memory you weren’t ready to let go of. The deep green one reminded you of a walk in the forest as a child, the blue one of summer skies so vivid they made your chest ache with longing now. Even the tiny, chipped bead you’d once thought of replacing had its place in the string of memories.

And yet, here it was—broken, like so many other things in your life.

You ran your thumb over the jagged edge of the snapped cord, frustration and sadness welling up in equal measure. You’d gone to such lengths to keep it hidden from the guards, burying it in the lining of your mattress, tucking it into pockets when they weren’t looking. Losing it hadn’t been an option. It was one of the few tangible pieces of the outside world you still had, and now it lay in ruins in your hand.

With a heavy sigh, you reached for a small wooden box sitting at the corner of the table. It had been there long before you’d ever set foot in the ghost room—a battered, unassuming thing with scratches etched into its surface and a dented lid that didn’t close quite right. You opened it carefully, the hinges creaking in protest, and began sweeping the beads inside one by one.

As the last bead clinked softly into the box, you stared down at it for a moment, the lid still open. The beads looked so small and forlorn, scattered across the scratched wood like forgotten treasures. You reached out, hesitating for a heartbeat before closing the lid with a gentle click.

“Maybe I’ll figure out how to fix it later,” you muttered, though you weren’t sure if you even believed yourself. What could you do? It wasn’t like the prison offered much in the way of crafting supplies, and even if it did, you didn’t exactly have the skills to repair something this delicate.

Still, the thought gave you a flicker of hope—a fragile thing, but enough to keep you moving. You slid the box to the center of the table and pushed back your chair, glancing around the room one last time. It was empty now, just you and the soft hum of the lights overhead.

With one final glance at the box, you turned and left, the faint creak of the door swinging shut behind you.

The next time you walked into the ghost room, your steps faltered before you fully entered. Something on the table caught your eye, a glint of color and familiarity that made your heart skip.

There it was—your bracelet.

You stared, unsure if you were imagining things. Slowly, you walked toward the table, your breath catching as the details came into focus. The bracelet was no longer broken. The beads were carefully threaded back onto a new cord, one that looked far sturdier than the delicate thread you’d originally used.

It wasn’t just fixed—it was perfect. The beads were arranged in the exact order they had been before it broke, even down to the tiny chipped one you’d always meant to replace but never could.

You reached out hesitantly, your fingers brushing the smooth beads as if they might disappear at your touch. Picking it up, you turned it over in your hands, inspecting the craftsmanship. Whoever had done this had been meticulous. Every knot was tight, the cord reinforced in places where it might wear down over time. It was as if they’d gone out of their way to ensure it would never break again.

Confusion washed over you. How?

You hadn’t told anyone about the bracelet—at least, not recently. You’d only mentioned it in passing once, ages ago. And even then, it wasn’t the kind of thing people paid attention to in this place. Who would have done this? And why?

Your gaze darted around the room, scanning every corner as if expecting someone to jump out and claim responsibility. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights was the only response. The room was empty, the quiet pressing down on you like a weight.

Setting the bracelet back on the table, you looked around again, your heart pounding. “Okay,” you muttered under your breath, as if saying it aloud would make sense of the situation. “What the hell?”

Your mind raced through the possibilities, each more unlikely than the last. Maybe it was a joke. Or maybe someone had stumbled upon the box of beads by accident and decided to fix it. But the attention to detail… it wasn’t just a random act of kindness.

It was deliberate.

You rubbed your thumb over one of the beads, biting your lip as a mix of gratitude and unease settled in your chest. Whoever had done this knew how much the bracelet meant to you.

But they hadn’t left a note. No sign, no clue. Just the fixed bracelet, waiting silently for you to find it.

It wasn’t until a few days later that the mystery began to unravel.

The ghost room was dimly lit when you wandered in, the faint hum of the overhead lights buzzing like distant static. It was quieter than usual; the kind of stillness that made you pause just inside the doorway. At first, you thought the room was empty, the familiar mismatched furniture casting long shadows across the walls. But then you noticed him.

Anasui.

He sat at the table, one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed but focused. His head was bent over something small in his hands, and his long, pale fingers moved with surprising care. You squinted, stepping closer without thinking.

That was when you saw it.

The thin black cord. The beads.

Your bracelet.

The bracelet you had broken a second time (way to go)

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in the doorway. He hadn’t noticed you—or at least, that’s what you thought. His fingers threaded a bead onto the cord with a kind of precision that didn’t seem possible for someone like him, someone whose presence usually radiated sharp edges and restless energy. But now, he was... soft. Gentle, even.

“You just gonna stand there all night?”

His voice startled you, breaking the silence like a pebble dropped into still water. It was calm and low, laced with that familiar hint of amusement, but he didn’t look up.

“H-how did you know I was here?” you stammered, stepping further into the room as the door creaked shut behind you.

Anasui smirked, tying off the end of the bracelet with a practiced twist. “I could feel you staring. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you forced yourself to move closer, your eyes darting between his hands and his face. “You’re the one who fixed it?”

“Obviously,” he said, leaning back slightly as he inspected his work. His violet eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly before returning to the bracelet. “Who else would bother?”

You frowned, unsure how to respond. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“I didn’t need you to,” he replied smoothly, his tone light but unwavering. He placed the finished bracelet on the table, the beads catching the faint light like tiny, colorful stars. “You really shouldn’t let something that important to you fall apart, you know.”

You hesitated, glancing at the bracelet and then back at him. “Why... why did you do it?”

He looked up fully this time, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and gave you a small, almost lazy smile. “Because you care about it. And, well...” His smirk deepened just a fraction. “I care about you.”

Your breath caught. The words hung in the air, heavy and electric.

“Wait, what?” you managed to choke out, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Don’t overthink it. It’s not like I’m asking you to confess your undying gratitude or anything. Just... try not to break it again.”

You blinked at him, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear or nerves. “I’ll try,” you said, barely able to keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

“Good.” Anasui leaned back again, folding his arms across his chest with an air of satisfaction. “But if you do end up breaking something else, you know where to find me.”

“You’re awfully confident,” you teased, unable to help yourself.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning playful. “I have every reason to be. You’re predictable.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade. “Thanks, I guess. For fixing it. And for... caring.”

He shrugged as if it was nothing, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed him. “Don’t mention it.”

The room felt different now. Warmer, softer, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the quiet tenderness of the moment. You reached for the bracelet, your fingers brushing against the polished beads as you slid it onto your wrist.

“You really did a good job,” you said, studying it. “You could’ve just used something else to fix it…why didn’t you?” (idfk where i was goin w this js deal w it)

Anasui tilted his head, his gaze softening. “Because it wouldn’t have meant as much. Some things... you fix with your own hands.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away. There was more to him than you’d thought—layers you hadn’t noticed before.

“I’ll take better care of it this time,” you said softly, fiddling with the bracelet.

“You’d better,” he replied, his voice lighter now. “I don’t make a habit of fixing things for people. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky, huh?” You couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As you turned to leave, his voice stopped you. “Wait.”

You turned back, only to find him standing now, just a step away. His expression had shifted—still calm, but there was a spark of something unspoken in his eyes.

Before you could ask, he leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate. The kiss he pressed to your cheek was so soft, so fleeting, that it almost felt like a dream.

He pulled back, his smirk returning as he noted your wide-eyed expression. “That’s for being... you.”

You blinked, your hand brushing instinctively over the spot where his lips had touched. “Anasui, what—”

“Relax,” he said, cutting you off with a small laugh. “It’s just a kiss. Don’t make it weird.”

Your lips twitched into a smile despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quipped, his tone teasing but his gaze steady.

Shaking your head, you turned again, this time with a warmth in your chest you couldn’t quite put into words. As you left the room, the bracelet secure on your wrist, you couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe, just maybe, this place wasn’t so bad after all.

Chapter Text

The soft hum of the desk lamp was the only sound in the dimly lit room. Papers were scattered across the surface, some marked with red ink, others with neat, precise notes in Jotaro’s handwriting. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly as he leaned over the desk, the glow of the lamp casting a warm hue over his face. The rest of the room was bathed in shadow, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds.

You stood quietly in the doorway, watching him work. His brows were furrowed in concentration, one hand holding a pen while the other occasionally ran through his dark hair, leaving it slightly messier each time. It was a scene you were far too familiar with. Jotaro often lost track of time when he got absorbed in his research, and tonight was no different.

Carrying a steaming mug of tea, you approached him silently. The scent of chamomile and honey wafted through the air as you placed the mug on the desk beside him. Jotaro barely glanced up, murmuring a low, “Thanks.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. His hair, soft and slightly tousled, tickled your lips. “You’re still at it?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a note of concern.

Jotaro grunted in response, which you took as a yes. You pulled up a chair and sat beside him, your gaze flickering over the mess of papers. Diagrams of marine ecosystems, data tables, and typed drafts filled the space. “Jotaro, it’s almost two in the morning,” you pointed out.

“Mm,” he acknowledged, not looking away from his work.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “You can’t keep doing this, you know. Staying up late every night isn’t good for you. You need sleep just like everyone else.”

“I’m fine,” he replied simply, his tone calm but firm.

“Really? Because those dark circles under your eyes say otherwise,” you countered, tilting your head to catch his gaze. “And don’t even try to tell me it’s ‘just a few more hours.’ That’s what you said last time.”

Jotaro finally set his pen down, running a hand through his hair again as he leaned back in his chair with a quiet exhale. His deep blue eyes met yours, and there was a flicker of guilt behind his usual stoic expression. “I have deadlines,” he admitted, his voice quieter now.

“I know,” you said, your tone softening. “But what’s the point of finishing your work if you’re too exhausted to enjoy anything else? You’re no use to anyone—not even the fish—if you burn yourself out.”

That earned a small huff of amusement from him, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly. “You make it sound dramatic.”

“Maybe. But I’m right, and you know it,” you teased, giving him a pointed look. “So, drink your tea and then call it a night, okay?”

He sighed again, but this time it was less of a protest and more of a surrender. “Alright. I’ll finish this one section and then head to bed.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Good.” Satisfied, you stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Goodnight, Jotaro.”

As you leaned down to kiss his cheek, you caught the faint warmth that spread across his face. He didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes lingered on you as you walked away spoke volumes. You smiled to yourself, knowing he’d keep his word this time—or at least, he’d try.

Chapter Text

The bedroom felt warmer than usual, though the window was cracked open to let in the night breeze. A faint floral fragrance from the garden outside mingled with the scent of Josuke's cologne—a comforting blend of cedarwood and something uniquely him. The world beyond your shared home seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving just the two of you in this cocoon of love and desire.

Josuke had you pinned beneath him, his large hands gently gripping your wrists as he hovered over you. His lips curled into a lazy, almost mischievous smile, and his dark eyes seemed to gleam with a mixture of affection and intent.

"You've been staring at me all night, you know that?" he teased, his voice low and smooth, yet carrying that playful lilt you adored.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing, though the way his weight pressed against you and how his lips lingered near your ear made it nearly impossible. "Maybe I like looking at you," you shot back, your voice just above a whisper.

"Oh yeah?" he murmured, tilting his head slightly. His breath fanned against your cheek, and you felt a pleasant warmth pool in your chest. "Good. 'Cause I can't stop looking at you either."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His hands shifted, releasing your wrists to cradle your face as his thumbs stroked your cheeks. You sighed softly against his lips, your hands instinctively finding their way to his shoulders, then slipping up to tangle in his perfectly styled hair.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he smiled, his breath slightly ragged. "You're perfect, you know that?"

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away for a moment, only for his fingers to gently guide your chin back toward him. "No hiding," he murmured, his tone suddenly serious yet soft. "Let me see you."

The intensity in his gaze made your pulse race. His lips began their slow journey, trailing soft, deliberate kisses along your jawline, then down to your neck. He lingered there, nipping gently before soothing the spot with his tongue, drawing a soft gasp from your lips.

"That sound..." he whispered, his voice almost reverent. "God, Y/N, I love the way you react to me."

You whimpered as he continued, his kisses trailing lower. His hands moved with an almost teasing slowness, sliding down your arms, brushing against your sides, and settling on your waist. Every touch felt electric, igniting a warmth that spread through your entire body.

His lips paused just above your collarbone, and he glanced up at you, his expression now one of pure adoration. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle but filled with an undercurrent of desire.

You nodded quickly, biting your lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape. "Y-Yeah... I just—"

He cut you off with another kiss, this one just below your collarbone. "You don't have to say anything," he murmured against your skin. "I can feel it."

The way he said it—so full of confidence yet still tender—sent a shiver down your spine. His hands shifted again, now tracing patterns along your thighs, his touch firm but soothing. His lips followed the path of his hands, pressing kisses that were as reverent as they were heated.

"You're so soft," he whispered, his voice almost inaudible. "I could stay here forever..."

Your breath hitched as his movements became slower, more deliberate. Each kiss, each touch, felt like a silent confession of his love for you. The way his lips lingered, the way his hands caressed you—it all spoke volumes without him needing to say a word.

"Josuke..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

He glanced up at you again, his eyes filled with a mixture of affection and hunger. "Hmm?" he hummed, his hands stilling for a moment as he awaited your response.

"I love you," you said softly, the words tumbling out almost involuntarily.

His expression softened, and a smile spread across his face—a smile so full of love it made your heart ache. "I love you too," he said, his voice steady and full of conviction. "More than you'll ever know."

The moments that followed were a blur of warmth, tenderness, and passion. His movements grew bolder yet never lost their gentle touch. Every kiss, every whisper, every soft gasp that escaped your lips seemed to deepen the connection between you.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he murmured at one point, his voice thick with emotion.

"It's perfect," you managed to reply, your voice trembling slightly. "You're perfect."

His smile returned, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before resuming his slow, deliberate movements. He seemed to take his time, savoring every moment, every reaction. It was as if he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound, every expression.

By the end, you were both breathless, your bodies entwined as you lay in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Josuke's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple.

"You’re everything to me," he whispered, his voice low but steady.

"And you're mine," you replied, your voice full of love and exhaustion.

He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "We should do this every night," he teased, though his tone was lighthearted.

You smiled, your eyes already growing heavy. "Don’t tempt me, Higashikata."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and you felt his embrace tighten slightly. As sleep began to claim you, you couldn’t help but think about how lucky you were to have him—your husband, your partner, your everything.

Chapter Text

The chill of the evening presses against the frosted window panes, wrapping the world outside in an icy stillness. Inside, however, the warmth is undeniable. A faint golden light spills across the cozy bedroom, and the soft scent of lavender lingers in the air from the candle you lit earlier.

You’re tucked beneath a pile of blankets, sinking into the mattress with a contented sigh. Your fingers toy with the soft edge of the comforter as the heater hums softly in the background. Yet, even with all those comforts, you find your gaze drifting to him.

Pucci sits beside you, his back resting against the headboard, one leg stretched out beneath the blankets while the other is bent slightly. A worn book rests in his hands, its pages illuminated by the warm glow of the bedside lamp. His expression is serene, eyes scanning the lines of text with quiet focus, though the gentle curve of his lips suggests he’s aware of your attention.

“You look cozy,” you murmur, breaking the silence as you shift closer to him.

He glances down at you, his calm gaze softening further. “I could say the same about you.” He tilts the book slightly, marking his spot with a finger. “But what is it you want?”

You hum, leaning your head against his shoulder, the comforting scent of him wrapping around you. “I was just thinking... if you scooted a little closer, I’d be even warmer.”

“Is that so?” His tone carries a hint of teasing amusement, but he obliges, lowering the book to rest it on his lap as he turns slightly toward you. “And here I thought the heater and all those blankets were enough.”

“They’re good,” you admit with a small grin, “but nothing beats you.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and soothing, as he lifts an arm to drape it over your shoulders. You melt into his warmth, the chill of the room fading away as the two of you settle into a peaceful quiet.

For a moment, it feels like nothing could disturb the stillness—until you decide to stir up some trouble. With a sly smile, you reach for the edge of the blanket and roll dramatically to your side, pulling it with you until you’re cocooned in a bundle of warmth, leaving him exposed.

“Really?” he asks, his voice tinged with exasperation as he peers at you over the book.

“I’m just getting comfortable,” you reply, trying to keep a straight face as you burrow further into your makeshift fortress.

Pucci sighs, setting the book aside. “You’re unbelievable.” 

Before you can respond, he leans toward you, one hand bracing against the mattress. His movements are slow and deliberate, giving you just enough time to wonder what he’s up to. Then, without warning, his lips brush against your cheek in a feather-light kiss. The warmth of it lingers, contrasting with the cool air around you, and your playful grin falters as your breath catches.

“W-What was that for?” you manage to stammer, your voice softer than you intended. Your fingers clutch at the blanket, and you peek out at him with wide eyes, your heart suddenly fluttering in your chest.

Pucci’s expression is calm, but there’s a glint of mischief in his gaze as he straightens up. “To catch you off guard,” he replies, his voice as smooth and steady as ever, though you catch the faintest hint of satisfaction in his tone. His hand finds the edge of the blanket, and with a practiced ease, he begins to tug it back toward himself.

You instinctively tighten your grip, holding onto your makeshift cocoon. “Hey!” you protest, though the heat in your cheeks betrays your attempt to sound indignant.

He doesn’t relent, though his actions are far from forceful. The blanket shifts and loosens under his grip until it’s no longer entirely yours. “And to remind you,” he adds, his voice dipping into a softer register, “that sharing is non-negotiable.”

You blink at him, your cheeks burning as he adjusts the covers, spreading them evenly across both of you. His hands are gentle, ensuring you’re not left out in the cold even as he reclaims his portion. When he finally settles back against the headboard, his arm naturally finds its place around your shoulders, pulling you close once more.

For a moment, you’re quiet, still processing the warmth of his kiss and the subtle, teasing way he handled the situation. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper as you bury your face against his shoulder, both for warmth and to hide the bashful smile tugging at your lips.

Pucci lets out a soft chuckle, the sound reverberating through his chest. He picks up his book again, letting his gaze skim the pages, though his free hand lingers on your arm, a steady, comforting presence.

You let yourself relax against him, the tension in your body melting away as his warmth surrounds you. His quiet breathing mixes with the soft rustle of turning pages, creating a tranquil rhythm that makes you feel safe, loved, and perfectly content.

The icy world beyond the window fades into insignificance. Here, with him, every moment feels like its own little haven—warm, tender, and filled with a love that needs no words to be understood.

Chapter Text

The low hum of voices filled the room, the air thick with tension as Bruno Bucciarati sat at the head of the long mahogany desk. His sharp blue eyes scanned the faces of his subordinates, each one hanging on his every word as he discussed strategy. Even with his composed demeanor, the authority in his tone was impossible to ignore. As the capo, his word was law, and every syllable demanded respect.

But beneath the surface of his stoic exterior, a different kind of tension simmered.

Hidden from view under the desk, you knelt quietly, your heart racing in tandem with his steady cadence. It had been your idea—a bold, impulsive move—and despite his initial protest, Bruno had eventually relented, his soft-spoken warning lingering in your mind: “ Don’t push me too far, Y/N. ”

You hadn’t meant to, not really. But the temptation of seeing him maintain his icy composure while knowing exactly what was happening out of sight was too enticing to resist.

Bruno shifted slightly in his chair, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying his control. His hand rested on the desk, fingers drumming absently as he spoke. You took it as a sign—a challenge, perhaps—to continue. Slowly, carefully, you leaned closer, your hands sliding up his thighs. The fabric of his tailored pants felt smooth beneath your palms, and you heard his breath hitch, just barely audible over the discussion around him.

You had been daring enough to give him a blowjob as he was in his meeting with two other people you couldn't care less about. What you did care about was the large cock taking up your mouth. With each bob of your head, you did your absolute best to stay as quiet as possible, not to alert the other two random gang members sitting in front of Bucciarati with you under his desk. Who would want to be caught doing something as intimate during something so important? 

You certainly didn't. 

As you continued to suck him off, licking his dick from the base all the way up to his tip in a slow, tantalizing manner, you hear one of the guys speak.

“Understood, signore. We’ll make sure to send in some reports as soon as possible..” one of his subordinates said, drawing Bruno’s focus back to the conversation. His voice remained steady, but you caught the subtle strain beneath it. 

You pressed your lips against him by giving him a small kiss on his tip. Teasing, testing his resolve. Bruno’s fingers stilled, gripping the edge of the desk momentarily before relaxing. His leg shifted, brushing against your shoulder as if to warn you—or encourage you . You couldn’t tell which.

“That will conclude today’s meeting,” Bruno said suddenly, cutting off a subordinate mid-sentence. His tone was firm, brooking no argument. “I expect updates by tomorrow morning. Dismissed .”

The room fell silent for a beat before chairs scraped against the floor and murmured acknowledgments filled the space. Bruno didn’t look at any of them as they filed out, his focus seemingly elsewhere—on you, still hidden beneath the desk.

The door clicked shut, leaving the two of you alone. For a moment, the room was silent save for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Then, Bruno leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly, causing you to have to pull away from his throbbing dick.

“You have no idea the kind of trouble you’re in,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. His hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Despite his stern expression, there was a glint of something darker, more playful in his eyes.

“Wasn’t that part of the fun?” you replied, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

Bruno’s lips quirked upward, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he stood, his movements deliberate as he rounded the desk. He reached for you, his hands firm but gentle as he pulled you to your feet. Before you could say a word, he lifted you onto the desk, his body pressing against yours as he leaned in close.

“You’ve tested my patience long enough,” he said, his voice a husky whisper against your ear. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as his lips found yours in a searing kiss. The cool, composed capo was gone, replaced by a man who intended to make you feel every ounce of his authority.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing you further against the polished wood of the desk. The world outside the office faded away, leaving only the two of you and the fire that burned between you.

“If you wanted my attention, Y/N,” he said, his lips trailing down your neck, “you certainly have it now.”

Those words ignited something deep within you, a spark that quickly roared into a blazing fire. With a surge of boldness, you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a fierce, hungry kiss. Your free hand slid up, tangling into his thick, luscious hair as you pressed your bodies closer, determined to match his intensity.

Bruno groaned softly, the sound reverberating against your lips as his hands moved to your thighs, lifting you further onto the desk. The cool wood pressed against your skin, contrasting with the heat radiating from his touch. His kisses became more fervent, trailing down your jawline and neck, each one sending shivers cascading through your body.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve started?” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling you closer as he nipped at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“I’d say I have a pretty good idea,” you replied, your breath hitching as his lips found their way to your collarbone. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging gently as you felt the tension between you escalate.

Bruno’s chuckle was low and dark, a sound that sent heat pooling in your core. “Then I hope you’re prepared to face the consequences.”

Before you could respond, he captured your lips again, his kiss demanding and unrelenting. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve as if committing you to memory. The desk creaked beneath you, a testament to the passion that neither of you could contain any longer.

Bruno’s control, so steadfast in the meeting moments ago, had completely unraveled. Yet, even in his fervor, there was a precision to his movements—a testament to his nature as a leader. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to draw out every gasp and moan as he pushed you closer to the edge of reason.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he growled, his voice a possessive rasp that sent a thrill through you. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

He didn’t wait for your reply. With a single, fluid motion, he removed the last barrier between you, his hands sliding your clothing away as if the fabric itself had offended him. The cool air kissed your skin briefly before his body pressed against yours, his warmth enveloping you completely.

Bruno’s gaze locked onto yours, his intense blue eyes searching your face as if committing every detail to memory. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a moment of unexpected tenderness before his hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the desk.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper that made your heart skip a beat. Then, without hesitation, he slid inside you, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring the way you fit together.

A gasp escaped your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he began to move. Each thrust was measured, controlled, as if he was determined to draw out every moment, every sensation. Bruno’s lips found yours again, his kiss a mixture of passion and possession, his breath warm against your skin.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “I could lose myself in you.”

Your response was a soft moan, your body arching into his as he increased his pace. The desk creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your shared breaths and quiet cries. Bruno’s hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as he buried himself deeper, his control slipping with each passing moment.

The air between you was electric, every touch, every kiss igniting sparks that threatened to consume you both. Bruno’s name spilled from your lips like a prayer, your voice trembling as he pushed you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, your words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “Always.”

Bruno’s eyes softened briefly, a flicker of emotion breaking through his intensity. He leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered, “And I’m yours.”

With those words, he drove into you harder, his pace relentless as he chased your pleasure, his own control unraveling completely. The tension between you reached its peak, the world around you fading away until only Bruno remained—his touch, his voice, his presence overwhelming every sense.

When release finally came, it was like a wave crashing over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms. Bruno followed moments later, his body shuddering as he held you close, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses to your temple.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the quiet hum of your breathing. Then, Bruno pulled back slightly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face as he gazed at you with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

“You’re trouble, Y/N,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter Text

The rain falls in relentless sheets, soaking the streets and turning cobblestones into slick hazards. The mission of assassinating someone has gone off track—not disastrously, but enough to delay your return to the hideout. You pull your jacket tighter, though it’s a futile effort against the downpour. Water drips from your hair, plastering it to your face as you press onward through the near-empty streets.

Visibility is poor, but the sound of purposeful footsteps cuts through the rain, steady and deliberate. Your heart leaps for a moment, instinctively ready to call out your stand incase of an attack, but the tall figure emerging from the mist stops you in your tracks.

"Risotto?" you call, your voice barely carrying over the rain.

The assassin’s imposing form comes into focus, black cloak blending with the storm’s gloom. His crimson eyes lock onto you, sharp even in the haze. He doesn’t say anything at first, merely stepping closer until the two of you are standing under the same awning, sheltered from the worst of the rain.

“You’re late,” Risotto says, his tone calm but laced with subtle concern. His gaze flicks over you, taking in your soaked form. “Did something happen?”

“No, just… this.” You gesture to the rain with a sheepish shrug. “Got caught out when it started. Didn’t expect it to get this bad.”

Risotto hums, reaching into the folds of his cloak. A moment later, he produces a small sleek black umbrella and hands it to you without a word.

You blink, surprised. “Wait, what about you? You don’t have another one, do you?”

“I’ll manage,” he replies simply, already stepping out from under the awning. Rain immediately darkens his cloak, but he doesn’t seem to care. Turning his head slightly, he adds, “Come on. The hideout isn’t far.”

Grateful but hesitant, you open the umbrella and hurry to keep pace with him. The rain drums against the fabric above, a steady rhythm that fills the quiet between you. Despite Risotto’s stoic demeanor, his presence is strangely comforting. He doesn’t ask for an explanation or chastise you for being late. Instead, he adjusts his long strides to match yours, ensuring you stay close.

After a moment, you glance at him, watching as the rain streams down his face and soaks into his silver hair. Without overthinking, you tilt the umbrella to cover him as well. His eyes flick to you, a faint crease in his brow. “I said I’ll be fine,” he mutters.

“I know,” you reply, keeping the umbrella positioned to shield you both. “But there’s no reason for you to get drenched if you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t argue further, though his expression softens slightly. The two of you walk in silence, the umbrella’s coverage forcing you to stay close. You can feel the warmth of his presence next to you, a quiet reassurance that feels oddly intimate.

“Thanks for this,” you say after a while, your voice soft. “You didn’t have to, you know.”

“You’re part of the team,” Rizzotto says, his tone matter-of-fact. “Taking care of each other is part of the job.”

The words are simple, but the weight behind them is unmistakable. As you approach the hideout, the storm begins to ease, the rain tapering into a light drizzle. Risotto opens the door, letting you step inside first. The warmth of the hideout is a stark contrast to the chill outside, and you sigh in relief, shaking off the umbrella before closing it.

“You should change out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold,” Risotto says, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he turns to hang up his drenched cloak.

You smile faintly, touched by his understated concern. “You too. You’re just as soaked as I am.” (pause?)

For the first time, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of Risotto’s lips. “I’ll be fine.”

You watch as he disappears into another room, leaving you alone to process the quiet but meaningful interaction. Despite his intimidating presence and no-nonsense attitude, Risotto’s actions speak volumes. A small gesture, like offering an umbrella, reveals the care he carries for those under his command. And for you, that’s more than enough.

Chapter Text

The moon hung low in the sky, shrouded by a veil of restless clouds. The night air was sharp, every gust of wind slicing through the silence like a blade. Your footsteps echoed across the cobblestone plaza, each step an anchor pulling you closer to the confrontation you had been dreading. Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms as if the pain could steady your spiraling thoughts.

Diavolo was already there, standing with his back to you, a figure of dominance and mystery even in stillness. His pink hair caught the faint glow of the streetlamp, its curls tousled by the breeze. He turned his head slightly at the sound of your approach, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“I wondered how long it would take you,” he said, his voice low and rich, tinged with amusement.

You stopped a few paces away, your chest heaving. “You knew I’d come?” Your voice wavered, equal parts anger and hurt. “After everything you’ve done, after—” You swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump in your throat. “After the lies, the manipulation… Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Diavolo’s smirk faltered, but his gaze remained steady. “You’re angry. That’s expected.” He took a step closer, his towering presence casting a shadow over you. “But you’re here, aren’t you? That means something.”

You flinched at his words, hating how true they felt. “Of course I’m here,” you shot back, your voice rising. “You owe me an explanation! You owe me the truth, Diavolo. How could you…” Your voice broke, and you shook your head. “How could you do this?”

Diavolo’s expression shifted, a fleeting glimpse of something softer breaking through his stoic facade. “Because I had to.” The words were quiet but firm, laced with a kind of resignation. “Everything I do, every decision I make, is for a purpose. You might not understand it now, but—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Don’t give me that ‘for a greater purpose’ excuse. You hurt people, Diavolo. You hurt me. ”

The silence that followed was deafening. Diavolo’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, he looked away, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“I… never wanted to hurt you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “But I’ve made choices that can’t be undone. You know who I am, what I am. You knew from the beginning.”

“Don’t you dare put this on me,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “Yes, I knew you were dangerous. I knew you were ruthless. But I didn’t think you—” Your voice cracked again, and you looked away, unable to finish the thought.

Diavolo stepped closer, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure he should. “You’re the only one who sees me for more than the power, the reputation,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “The only one who… who makes me feel like I’m not a monster.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to hate him. You should hate him. But the raw vulnerability in his voice, the way his eyes searched yours for something—forgiveness? Redemption?—made it impossible.

“It sucks,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Because I want to hate you… but I can’t.”

The words hung between you, heavy and unyielding. Diavolo’s expression crumbled, just for a moment, before he masked it with that familiar stoicism.

“Then don’t,” he murmured, stepping even closer. His hand finally reached for yours, his touch tentative, almost reverent. “Hate me if you must. But don’t deny what’s between us.”

You shook your head, your tears finally spilling over. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is,” Diavolo replied, his voice steady now. “You feel it too. I know you do. Let yourself feel it.”

Your heart ached, torn between the depth of your emotions and the weight of his sins. Slowly, hesitantly, you let him take your hand fully, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you said quietly.

“No,” Diavolo agreed. “But it’s a start.”

The clouds shifted, allowing a sliver of moonlight to break through, casting a faint glow over the two of you. In that moment, amidst the turmoil and uncertainty, you allowed yourself to hope—just a little.

Chapter Text

The hotel room was bathed in a soft amber glow, the single bedside lamp casting a warm light over the space. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the otherwise quiet room, a soothing backdrop to the steady movements of Bruno’s hands. You sat at the edge of the bed, shirt discarded and muscles aching, your body a patchwork of bruises and cuts—a testament to the fight you had barely won.

“Stay still, cara mia,” Bruno murmured, his voice a steady anchor in the haze of pain and exhaustion. The antiseptic-soaked cloth he held pressed against the gash on your arm, the sharp sting making you wince. His eyes flicked up briefly, catching your reaction, and his lips tightened into a soft frown. “I know it stings, but it’s necessary.”

You bit your lip to stifle a groan, leaning your weight onto your uninjured side. “I’ve handled worse,” you mumbled, trying to sound braver than you felt. The throbbing pain in your arm and the ache in your ribs begged to differ.

Bruno paused, his hands stilling as he tilted his head slightly. “That may be true,” he said softly, his tone carrying an undercurrent of disapproval, “but that doesn’t mean I like seeing you like this.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, though you quickly turned your face away to avoid his piercing gaze. The care in his tone, the gentle way he handled you—it was enough to make your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with your injuries.

“I couldn’t just stand by and let them get away,” you muttered, your voice quieter now. “They were hurting people, Bruno. I had to stop them.”

Bruno exhaled softly, his breath brushing against your skin as he resumed his task. His fingers worked deftly, securing the gauze around your arm with precision born from experience. “And you did,” he said, his tone softening. “You stopped them, and you protected everyone. But you also need to protect yourself, amore.”

The nickname, spoken so casually yet with such affection, made your heart flutter. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the determined set of his jaw and the way his brow furrowed in concentration. Even now, with you beaten and bruised, he was entirely focused on your wellbeing.

“You worry too much,” you teased, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “I can take care of myself.”

Bruno’s hands stilled again, and this time, he gently cupped your chin, turning your face toward his. His ocean-blue eyes locked with yours, a mixture of frustration and tenderness swirling in their depths. “I know you’re strong,” he said quietly, his voice steady yet firm. “But you’re not invincible. And I can’t lose you.”

The raw emotion in his voice caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. Before you could form a response, he released your chin and returned to his work, his fingers now softer against your skin as he tended to a smaller cut on your shoulder.

“You did an incredible job today,” he continued after a moment, his tone warmer now. “Taking down an enemy Stand user is no small feat, and I’m proud of you. But you need to remember—you’re not alone in this. Lean on me when you need to.”

You let his words sink in, the weight of them wrapping around your heart like a comforting embrace. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bruno smiled softly, his features relaxing as he finished the last bandage. He leaned back slightly, inspecting his handiwork before meeting your gaze again. “There,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You’re all patched up. Try to rest, tesoro—you need it.”

You nodded, shifting to recline against the pillows as a wave of exhaustion washed over you. But before you could fully settle, Bruno leaned in, his hands braced on either side of you as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered for a moment, warm and reassuring, before he pulled back.

“Goodnight, amore,” he said softly, his voice filled with affection.

A small smile crept onto your lips as you closed your eyes, the sound of his words and the warmth of his kiss easing you into a peaceful sleep.

Chapter Text

The low hum of the school bell still lingers in your ears as you make your way toward Jotaro Kujo’s home. It’s a route you’ve never walked before, a mix of nerves and curiosity tightening your chest. The weight of your backpack presses into your shoulders, stuffed with textbooks and notes for the biology project your teacher unceremoniously assigned—pairing you with the stoic, intimidating boy who’d hardly said a word to you since the semester began.

You glance at the crumpled piece of paper in your hand with his address scrawled in neat, precise handwriting. You wonder if he’s secretly a perfectionist, hidden behind his usual bluntness and perpetual scowl. It doesn’t take long to find his house, a modest two-story nestled behind a neatly trimmed hedge. You pause before the door, nerves bubbling, before finally knocking.

The door swings open, and there he stands. Jotaro’s piercing blue eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re struck by how effortlessly he commands attention—even in his casual clothes. A dark T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

“You’re on time,” he says, voice low and gravelly, though not unkind. He steps aside, letting you in.

His room is just as you imagined: organised yet somehow effortlessly cool. Shelves lined with books and vinyl records, a desk cluttered with notebooks, a small fish tank and pens, and the faint scent of cologne in the air. The sunlight filtering through the window casts a warm glow over the space.

“Let’s get this over with,” Jotaro mutters, gesturing for you to sit at his desk while he pulls over a chair. His tone might be brusque, but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—a quiet curiosity.

You set your bag down and pull out your notes. “We should start with the outline,” you suggest, trying to ignore the way his presence seems to fill the room.

He nods, leaning over to glance at your paper. His shoulder brushes yours, and your breath hitches at the unexpected closeness. If he notices, he doesn’t show it, his focus unwavering.

For the next hour, you work side by side, piecing together the details of your project. Jotaro’s insights are sharp, his observations meticulous. Despite his gruff exterior, he listens to your ideas, even offering a rare smirk when you crack a joke about the biology teacher you two have.

“We should probably focus more on cell division for this section,” you point out, tapping your pen against the notebook.

Jotaro leans closer, his gaze following where you’re pointing. “Makes sense. It’s one of the key topics, and we can tie it back to the experiments we’ve done in class.”

You nod, scribbling down notes. “Do you think we should include diagrams? It might make the presentation more engaging.”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, but keep them simple. Too much detail and people will zone out.”

You can’t help but smile. “Wow, you actually care about how this turns out. Who would’ve guessed?”

He smirks, leaning back slightly. “Just because I don’t talk much doesn’t mean I don’t care. Besides, I’m not about to let my grade tank because of this.”

“Fair point,” you concede, trying not to dwell on how unexpectedly easy it is to talk to him.

At one point, as you both reach for the same textbook, your hands collide. You pull back instinctively, mumbling an apology, but Jotaro chuckles softly, the sound rich and warm.

“Relax. It’s just a book,” he teases, his voice carrying a playful edge that catches you off guard. “Unless you’re this clumsy all the time.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you shoot him a mock glare. “I am not clumsy,” you retort, trying to ignore the way his smirk makes your heart flutter.

As the hours pass, the initial awkwardness between you fades. You find yourself leaning closer to him as you share notes, the proximity making your pulse race. Once, while reaching for a pen, your elbows knock, and his hand brushes yours. He glances at you, an amused glint in his eyes.

“You’re really good at invading personal space, aren’t you?” he remarks, his tone light but teasing.

“Me? You’re the one who—” You stop yourself, realising how silly you sound, and burst into laughter. He chuckles too, a low, rumbling sound that makes your stomach flip.

Eventually, the sunlight fades, and the room is bathed in the soft glow of his desk lamp. You stretch, groaning softly as the tension in your shoulders eases. Jotaro’s gaze flickers to you, lingering for a moment longer than usual.

“You should take breaks more often,” he says, his voice softer now. “You’re gonna hurt yourself working like that.”

The concern in his tone surprises you, and you meet his gaze, your heart skipping a beat. “I’ll be fine. Besides, we’re almost done,” you reply, smiling.

He leans back in his chair, studying you with an intensity that makes your cheeks warm. “You’re pretty determined,” he muses. “I like that.”

His words catch you off guard, and you fumble for a response, your mind racing. Is he flirting with you? Before you can overthink it, he reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a casual ease that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You had something there,” he says simply, though the slight smirk on his lips suggests otherwise.

By the time you finally finish the project, the tension between you is palpable. As you gather your things, Jotaro walks you to the door, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“You did good today,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “Maybe working with you isn’t so bad after all.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, Jotaro. Same to you.”

He steps closer, his towering frame making you tilt your head to meet his gaze. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the air charged with unspoken words.

“See you tomorrow,” he finally says, his voice low and smooth, leaving you wondering if there’s more behind those words than he lets on.

Chapter Text

The sound of Josuke’s frustrated sigh echoed through the living room, drawing your attention from your spot on the couch. He stood near the kitchen counter, running a hand through his perfectly styled pompadour, the tension practically radiating off him. His usual confident demeanour was clouded by something heavier tonight, and it made your chest tighten.

“Long day?” you asked softly, setting aside the book you had been half-heartedly skimming.

Josuke glanced at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You could say that.” He moved towards the couch and flopped down beside you with a heavy exhale, his head falling back against the cushions. “It’s just… everything’s piling up. Family stuff, and… I don’t even wanna get started on what’s been happening with Stand fights.”

You shifted closer, concern knitting your brow. “That’s a lot to deal with, Josuke. You’ve been running yourself ragged lately. Have you taken any time to just… breathe?”

He turned his head to look at you, his sharp blue eyes softening at your worry. “Not really. Haven’t had much of a choice.”

You reached out, resting a hand on his arm. “Maybe it’s time you made a choice, then. Let me help you relax.”

Josuke raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity and something deeper crossing his face. “How?”

You grinned, playfully nudging his shoulder. “A massage, for starters. You’ve got enough knots in your shoulders to start a fishing net.”

That earned a chuckle from him, the sound lighter than anything you’d heard from him all day. “Alright, Y/N. I’ll bite. But don’t blame me if you realise my shoulders are a lost cause.”

“Challenge accepted.”

You guided him to sit on the floor in front of you, and he obeyed with only a little teasing resistance. As your hands settled on his shoulders, you immediately felt the tension knotted beneath your fingers.

“Damn, Josuke. You weren’t kidding. You’re wound up tighter than a guitar string,” you said, digging your thumbs into the stiff muscles. He let out a low groan, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Told ya,” he muttered, his voice already softer. “Feels good, though. You’ve got magic hands or somethin’?”

You laughed, keeping your movements steady and firm. “Maybe. But don’t go spreading that around, or I’ll have the whole gang askin’ for massages.”

Josuke chuckled again, but as you worked, his laughter gave way to silence. The room filled with the gentle sounds of your movements and his occasional sighs of relief. The weight of his trust in you, his willingness to let you see him so vulnerable, warmed your chest.

Your fingers trailed down his back, pressing into the muscles along his spine. Josuke’s head dipped forward slightly, his breathing deepening.

“You really needed this, huh?” you asked, your voice dropping to a soft murmur.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his tone husky. “I didn’t realise how much until now.”

Encouraged by his response, you leaned in slightly, your breath brushing against his ear as you spoke. “You should let me take care of you more often, Josuke. You deserve it.”

His shoulders tensed slightly under your hands before relaxing again, and he turned his head to glance at you over his shoulder. The intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “You… don’t know what you’re doing to me right now.”

You tilted your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips despite the way your heart raced. “Oh? And what am I doing to you?”

Josuke turned fully then, his large hands catching yours and holding them gently but firmly. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied your face with an unreadable expression. Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss that was both tender and electrifying.

The sudden intensity made you gasp, but you quickly melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Josuke groaned into the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“You drive me crazy, Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think you realise how much.”

Your heart pounded as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Maybe you should show me, then.”

The look he gave you sent a thrill down your spine. “Oh, I will.”

And with that, Josuke’s lips found yours again, his hands roaming as he guided you back onto the couch.

Josuke’s lips met yours in a tender caress, a sweetness that lingered for only a moment before morphing into something deeper, more fervent. His kisses grew rougher, more urgent, leaving you breathless as you pulled away for just a fleeting gasp of air before diving back into the warmth of his mouth. His tongue slid past your parted lips with an easy dominance, intertwining with yours in a rhythm that had your head spinning. You matched his intensity, every movement sending heat rippling through you.

As the kiss deepened, you felt yourself leaning back, your body sinking into the plush cushions of the couch. Your fingers found their way to his chest, the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt taut under your touch. Slowly, they trailed upward, brushing the curve of his neck, where you felt the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips. 

Josuke’s hands settled firmly at your waist, his touch both grounding and electrifying. His fingers curled around the hem of your shirt, a silent question in the air as he gently tugged. With your heart pounding, you lifted your arms, allowing him to peel the fabric away, leaving you vulnerable beneath his smouldering gaze. After that, he pulls your shorts off, leaving you to only wear nothing but your bra and panties.

Josuke’s lips parted slightly as his eyes roamed over you, appreciation and hunger warring in his expression. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then another, each one slow and deliberate as though he were savouring the taste of your skin. His hands slid over your sides, mapping every curve with an almost reverent touch that left your skin tingling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and thick, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips found yours again, this time softer, slower, yet no less passionate. Each kiss felt like a promise, a wordless declaration of everything he couldn’t put into words.

You tugged at his shirt, your fingers brushing against his stomach as you pulled it upward. He hesitated for a moment, his hands moving to help you, and together, you managed to discard the fabric. The sight of him above you, his chest bare and his hair slightly mussed from your hands, sent a thrill through you.

Josuke leaned down, his weight bracing against the couch as his lips trailed lower, tracing a path from your collarbone to the curve of your shoulder. His hands roamed, each touch stoking the fire that burned brighter between you. As his lips met yours once more, the world seemed to narrow, leaving only him, his touch, his warmth, and the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

His lips dipped lower, exploring the delicate curve of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a cascade of goosebumps along your skin. He moved with intent, yet each press of his lips felt unhurried, as though savouring the small gasps you couldn’t contain. His hands traced over your waist, steady and firm, before sliding to your thighs, his touch igniting a trail of heat that made your breath hitch.

He paused, his head tilted slightly as his deep blue eyes locked onto yours. There was something mischievous in his gaze, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips that sent a flutter through your chest.

“What’s that look for?” you asked, your voice soft, teasing.

“Just thinking,” Josuke murmured, his voice low, a faint rasp in his tone. “You’ve got this way of looking at me that drives me crazy, y’know? Like you already know exactly what I’m thinking.”

His words made your cheeks heat, but before you could respond, his lips captured yours again, drawing you back into the haze of his touch. He shifted slightly, his hands bracing against the couch as he knelt before you. His movements were deliberate, his hands smoothing over your legs as his kisses began a slow, teasing descent down your body.

Each kiss, each caress was like a whisper against your skin, igniting something primal and electric in its wake. Josuke’s hands gently nudged your thighs apart, his touch a careful blend of boldness and restraint. He glanced up at you, his gaze filled with an unspoken question, a quiet reverence that made your heart pound in your chest.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a promise. “Let me take care of you, Y/N.”

Josuke’s words hung in the air, a warm, velvety reassurance that left you breathless. You nodded, your pulse quickening as his large hands caressed your thighs, his touch firm yet tender. He leaned in closer, pressing a lingering kiss to the sensitive skin just above your knee, his lips soft and deliberate as though he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers instinctively found his hair, tangling gently in the dark strands as he worked his way upward, his kisses trailing a line of fire along your inner thigh. Each touch was deliberate, every movement intentional, and yet he held himself back, drawing out the anticipation with an expertise that left you trembling beneath his touch.

“Y/N,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “You don’t know how perfect you are, do you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he continued, his lips brushing against the softest parts of your skin with a precision that sent your senses spiraling. Josuke’s hands held you steady, his thumbs stroking small, soothing circles along your hips as if grounding you in the moment.

Your breathing grew shallow, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to keep up with the dizzying sensations coursing through you. “Josuke…” you breathed, his name slipping from your lips in a barely audible whisper that only seemed to spur him on.

His gaze flicked upward, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours with a mix of adoration and intensity that made your stomach flip. “You’re incredible,” he said, his voice soft but filled with conviction. 

His lips continued their journey, pressing reverent kisses along the sensitive skin of your thighs, each one slower and more deliberate than the last. The warmth of his breath against your skin combined with the strength of his hands guiding you left you utterly spellbound, every nerve in your body attuned to his every movement.

Josuke’s confidence grew as he explored further, his hands tightening ever so slightly against your thighs as his lips brushed closer and closer to where you ached for him most. His touch was a perfect balance of teasing and devotion, each motion filled with an overwhelming desire to make you feel cherished.

Time seemed to blur as he worshipped you with an unrelenting focus, his attention entirely on you. Your grip in his hair tightened, pulling him closer as a soft moan escaped your lips, spurring him on. He smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the way he unraveled you piece by piece.

Josuke’s hands slid downward, his fingers brushing against the edge of your panties. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though savouring every second of having you like this. His dark blue eyes stayed locked on yours, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he hooked a finger beneath the delicate fabric.

He pulled your panties to the side with an almost reverent care, his gaze flicking downward as his free hand gently nudged his thumb against your sensitive clit. The sudden contact sent a jolt of pleasure through you, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as your body reacted to his touch.

“You’re already so wet,” Josuke murmured, his voice thick with admiration. “You’re beautiful like this, Y/N. All of you.”

His other hand moved to spread your folds apart, exposing your glistening heat to his hungry gaze. His smirk deepened, equal parts teasing and adoring, before he leaned in, placing the softest kiss against your aching core. The sensation made your breath hitch, your hands tightening in his hair as a soft whimper escaped you.

Josuke didn’t stop there. His tongue followed, trailing slow, deliberate strokes along your slit, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He worked with a maddening precision, his tongue circling your clit before gliding back down, alternating between light flicks and broader, firmer licks.

You couldn’t stop the sounds that tumbled from your lips—gasps, moans, and whispered exclamations of his name—as he took his time, savouring every reaction he drew from you.

His hands rested firmly on your thighs, holding you in place as he worked, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin to ground you. “You taste amazing,” he murmured against you, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh before his lips sealed around your clit, sucking gently.

Your back arched at the sensation, your body trembling under his ministrations. The sight of him there, so focused, so devoted, made your chest tighten with emotion. You could feel your heart racing, your breaths coming in shallow pants as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Your fingers twisted into Josuke’s hair, tugging lightly as your body quivered under the expert attention of his tongue. He groaned against you at the pull, the vibration sending an extra jolt of pleasure rippling through your core. His lips and tongue never relented, working you with a steady rhythm that had your thighs trembling on either side of him.

“Josuke,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as the heat inside you built to an almost unbearable intensity.

He looked up at you, his gaze heavy-lidded and filled with desire, a sheen of satisfaction glistening on his lips. “Don’t hold back, Y/N,” he murmured against your folds before resuming his work, this time with even more determination.

One of his hands slipped upward, his thumb returning to your clit while his tongue moved lower, dipping into your entrance. The combination of sensations sent a sharp cry tumbling from your lips, your hips bucking instinctively toward him.

“God, you’re so perfect,” Josuke said, his voice muffled but filled with adoration as he tightened his grip on your thighs to keep you steady. “I could do this all night if it means hearing those sounds from you.”

The tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter, like a spring about to snap. His thumb pressed down harder, circling your clit with precision as his tongue explored you, pushing you closer to the edge with every movement. Your breaths came in ragged pants, and your vision blurred as the sensations became overwhelming.

“Josuke, I—” you started, your words breaking off into a desperate moan.

“Let go,” he murmured, his deep voice dripping with encouragement. “I’ve got you, Y/N. Just let go for me.”

Those words, paired with the relentless rhythm of his tongue and thumb, pushed you over the edge. Your body arched off the couch as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, pulling you under its intoxicating current. You cried out his name, your nails digging into his scalp as your release consumed you.

Josuke didn’t stop, his tongue slowing but still lapping at you gently, drawing out every last tremor of your orgasm. His touch softened as your body relaxed, his hands rubbing soothingly over your thighs as you came down from your high.

He finally pulled back, his lips glistening with evidence of your pleasure as he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. That smirk you knew so well returned, this time softer, tinged with something more affectionate.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing as he climbed back up to meet your gaze, his hands bracketing either side of your body.

Your breath hitched as you looked at him, the love and mischief in his expression sending your heart fluttering. “I think you’ve ruined me,” you joked, your voice weak but filled with fondness.

Josuke leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his taste mingling with yours. “Good,” he murmured against your mouth. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

This night was far from over.

Chapter Text

The quiet hum of the library surrounded you like a warm blanket as you flipped through a textbook, your gaze scanning the words with an almost mechanical rhythm. It had been a few days since that group project, the one that unexpectedly paired you with Jotaro Kujo. You hadn’t seen him much since then, but the memory of his focused expression and his deep voice as he explained concepts still lingered in your mind.

Even though you haven’t seen him as much in class, you’ve seen him a lot at lunch. The two of you would end up sitting with each other and talking about anything. Most of the time the two of you would be quiet, it was a good type of quiet. You’d be lying if you had said you never caught feelings for him through the time you guys had hung out at lunch, and you only hoped that was the same for him.

 His charming features and his quiet personality is mostly what caught your eye on him. You don’t know why but it just happened. 

You’re not complaining though!

Needing a change of scenery from your usual study spot, you wandered into the library’s marine biology section. The shelves were lined with books on ocean life, ecosystems, and more, each promising knowledge beyond your current understanding. As you rounded the corner, your eyes landed on a familiar figure—broad shoulders, black hat, and a serious demeanour. Jotaro stood near one of the shelves, holding a book about tropical fish. His attention was entirely absorbed, his brows furrowed as he read.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to approach him or slip away unnoticed. But before you could decide, he glanced up and spotted you. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

“Oh. It’s you,” he said, his tone neutral but not unkind. He closed the book and tucked it under his arm, looking at you expectantly.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you replied with a small smile. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Needed something for a paper,” he said, gesturing to the book. “You?”

“Studying,” you admitted, holding up your notebook as evidence. “I thought this section might have something interesting.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Mm…found anything yet?”

“Not really,” you admitted. “But maybe you can help me. You know, since you’re the marine biology expert and all.”

A faint blush crept up Jotaro’s neck, and he looked away, scratching the back of his head. “I’m not an expert,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. For someone as composed as Jotaro, seeing him flustered was an unexpected but welcome surprise. “Well, you know more than me,” you teased lightly.

The corners of his mouth twitched, almost as if he was fighting back a smile. “If you’re serious about studying, you should probably come over. I’ve got better resources at home.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. “Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “Besides, it’ll be easier to work without distractions.”

You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the empty library. “Not sure what distractions you’re talking about, but… okay. If you’re sure, I’ll come.”

Jotaro’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he gave a small nod. “Good. Let’s go.”

Jotaro’s house was exactly what you expected: neat, organised, and quiet. He led you to his study, a room lined with bookshelves and decorated with small marine-themed trinkets. The scent of fresh paper and faint traces of cologne lingered in the air, adding to the cosy atmosphere.

“You can sit here,” he said, gesturing to the chair by his desk. “I’ll grab some books.”

You nodded, taking a seat as he moved to the shelves. His movements were deliberate, each step measured and calm. When he returned, he placed a stack of books on the desk, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and you glanced up to find him already looking at you, his cheeks tinged with pink.

“Thanks,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

“No problem,” he replied, sitting beside you. For a while, the two of you worked in companionable silence, the soft rustle of pages and the scratch of pen on paper filling the room. Every so often, you’d catch Jotaro glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You’re really focused,” he said, his voice low.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “Isn’t that the point?” you teased.

He huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, I guess.” His eyes softened as he studied you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you grew charged, the unspoken tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Jotaro,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could continue, he leaned in, his hand resting lightly on your knee. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

That was all the permission he needed. His lips met yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly grew more heated. The books and notes were forgotten as he pulled you closer, his hands settling on your waist. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as the world outside his study faded away.

The kiss deepened, Jotaro’s lips moving against yours with a slow but deliberate passion that sent a warmth spreading through your chest. His hands, strong but gentle, guided you to the edge of the desk as he murmured your name, his voice thick with need.

You broke away for a breath, your foreheads pressing together. "Are you sure about this?" you asked softly, your fingers still lightly tangled in his hair.

Jotaro’s deep blue eyes bore into yours, a mixture of sincerity and desire shining in them. "Yeah. Only if you are," he replied, his thumb brushing soothing circles along your waist.

You nodded, leaning in to kiss him again, your movements filled with trust and mutual understanding. He lifted you effortlessly, settling you on the desk’s smooth surface as his lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, igniting every nerve.

The rest of the world seemed to blur, the study’s quiet atmosphere amplifying every whispered word and shared breath. He was attentive and gentle, checking in with you at every step, ensuring you were comfortable and at ease as your connection deepened in the most intimate way.

Afterward, the two of you remained entwined, the papers and books scattered around you forgotten. Jotaro brushed a strand of hair from your face, his lips curving into a rare, soft smile. "You’re really something," he murmured, his voice low but affectionate.

You chuckled, your hand resting on his chest. "So are you, Kujo."

Without hesitation, you began to shed each piece of clothing, your movements deliberate and teasing as you left your panties on for a final touch of allure. Jotaro's hands roamed your body, his grip firm yet reverent, while his lips trailed heated kisses down your neck to your chest. Each kiss ended with a gentle bite, leaving faint marks blooming across your soft skin as a reminder of his touch.

As his trail of kisses wandered lower, you found yourself mesmerised by the sight of him. His dishevelled hair framed his face, his glossy, half-lidded eyes filled with a hunger that made your heart race. The air in the room was electric, every moment feeling suspended in time. A flush of heat crept across your cheeks and the tips of your ears as he positioned himself between your legs, his fingers gently pulling your panties aside.

With two fingers, he parted your folds, his touch achingly slow. A shiver ran through you as he ran his fingers along your slick heat, drawing a soft sigh from your lips. The subtle friction sent waves of longing through your body, every nerve alight with anticipation. His feather-light touch drew a whimper from your lips, the sound catching Jotaro’s attention. He glanced up at you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of amusement and intent as his fingers continued their slow, torturous rhythm.

“You like that? Use your words, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine, making your body melt under his touch. You nodded slowly, a quiet, shaky “yes” escaping your lips.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his confidence palpable. Without warning, he pushed his two fingers inside you, pumping in and out with purpose. The sudden intensity made you clench around him, your head tipping back as a desperate whine escaped your throat.

His fingers continued their steady rhythm, sliding in and out before curling just right, pressing against that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids. A strangled moan escaped your lips as your breath quickened, your body trembling as your orgasm built faster than you’d anticipated.

Arching your back, you barely managed to stutter, “F-Fuck, Jotaro— I’m so close! Don’t stop!” Your voice was thick with desperation, each word punctuated by gasps.

Jotaro didn’t falter, his movements purposeful as he pushed you closer to the edge. Just as the peak of your orgasm hit, your body teetering on release, he suddenly withdrew his fingers, leaving you breathless and craving more.

He brought his slick-coated fingers to his lips, his tongue dragging over them with deliberate slowness. His dark eyes locked onto yours as he smirked, the expression dripping with smug satisfaction.

“Jotaro, what the fuck?!” you exclaim, pushing yourself upright on the desk, arms crossed as you glare at him. He only scoffs in response, his large hand shoving you back down with ease. Before you can protest further, he grinds his clothed length against your exposed pussy, the friction sending a jolt through your body. Your breath catches, and instinctively, your hands reach for his waistband.

A sharp smack to your hands stops you in your tracks, and you let out a frustrated whine. Jotaro doesn’t say a word, his piercing gaze locking with yours before he reaches down, unzipping his pants and pulling himself free.

Your jaw nearly drops as your eyes widen. “ HOLY SHIT WHATTHEFUCK ?!” you think, the sheer size of him stealing every word from your lips. The shock on your face clearly amuses him, a smug smirk tugging at his lips as he leans closer. His tip brushes against your soaked folds, teasing you with slow, deliberate movements, nudging against your clit just enough to make you shiver.

A shaky sigh escapes you as the tension builds, your eyes rolling back in surrender. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the desk, gripping at the wood as the intensity of his teasing leaves you trembling with anticipation.

“You sure you want this, Y/N?” Jotaro asks, his deep voice laced with a rare tenderness. His intense gaze meets yours, searching for any sign of hesitation.

Looking up at him, you give a soft, reassuring smile. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for God knows how long, Jotaro. Keep going,” you say, your voice steady yet filled with anticipation.

Reaching up, you gently place your hand against his face, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone. He leans into your touch, the subtle vulnerability in his expression making your heart ache. Closing his eyes for a moment, he presses a tender kiss to your palm before opening them again, his resolve solidifying. 

With a small nod, he whispers, “Alright,” his tone filled with a newfound determination

And with that, he slowly eased himself inside, giving you time to adjust to his jaw-dropping size. A gasp escaped your lips as he filled you completely, the stretch both overwhelming and intoxicating. His large hands gripped your hips firmly, grounding you as he gave you a moment to catch your breath.

With the first tentative roll of his hips, a spark of pleasure coursed through your body as he brushed against your sweet spot perfectly. Your back arched involuntarily, and he took it as a sign to keep going.

His initial pace was slow and deliberate, teasing you with each thrust, but it wasn’t long before he picked up speed. His movements became relentless, hitting all the right places with precision. Your mouth fell open as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Moans, whines, and soft praises spilled uncontrollably from your lips, each sound spurring him on as he kept up his rhythm.

Your hands scrambled for something to hold onto, finally gripping the edge of the desk as his pace grew more erratic. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with the symphony of your shared moans. Jotaro leaned over you, his broad frame casting a shadow over your flushed body as his lips found their way to your neck.

He bit down gently, earning a sharp gasp from you, before soothing the spot with his tongue. “You’re taking me so well,” he muttered, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. The praise made your chest tighten with heat, and you arched into him, craving even more of the connection.

One of his hands slid from your hip to your thigh, lifting it slightly to change the angle. The new position made his thrusts hit deeper, and you nearly screamed his name, your nails digging into his forearm. “F-Fuck, Jotaro!” you cried out, barely able to string words together as he pushed you closer to your limit.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his tone laced with dominance and hunger. His sharp thrusts punctuated each word as he growled, “I want to hear you scream my name.”

“Jotaro!” you obeyed, your voice breaking with the intensity of it all. The knot in your stomach tightened to an unbearable degree, and you knew you were right on the edge.

Sensing it, Jotaro’s pace became almost brutal, his focus entirely on driving you over that peak. “Come for me, y/n,” he commanded, his lips brushing against your ear. That was all it took for the coil inside you to snap, and you came undone around him, your walls clenching tightly as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Jotaro groaned deeply, feeling you squeeze around him, but he didn’t stop. He chased his own release, his thrusts growing sloppy and desperate until finally, with a guttural growl of your name, he buried himself to the hilt, spilling into you.

The two of you stayed there for a moment, your bodies pressed together as you both panted heavily. Jotaro’s hand slid to your face, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes as he looked at you with a rare softness. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low but filled with concern.

You nodded weakly, a tired smile playing on your lips. “More than okay,” you whispered, your hand resting against his chest.

Jotaro let out a small, satisfied grunt before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good.” He leaned back slightly, his hands moving to support you as he helped you sit up. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Despite his gruff exterior, his actions were tender as he carefully adjusted your position, making sure you were steady. The contrast between his rough dominance earlier and the gentleness now made your heart flutter. Even in moments like this, Jotaro Kujo had a way of making you feel completely safe.

Chapter Text

His hands slid to your waist, and in one swift motion, he hoisted you off the couch as if you weighed nothing. A surprised laugh escaped your lips, but it quickly dissolved into a soft gasp as he pulled you flush against his chest.

“Guess we’re moving this somewhere more comfortable,” Josuke teased, his voice low and velvety, carrying just a hint of smugness.

He carried you with ease, his confident stride taking you toward the bedroom. His lips found yours again mid-step, stealing your breath away with a kiss that was both tender and fervent, his tongue teasing against yours as his grip on you tightened possessively.

Once inside, Josuke lowered you onto the edge of the bed, his eyes dark with intent as they met yours. He made quick work of unbuttoning his pants, his movements deliberate yet unhurried, as though savouring the way your eyes traced every inch of him.

Josuke kicked his pants aside, leaving him in just his boxers as he closed the space between you. He climbed onto the bed, his broad frame hovering over you with an almost predatory grace. His lips captured yours in another searing kiss, hands trailing down your sides before resting at your hips. His touch was both commanding and tender, his thumbs grazing your skin in a way that sent sparks shooting through you.

“You’re driving me crazy, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough and breathless as his lips moved down to your neck, planting slow, deliberate kisses along the sensitive skin. He nipped at your collarbone before soothing the spot with his tongue, his hands gripping your thighs to pull you even closer to him.

Your hands found their way to his back, your nails grazing over his skin as you arched into him, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation. Josuke let out a low groan at the feeling, his lips curving into a grin against your neck.

“I hope you’re ready,” he teased, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver straight to your core. “Because I’m not planning on letting you go anytime soon.”

His words made your breath hitch, and before you could respond, Josuke’s lips trailed lower, leaving a heated path down your body. He kissed his way across your chest, down your stomach, and paused just above your panties, his fingers hooking into the fabric as he glanced up at you, his blue eyes dark with desire. 

“Let me take care of you,” he said softly, his voice carrying both a question and a promise. When you nodded, he pulled the last barrier between you away, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savouring the moment.

The air seemed to thicken as Josuke took you in, his gaze raking over you with a mixture of admiration and hunger. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, before leaning down to place a trail of kisses along your inner thighs, his touch igniting a fire beneath your skin.

Josuke’s kisses traveled back up your body, slow and deliberate, leaving a heated trail along your skin. His lips claimed yours again, a kiss so deep and all-encompassing it left you breathless. His large hands slid up your thighs, squeezing gently as he positioned himself between your legs. His weight pressed you into the mattress, the solid warmth of him grounding you even as the air crackled with tension.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths heavy and uneven. His cobalt eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown wide with lust. “You ready for me, babe?” he asked, his voice low and husky, the sound vibrating straight to your core.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you nodded, your fingers curling into the strong muscles of his shoulders. “I’m ready, Josuke,” you whispered, your voice quivering with a mix of desire and nervous anticipation.

He smiled softly, brushing a few strands of hair from your damp forehead. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” His tenderness was a stark contrast to the fire burning in his gaze, a reminder of just how much he cared for you even in such an intense moment.

His hand moved between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance. The swollen head of his length brushed against your slick folds, and you shuddered, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Josuke paused for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as though he were concentrating on committing every part of you to memory.

Then, slowly, he began to push into you, his movements careful and unhurried. The stretch was a heady mix of pleasure and pressure, and you arched your back, your hands gripping him tighter as he filled you inch by inch.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his jaw clenching as he struggled to hold himself back. “You feel incredible.”

You whimpered, your head tipping back against the pillows as your body adjusted to his size. “Josuke... you feel so good,” you managed to breathe out, your nails lightly digging into his skin. “Don’t stop.”

Encouraged by your words, Josuke began to move, his hips rolling with a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust was deliberate, his movements filled with a mix of restraint and passion as he worked to keep his composure. His lips found your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, “You’re perfect, Y/N... absolutely perfect.”

The pace began to quicken, each motion sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your moans grew louder, and Josuke responded in kind, his own sounds of pleasure spilling from his lips. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you in place as he drove deeper into you, his movements becoming more urgent.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice raw with desire as he gazed down at you. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Your body trembled beneath him, every nerve ending alight as he continued to build the tension between you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently. Josuke growled at the sensation, leaning down to capture your lips in another searing kiss.

The two of you moved together in perfect harmony, your bodies perfectly attuned to one another. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. Josuke’s name fell from your lips like a mantra, your voice breathless and filled with need.

Josuke’s own breathing grew heavier, his control slipping as his movements became more desperate. “You’re everything to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion as he buried himself deeper inside you. “I love you so much.”

The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you tangled together in the throes of passion. When you finally reached your climax, it hit you like a tidal wave, your entire body arching against his as you cried out his name. Josuke followed shortly after, his movements growing erratic as he released, his body shuddering against yours.

For a few moments, the two of you stayed like that, your bodies still connected as you clung to each other, your breathing ragged and uneven. Josuke pressed a series of soft kisses to your face, his lips brushing over your forehead, your cheeks, and finally your lips.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his voice soft and full of concern as he gazed down at you.

You smiled up at him, your chest still heaving as you caught your breath. “More than okay,” you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of teasing. “But I think you’re the one who got the relief tonight.”

Josuke chuckled, his deep laugh rumbling through his chest as he rolled onto his side, pulling you close. “Guess I owe you next time, huh?” he said with a grin, nuzzling into your hair.

You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As the two of you lay tangled together, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the sound of his heartbeat to lull you into peaceful contentment.

Chapter Text

The moment you step into the bookshop, a wave of warmth washes over you. The air is thick with the comforting scent of aged pages and freshly brewed coffee, mingling together like an unspoken invitation to stay for hours. The soft chime of the bell overhead signals your arrival, but the world inside this cosy little haven barely stirs—just the occasional whisper of a turned page, the muffled laughter of a couple browsing near the fiction section, and the faint classical music drifting from unseen speakers.

Jonathan follows behind you, his presence solid yet gentle, his broad shoulders somehow making the space feel smaller in the best way possible. His sapphire eyes sweep across the endless rows of bookshelves, admiration written all over his face. “This place is wonderful,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “It’s like stepping into another world.”

You smile, nudging his arm playfully. “That’s the magic of a good bookshop.”

He chuckles, a deep, rich sound that makes your chest tighten in the most pleasant way. “I could stay here forever.”

“Then let’s make the most of it.”

You set off together, wandering through the aisles with no particular direction in mind. Jonathan’s fingers ghost over the spines of well-loved books, pausing occasionally to pull one from the shelf, his expression soft with nostalgia as he flips through the pages. He hums in thought, sometimes murmuring the title under his breath before tucking it back into place. It’s clear that he doesn’t just love books—he reveres them.

At one point, you catch him watching you instead of the shelves, a fond smile playing at his lips as you scan the titles. “What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jonathan tilts his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You look like you’re on a treasure hunt.”

“Well, I am,” you tease, reaching for a particularly thick book with gold-embossed lettering. “You never know when you’ll find something special.”

Before you can grasp it, Jonathan moves at the same time, reaching for the very same book. His fingers brush against yours, warm and steady, sending a pleasant jolt up your arm. The touch lingers for half a second too long, and you both freeze—his breath hitching slightly, yours catching in your throat.

“Oh—” You retract your hand quickly, a sudden warmth creeping up your neck.

Jonathan blinks, as if just realising what happened, and lets out a quiet chuckle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… take your book.”

You shake your head, smiling despite the fluttering in your chest. “No, go ahead. You seemed pretty eager to grab it.”

He hesitates before gently pressing the book into your hands instead. “You should have it,” he says, sincere as ever. “I think you’d enjoy it.”

Something about the way he says it—so certain, so thoughtful—makes you want to bury your face in the pages right then and there. Instead, you clutch the book to your chest and offer him a small smile. “You sure?”

Jonathan nods. “Besides, if you like it… maybe you’ll let me read a bit of it to you?”

The offer makes your heart stutter. You glance up at him, pretending to consider it even though the answer is already obvious. “Hmm… I suppose I could allow that.”

His laugh is soft, boyish, utterly endearing. “Then let’s find a spot.”

He leads you toward a quiet nook tucked near the back of the store, where an old but comfortable armchair sits beside a small wooden table. The dim glow of a nearby reading lamp casts a golden hue over Jonathan’s features as he settles in beside you, close enough that his warmth seeps into your skin.

He takes the book from your hands, flipping through the pages until he finds a passage that catches his eye. Then, with the kind of reverence reserved for something truly special, he begins to read.

His voice is smooth and steady, each word carrying a natural cadence that makes the sentences come alive. You don’t even register the meaning of the words at first—you’re too caught up in the way his lips move around each syllable, the way his brow furrows ever so slightly in concentration, the way his hand rests on the armrest just inches from yours. The entire moment feels suspended in time, like a scene from one of the stories you both love so much.

At some point, you realise you’ve been staring, completely entranced.

Jonathan pauses, glancing at you with quiet amusement. “Something wrong?”

You blink, quickly shaking your head. “No, you just… make it sound more poetic than I would have if I read it in my head.”

His smile is gentle, pleased. “A good story deserves to be spoken aloud,” he says. “It brings the words to life.”

You hum in agreement, letting the comfortable silence settle between you. He doesn’t rush to continue reading, instead flipping absentmindedly through the book, as if committing its pages to memory.

Then, suddenly, Jonathan closes the book and stands, offering you a hand. “Wait here for a moment.”

Confused but curious, you watch as he strides toward the front of the store. A few minutes pass, and you start flipping through the book absentmindedly, wondering what he’s up to. Before you can come up with an answer, he returns, holding a small, carefully wrapped package.

With a shy smile, he presses it into your hands.

You blink. “Jonathan, what—”

“Open it.”

Tearing at the wrapping, you uncover the very same book he had been reading to you, now yours to keep. Your fingers tighten around it, your heart swelling at the thoughtfulness of it all.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Jonathan interrupts gently. “Every time you open it, I want you to remember today. And maybe…” His voice drops just slightly, as if suddenly bashful. “Maybe you’ll let me read more of it to you sometime?”

You stare at him, warmth blooming in your chest. It’s such a simple gesture, yet it feels like so much more.

Clutching the book to your chest, you meet his gaze with a soft smile. “I’d love that.”

Jonathan’s grin is bright, boyish, utterly contagious. He offers you his arm as you both make your way toward the checkout, the warmth of the moment lingering between you like a well-loved story waiting to be continued.

Chapter Text

The midday sun cast a golden glow over the training grounds, illuminating the worn stone paths and lush greenery that framed the open courtyard. The faint scent of earth and sweat lingered in the warm breeze, mingling with the distant crash of waves from the Italian coastline.

You adjusted your stance, feet planted firmly as you focused on controlling the flow of Hamon through your fingertips. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple, your breath steadying as you prepared to strike. Across from you, Joseph Joestar smirked, watching from the sidelines with an amused expression.

"Not bad," Joseph mused. "But you’ve gotta loosen up a little. If you’re too stiff, your Hamon won’t flow naturally."

Before you could respond, a sharp exhale came from a few paces away.

"They’re doing just fine," Caesar Zeppeli interjected, stepping forward. His green eyes held an intensity that sent a small shiver down your spine. "Y/N doesn’t need your interruptions, Joseph."

Joseph held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I’ll back off." He shot you a teasing look before stepping away, leaving you alone with Caesar.

Caesar turned his attention back to you, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You’re improving," he said, his voice softer now. "Your control over Hamon is much better than before."

You smiled, feeling a pleasant warmth from his words. "Thanks to you," you admitted. "You’ve really helped me.."

A small smirk tugged at his lips as he stepped closer, taking your wrist in his hand. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers adjusting your stance with careful precision. "Here," he murmured. "Relax your arm. Let the energy flow naturally."

You nodded, focusing on the movement as he guided you. The warmth of his skin against yours made it a little hard to concentrate, but you did your best to follow his lead.

After a few moments, he finally let go, lingering just a second too long. His gaze met yours, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

"You don’t have to push yourself so hard," he said quietly. "I know you want to improve, but don’t forget to take care of yourself too."

Your heart skipped a beat at his concern. "I’ll try," you promised.

Caesar gave a small nod, then hesitated before adding, "And Y/N… just so you know, I’m always here if you need anything. Not just for training."

The sincerity in his words made your chest tighten, and you couldn’t help but smile. "I know, Caesar. And I appreciate it. A lot."

A soft chuckle escaped him, his usual confidence shining through again. "Good. Now, let’s see if you can land a hit on me."

You laughed, the tension melting away as you prepared to spar with him. The air between you felt different now, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. Training with Caesar had never felt so exhilarating.

The two of you circled each other, the sun glinting off Caesar’s golden hair as he gave you a smirk. "Come on, Y/N, show me what you’ve got."

You took a breath, focusing on your movements before lunging forward with a precise strike. Caesar effortlessly dodged, his agility almost infuriating. But you weren’t about to let him off easy.

You tried again, faster this time, sending a ripple of Hamon through the air. Caesar barely sidestepped it, his expression flickering with surprise. "Better," he admitted, tilting his head. "But still not enough."

You huffed, stepping back to reassess, but before you could move, Caesar closed the distance between you in an instant. A sudden warmth flooded your senses as he caught your wrist, pulling you closer.

"Your stance is still too rigid," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. His hands slid down to adjust your fingers, his grip gentle but firm. "You need to move with the energy, not against it."

You swallowed, your pulse quickening. "Easier said than done when you’re this close," you muttered.

Caesar chuckled, his lips curving into a smirk. "Am I distracting you?" He leaned in just slightly, teasing but undeniably close.

Your cheeks warmed, but you refused to let him win that easily. Smirking back, you swiftly twisted your wrist free and used his own advice against him—moving with the energy. A sharp pulse of Hamon crackled from your fingertips, nearly catching him off guard as he barely dodged.

For the first time, Caesar’s confident expression faltered as he stepped back, blinking. Then, after a beat, he grinned. "Clever. Very clever."

"You told me to surprise you," you said, crossing your arms. "Looks like it worked."

He laughed, shaking his head. "It did. And I have to say, I’m impressed."

You smiled, feeling a sense of pride bubbling inside you. The two of you stood there for a moment, the energy in the air shifting into something softer. Caesar’s gaze lingered on you, his usual playfulness tempered by something deeper.

Then, almost as if on impulse, he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You really are remarkable, Y/N."

Your breath hitched slightly at the unexpected gesture, his fingertips brushing lightly against your skin before he pulled away. You searched his face, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

"Caesar…"

Before you could say anything else, Joseph’s voice called from across the training grounds. "Oi! Lovebirds! Are you two gonna keep making eyes at each other or actually train?"

Caesar groaned, rolling his eyes before giving you a conspiratorial smile. "Ignore him. Let’s spar again, this time—try and actually hit me."

You laughed, shaking your head as you prepared to engage again. The moment lingered between you, unspoken but understood, as you faced Caesar once more—this time with a little more confidence, and a lot more excitement.

Chapter Text

The moon hung high in the sky, its silvery glow casting soft light over the quiet villa where you and your companions stayed. The halls were eerily silent, the usual banter and training sessions put to rest as Joseph, Caesar, Lisa Lisa, and the others slept soundly.

But you? You had other plans.

Carefully adjusting the straps of your backpack, you tiptoed toward the exit, each step deliberate and measured. Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears as you glanced over your shoulder, ensuring that no one stirred from their slumber. The scent of burning candles and faint traces of incense lingered in the air, remnants of the day’s training. Just a few more steps, and you’d be free—

"And where do you think you’re going?"

A hushed voice startled you, and you barely suppressed a yelp as you turned to see none other than Caesar Zeppeli, arms crossed over his chest, his green eyes gleaming with intrigue.

You swallowed hard, standing up straight as you tried to play it cool. "I could ask you the same thing."

Caesar raised an unimpressed brow. "I asked first."

"Ugh, nosy," you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "If you must know, I’m... meeting with someone."

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. "A guy?"

You sighed, already knowing there was no use in hiding it. "Yeah."

Caesar let out a low whistle, nudging you playfully with his elbow. "And here I thought you were all business, keeping up with Hamon training and sticking to Lisa Lisa’s rules."

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his arm in a silent plea. "Please, please don’t tell anyone. You know how Lisa Lisa would react. She’d probably throw a fit."

Caesar snorted. "No kidding. Fine, I won’t say a word—but only because I want to see how this plays out. Now go before someone else catches you."

Grinning, you whispered a quick "thank you" before slipping past him and hurrying outside. The night air was cool against your skin as you crossed the courtyard, the ancient stone beneath your feet damp from the evening dew. The villa’s torches flickered dimly in the distance, casting elongated shadows that danced along the cobblestone path leading toward the forest.

The moment you stepped past the tree line, the world around you changed. The distant crash of the ocean faded into the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of crickets. The scent of earth and moss filled your senses, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming nightflowers. Moonlight peeked through the thick canopy above, illuminating your way in a soft, ethereal glow.

The deeper you ventured, the more the forest embraced you, the trees towering overhead like silent guardians. You navigated through the underbrush, careful to avoid snapping twigs underfoot. The wind carried whispers through the leaves, adding to the eerie yet serene ambiance of the secluded woods.

Finally, you reached the clearing where the small pond lay, its surface smooth like polished glass, reflecting the luminous glow of the moon. And there, standing near the water’s edge, was Santana.

His figure was as imposing as ever, his muscular frame silhouetted against the moonlit landscape. His skin, unnaturally smooth and stone-like, gleamed faintly under the night sky. He was staring at the water, his expression unreadable, his presence exuding both power and solitude.

A smile tugged at your lips as you approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.  The sudden contact made him tense, his body stiff under your touch, and for a split second, you felt the sharp edge of danger—an instinctual reaction, as if he were still learning how to differentiate affection from an attack.

But then, he relaxed, his muscles uncoiling beneath your hold. His voice was low, almost gruff. "You’re late."

"Had to sneak out," you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping beside him. "Miss me?"

Santana turned his crimson eyes toward you, their glow piercing in the dark. "Maybe."

You giggled, squeezing his fingers gently before digging into your bag and pulling out a small box of chocolates. "Here. Happy Valentine’s Day."

He eyed the chocolates curiously before taking the box from your hands. "Valoon...tine’s Day?"

"Valentine’s Day," you corrected with a chuckle. "It’s a human holiday about love and appreciation. People give each other gifts, like chocolates or flowers."

He hummed in understanding, carefully inspecting one of the chocolates before popping it into his mouth. You watched, anticipating his reaction. His expression remained neutral as he chewed, but after a moment, he swallowed and nodded. "Sweet. I like it."

You beamed, but before you could say anything else, Santana suddenly stood up. "Wait here."

You blinked in confusion as he disappeared into the trees, leaving you by the pond with nothing but the sound of water rippling against the shore. A few minutes passed, and just as you began to wonder what he was up to, he returned—this time with a bouquet of wildflowers in his hands.

Your breath hitched as he held them out to you. The flowers were a mix of different colors and species, some of which you didn’t even recognize, but they were beautiful nonetheless.

"For you," Santana said simply.

Your heart melted. "Oh my god, Santana... this is so sweet." You carefully took the bouquet from him, inhaling the delicate scent before looking up at him with an affectionate smile. "Thank you."

Santana studied your reaction, as if trying to decipher why you were so touched, before nodding in quiet satisfaction. You couldn’t help yourself—you leaned in (literally standing on the tips of your toes bc of how tall this guy was), pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. This time, he didn’t hesitate. His hands found your waist, practically lifting you up from the ground and pulling you closer, deepening the moment just slightly before pulling away, his crimson gaze fixed on you with something akin to curiosity and intrigue.

You laughed softly. "Happy Valentine’s Day, Santana."

A rare, small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Happy Valentine’s Day."

And as you stood there under the stars, holding the flowers close to your chest, you knew this was a night you would never forget.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was filled with the warm scent of vanilla and sugar, the kind of inviting aroma that made a house feel like home. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over the marble countertops and polished brass fixtures. You stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with flour as you glanced at the recipe book propped open in front of you.

"Alright, we need to mix the butter and sugar together first," you announced, reaching for the bowl.

Giorno, standing beside you, exuded his usual effortless grace. Even in an apron, he managed to look pristine, his golden curls catching the light. He hummed in acknowledgment, taking the wooden spoon from your hand. "Would you like me to do it? It needs to be creamed properly, or the texture of the cake might be off."

You huffed playfully, nudging him with your elbow. "You don’t trust me? I think I can handle mixing butter and sugar, Mister Perfectionist."

A quiet chuckle left his lips as he relented, stepping aside. "Of course, my mistake. By all means, show me your skills."

You began stirring, but after a few moments, your arm started to ache. The butter was still too firm, and the sugar refused to blend smoothly. Giorno watched, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes.

"Would you like some help now?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

With a dramatic sigh, you handed over the spoon. "Fine. But only because my arm is tired."

He took the bowl and, with practiced ease, began creaming the ingredients together in a way that was almost hypnotic. His movements were precise, methodical—so very Giorno. You leaned against the counter, watching him with a soft smile.

"How are you good at this too?" you mused. "You're the boss of Passione. You run an entire organization. And yet, here you are, making baking look effortless."

He smirked, glancing at you briefly. "Attention to detail is important in all aspects of life, even baking. Besides," he added, setting the spoon down, "it’s enjoyable when I do it with you." he says with a wink.

Warmth bloomed in your chest at his words, and you quickly turned to grab the eggs before he could see the flustered look on your face. "Alright, Casanova, let’s keep going. We still need to add the eggs and flour."

As you cracked an egg into the bowl, a bit of the shell slipped in. You froze, grimacing. Before you could fish it out, Giorno had already plucked it from the batter with two fingers, setting it aside neatly. He shot you an amused look. "Perhaps I should handle the eggs as well?"

"Don’t push it, Giovanna."

Before Giorno could respond, the kitchen door swung open dramatically. "What’s up, lovebirds?" Narancia’s voice rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of Mista’s laughter.

You turned just in time to see Narancia and Mista stroll in, both clearly entertained by whatever they’d walked in on. "Are you two seriously baking? That’s adorable," Mista teased, leaning against the counter. "Giorno, I didn’t take you for the domestic type."

Giorno sighed but didn’t seem too annoyed, stirring the batter with an air of patience. "Is there a reason you’re both here? Or did you come just to get flour on yourselves?"

Narancia grinned, already reaching for a spoon. "Just curious! Plus, if you’re making something, we get to taste test, right?"

You swatted his hand away before he could dip into the batter. "Absolutely not! You’ll ruin the measurements."

Mista chuckled, crossing his arms. "Man, you’re really serious about this, huh? What’s the occasion?"

"No occasion," Giorno answered smoothly, glancing at you. "Just something we wanted to do together."

Narancia made an exaggerated gagging noise. "Ugh, you guys are too cute. I might actually die."

You rolled your eyes, but Giorno only smirked. "Then perhaps you should leave before it gets worse."

Mista nudged Narancia. "C’mon, let’s get out of their hair before they kick us out. But we’re getting a slice when it’s done!"

"Yeah, yeah," Narancia muttered, throwing you both a playful grin before they finally left.

Once the cake was safely baking, the kitchen settled into a comfortable stillness, the only sounds being the occasional crackle of the oven and the faint hum of the world outside. The air was thick with the rich, sweet aroma of vanilla and butter, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You leaned against the counter beside Giorno, letting the warmth of the room seep into your skin.

Giorno reached for your hand, his fingers sliding between yours with an effortless grace. His touch was warm, steady, the gentle squeeze he gave almost absentminded yet filled with meaning. "We should do this more often," he murmured, his voice a quiet thread in the cozy silence.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze—soft, unwavering, full of something that made your heart feel impossibly light. You squeezed his hand in return, the corners of your lips curling into a small smile. "Yeah. We should."

A peaceful hush fell over the moment, both of you simply existing in the golden haze of the afternoon. The scent of the baking cake lingered in the air, mingling with the distant sound of birds outside. And in that fleeting instant—warm, quiet, filled with an unspoken tenderness—you realized that these were the moments you cherished most.

Chapter Text

The warmth of the blankets cocooned you, yet a shiver rattled your spine as you curled deeper into the bed. Your body ached, your throat felt raw, and your head throbbed in time with your own pulse. Being sick was always miserable, but there was at least one silver lining to this feverish haze: Enrico Pucci.

He had insisted on taking care of you the moment he noticed the exhaustion creeping into your movements, the glassy sheen in your eyes, and the sluggish way you responded to him. You had tried to assure him that it was just a passing cold, that you would be fine on your own, but Pucci had given you a look that silenced your protests immediately.

Now, he sat beside you, reading softly from a random book, his voice smooth and steady, lulling you into a fragile comfort. Every now and then, his hand reached out to gently press against your forehead, checking your temperature with a concerned frown.

“You’re still burning up,” he murmured, setting the book aside to soak a cloth in cool water. “You should have told me you weren’t feeling well earlier.”

You let out a weak chuckle, voice hoarse. “Didn’t want to bother you. You’re busy.”

He sighed, squeezing out the excess water before placing the damp cloth against your forehead. His touch was tender, careful, as if he feared hurting you. “Nothing is more important than you right now.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest, a different kind from the fever that plagued you. You watched him, eyes heavy-lidded, as he adjusted the blanket over you, ensuring you were comfortable. The usual solemnity in his expression softened into something gentler, something that made your heart stutter.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You hummed, barely able to shake your head. “Not hungry.”

Pucci pursed his lips but didn’t push. Instead, he reached for a bowl of soup he had prepared earlier, its warmth seeping through the ceramic. “Just a little, then. You need your strength.”

There was no arguing with him when he was like this, so you let him feed you a spoonful. The broth was mild but soothing against your sore throat. The simple act of him taking care of you made the food taste even better.

A content sigh left your lips, and Pucci smiled, a rare but breathtaking sight. “Good?”

You nodded, though the movement made you dizzy. He caught it immediately, shifting closer to steady you with a hand against your back. “Rest,” he urged. “I’ll be here.”

You blinked up at him, exhaustion making your vision blur at the edges. “Promise?”

His fingers traced over your knuckles, squeezing lightly. “I promise.”

There was something intimate in the quiet moment you shared. The world outside your feverish haze felt distant, inconsequential. All that mattered was the man beside you, his unwavering devotion, the way his thumb brushed over your skin in slow, soothing strokes.

“Pucci,” you murmured, barely above a whisper.

“Yes?”

You reached for him weakly, fingers brushing against his cheek. He hesitated, but only for a moment, before leaning into your touch. His eyes searched yours, unreadable yet soft, and when you tugged him just slightly closer, he understood.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary. His lips were warm, gentle, a stark contrast to the fever wracking your body. When he pulled away, his expression held something unspoken, something tender.

“Rest now,” he whispered, voice like a hymn. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

And with the warmth of his presence wrapped around you like a second blanket, you finally allowed yourself to drift into sleep, knowing that, in his care, you were safe.

Chapter Text

The room was thick with tension, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine and made the air feel heavier than it should. Risotto loomed over you, his crimson eyes dark with something unreadable, something dangerous. His voice was low, a quiet murmur that still carried weight as he spoke.

“You like getting under my skin, don’t you?”

Your lips curled into a slow smirk. “Maybe.”

The way his jaw tightened sent a thrill down your spine. It was exhilarating, testing his patience, seeing just how much he’d let you push before he snapped. You weren’t foolish enough to think you had any real control here—Risotto Nero wasn’t a man easily swayed. But you did enjoy the way his breath grew heavier, the way his fingers twitched like he was resisting the urge to act.

And then he did.

In a flash, you were backed against the nearest surface, his towering form caging you in. His hand found your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You should be careful with your actions next time,” he murmured, his voice a slow drawl, dangerous yet teasing. “I hope you’re ready for the consequences.”

You swallowed, heartbeat quickening, but you didn’t look away.

His eyes darkened, and before you could even process it, his lips crushed against yours, all restraint giving way to something deeper, something more consuming. His kiss was hard, possessive, claiming your mouth with an intensity that made your heart race. He didn’t pull away, didn’t give you the chance to catch your breath. His lips moved with urgency, almost as if he was trying to swallow you whole, and you let him.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer as your body instinctively arched into his. Every inch of you burned with desire, and every shift of his lips sent shivers racing through you. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, coaxing it open, and you parted your lips just enough for him to deepen the kiss.

There was no softness in the way he kissed you, no gentleness. It was all heat, all rawness, and you couldn’t get enough. The more he kissed you, the more your body responded, pressing into him as if you were desperate to be closer, to feel more of him.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped into his mouth at the sudden intensity of his touch. He took the opportunity to explore further, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a slow, languid push, as if savoring the moment. You met him eagerly, your own tongue tangling with his, matching the intensity of his movements.

His body pressed against yours, all sharp angles and solid muscle, and you could feel every inch of him, every tension in his frame. His breath was hot against your skin, and you could hear his own heart pounding in his chest, matching the rhythm of your own. The kiss deepened, becoming more feverish, more urgent with each passing second, as if neither of you could get enough.

You felt the heat between you growing, a fire that couldn’t be doused by anything but more. His hands slid from your waist to your hips, pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. You could feel his pulse quicken, the rise and fall of his chest matching your own, and it only made you crave more.

When he finally pulled away, both of you breathless, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his skin, the heat still radiating from him.

“You’re relentless,” he muttered, his voice ragged. “And yet, you make it impossible to stop.”

You could barely form words, your mouth still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. “Maybe I like it that way.”

His lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. “Good. Because we’re not done yet.”

Before you could react, he was kissing you again, harder this time, more insistent. He was stealing your breath away, kissing you like he needed you just as badly as you needed him, and you couldn’t stop yourself from responding, from pulling him closer, wanting more of him.

Chapter Text

“I DID IT! ”

Narancia practically launched himself out of his chair, sending his notebook flying across the room. His loud, triumphant yell echoed through the space, making you flinch before bursting into laughter.

“You really solved it?” you asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

He spun around to face you, his entire body vibrating with excitement as he pointed dramatically at the now-crumpled notebook on the floor. “YES! I FINALLY GOT IT! I BEAT THE STUPID MATH PROBLEM!”

You couldn’t help but grin at his pure enthusiasm. After struggling with the same equation for what felt like an eternity—going through multiple tantrums, pages ripped in frustration, and even an attempt to just “eyeball the answer”—Narancia had finally cracked it.

“See? I told you that you could do it!” you teased, nudging him lightly.

He beamed at you, practically glowing with pride. “I’M A FREAKIN’ GENIUS!”

You snorted. “Alright, Einstein, a deal’s a deal. You solve the problem, and I take you to McDonald’s.”

Narancia gasped, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “WAIT, you're serious? WE’RE REALLY GOING?”

You nodded, already grabbing your keys. “C’mon, let’s go celebrate.”

-

The moment you stepped into McDonald’s, Narancia’s excitement somehow increased tenfold. He practically skipped to the counter, eyes darting over the menu like he was planning out the biggest heist of his life.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his chin in exaggerated concentration. “I gotta make this count.”

You chuckled, leaning against the counter as you watched him debate. “You act like you won’t be back here again tomorrow.”

“ShhhshshhhhshshshSHUSH,” he hushed you dramatically, then turned back to the employee. “I’ll take… uh… a Big Mac, a large fry, ten nuggets, a milkshake—no, two milkshakes—and a Coke!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure you can eat all that?”

“Do you doubt my power?” he shot back, grinning as he puffed out his chest.

You shook your head with a fond sigh and placed your own order before leading Narancia to a booth. The moment the food arrived, he dug in like a man starved, shoving fries into his mouth at an alarming speed.

“This,” he said between bites, “is the taste of victory.”

You snorted. “More like the taste of too much salt.”

Narancia gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “How dare you insult our feast?!”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you watched him enjoy himself. He deserved this, after all the frustration and effort he put into solving that math problem.

“You know,” you said, resting your chin on your hand, “I’m proud of you, Nara.”

He nearly choked on his fry before looking at you with wide, surprised eyes. “You… you are?”

“Of course,” you said sincerely. “You worked really hard, and you didn’t give up—even when you really, really wanted to.”

His cheeks turned pink, and he scratched the back of his head, looking away with a shy smile. “Oh… thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.”

A comfortable silence settled between you two as you continued eating, but after a moment, Narancia’s mischievous grin returned.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Wanna race to see who can finish their milkshake first?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “You’re gonna give yourself brain freeze.”

“Not if I win first!”

And just like that, your wholesome celebration turned into a ridiculous, giggling contest of who could down a milkshake faster—because with Narancia, things could never stay quiet for too long.

Chapter Text

Naples in the late afternoon is dipped in honey — golden light spilling between buildings, soft shadows dancing across cobblestone, and the quiet hum of life buzzing in the background. It’s one of those rare, peaceful days where nothing’s trying to kill you, no gangsters are chasing you, and for once, you’re not worrying about what tomorrow brings.

You're sitting on the edge of a fountain in the piazza with Mista, gelato cups in hand, your knees bumping every so often as you chat about nothing important. He’s got a scoop of chocolate chip and lemon — a weird combo, but apparently he swears by it.

You sneak a peek at him as he talks, animated and loud, one hand flailing a bit too much while the other tries to keep his gelato from melting down his wrist. His laugh is open and real, and even though you’ve heard it a hundred times, it still makes your stomach flutter like a middle school crush.

“…and I’m tellin’ you, three is the perfect number of scoops,” he says, scooping a bite into his mouth. “Not two, not four — three. It’s lucky, it’s balanced, and most importantly—” He points his spoon at you like he’s making a grand speech. “— it’s not cursed .”

You raise a brow. “Cursed?”

He stops mid-chew. Swallows. “You’re not gonna tell me you don’t know about the number four.”

“I mean… it’s just a number?”

He gasps like you slapped him. “ Just a number?! Babe, babe . You can’t say that kind of stuff around me! Four is evil . It’s bad luck, it’s bad vibes—hell, I don’t even keep four bullets in my revolver if I can help it!”

You burst out laughing. “What do you do, throw one out just to be safe?”

He nods seriously. “If I load four and realize it too late, I immediately shoot one into the ground. Boom. Gone. Not today, Satan.”

You shake your head, still giggling, and lean a little closer. “Okay, so what happens if I eat four bites of gelato?”

He goes stiff. “Don’t mess with me like that.”

“Would you break up with me?”

“I—no! But I’d seriously consider making you walk in a circle three times to cleanse yourself.”

You try to hold back your grin, but he sees it, and his playful scowl deepens. “I’m serious , Y/N. Four is the reason people get hit by stray bullets.”

You hum teasingly. “I thought that was just because of you.”

He gapes at you, betrayed. “That’s cold.”

You both dissolve into laughter again. For a while, you just sit there in comfortable silence, listening to the bubbling of the fountain and the far-off sound of a Vespa engine somewhere in the distance.

Mista’s voice softens after a minute. “Y’know… I’m not used to this kinda peace.”

You glance over. “What kind?”

He gestures between you, between the empty gelato cups and the way your hands are brushing on the fountain ledge. “This. You. Me. Normal stuff.”

You take a breath, heart warming at how sincere he suddenly sounds. “Yeah. It’s weird, right? But good.”

“Yeah,” he says, his gaze lingering on you. “ Really good.”

You don’t say anything for a beat. Neither does he. The air changes, just a little — lighter, more delicate.

Then, from his shirt, you hear a tiny voice chirp:

“ Mista’s blushing again~! ”

Another one pipes up: “ You gonna kiss 'em or not? ”

“ DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! ”

Mista groans, tugging at his collar. “God, you guys are the worst. Shut up!”

“ Make us!! ”

You laugh, leaning a little closer. “They’re not wrong.”

He turns to you, wide-eyed. “Wait—are you actually —?”

You just smile, press your lips to the corner of his mouth, and linger there for a second before pulling back. “Consider it a thank you… for being ridiculous.”

Mista stares at you like he just short-circuited.

The Pistols erupt into chaos.

“ YEEEEEEAAHHH!! ”

“ FINALLY!! ”

“ I’M GONNA CRY WITH JOYYY!!! ”

He blinks, then groans, then breaks into a grin so wide it practically splits his face. “Okay, yeah. Best day ever. Even if you did almost curse us all with that four-bite gelato stunt.”

You bump his shoulder. “Hey. I kissed you. That should cancel it out.”

He shrugs, leaning back, all smug now. “True. You might be my good luck charm.”

“You gonna start carrying me around instead of bullets?”

“If I could, I would. But you wouldn’t fit in my holster.”

The sun dips lower, casting long shadows, but neither of you move. He slides his hand over yours on the ledge, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. It’s warm. Comforting. Familiar in a way you never thought a gun-slinging chaos guy like Mista could be.

And even though the world is far from perfect — and your lives are anything but normal — somehow, this moment feels just right.

Even if there are three empty cups and one tiny Pistols still sobbing into a napkin.

Chapter Text

 You wouldn’t have believed it if you weren’t living it: two worn-out riders, halfway through a race across the continent, huddled near a low-burning campfire in the middle of nowhere—trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle on a patch of canvas laid over dirt.

It was Johnny’s idea.

You’d been riding for hours in near silence, the heat dragging sweat from your back, the dust clinging to your clothes like a second skin. When he suggested stopping early for the night, you didn’t question it. Your body ached too much to care.

You expected the usual routine—unsaddle, set up a makeshift camp, eat something bland and dry, then pass out beneath the stars. But instead, Johnny dug into his pack and pulled out a small wooden box with faded lettering on the top: “500 Pieces – Mountain Lake at Sunset.” It looked ancient. A little pathetic.

“…Is that what I think it is?” you asked, squinting at the box like it might bite you.

Johnny was already lowering himself onto a blanket spread out beside the fire. “Yep.”

“A puzzle. Out here?”

He didn’t look at you, just started prying the box open. “Lady in the last town said I could take it off her hands. Said it was ‘missing some sky,’ whatever that means.”

You blinked. “We’re camping on rocks, eating jerky, and you thought—‘Hey, let’s do a puzzle?’”

Johnny looked up then, that tired half-smile pulling at his mouth. “Why not?”

And you couldn’t argue. Not when his voice was so quiet. Not when he looked that tired and human.

So you joined him, kneeling beside the fire, and together you upended the box onto the canvas. The pieces clattered like soft rain—worn cardboard edges, all faded colours and soft ridges. Some were bent. A few looked like they’d been chewed on. The sky pieces were nearly identical. You both groaned in unison.

“This is cursed,” you said, shaking your head.

He let out a laugh, one that sounded like it came from somewhere deeper than his chest. “We’ve faced worse.”

You sorted in silence for a while, the fire crackling beside you, the stars wheeling slowly above in the cold indigo sky. A breeze stirred the edges of the canvas, and Johnny reached out instinctively to pin it down with a flat palm. The firelight flickered across his cheekbones, catching in the angles of his face. He looked so different out here—softer, even with the scars.

Your knees pressed against his as you leaned in to examine a stubborn corner of the puzzle. Neither of you moved.

“How long’s it been since you just… did something for no reason?” you asked, trying to make sense of two nearly identical tree pieces.

He exhaled through his nose. “Before the race. Maybe before the accident.”

You looked at him then. He was watching the pieces, but something in his jaw had tightened. You could see it—a little flicker of the walls going up.

“You don’t have to answer,” you said, gently. “I just meant… I dunno. This is nice. Quiet.”

Johnny nodded once, slowly. “It is.”

The night deepened around you. Coyotes howled in the distance, sharp and echoing. The wind picked up just enough to make you both shiver, and without thinking, you scooted closer. Shoulder to shoulder now. Shared warmth.

Hours passed like molasses—slow and sweet and unexpectedly sticky. You talked a little, here and there. Swapped stories. Laughed when a piece fit in a place it absolutely didn’t belong. Cursed at the sky pieces.

“Who makes these?” Johnny muttered, scowling down at a sea of identical shades of pale blue.

“Someone with a personal vendetta against joy,” you answered, stifling a yawn.

The fire was nothing but glowing coals now. You were both draped in your coats, boots off, knees tucked to your chests. The puzzle was maybe half-done, a half-formed picture of something that felt a lot like peace.

Johnny let himself fall back onto the blanket, arms flung out beside him. He sighed up at the sky like he hadn’t breathed properly in days.

You followed, lying back beside him. The stars above looked like scattered pieces too, shining and distant and waiting to be understood.

“I like this,” you said quietly.

He turned his head just a little. “The puzzle?”

“No. Just… being here. With you. Not having to think about what comes next.”

He blinked slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “Think we’ll finish it?”

He chuckled, soft and dry. “Not a chance.”

Silence again. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his shoulder brushing yours, the soft rise and fall of his chest beside you.

“…But maybe that’s not the point,” he added.

You smiled. “Maybe not.”

And you stayed like that. Two riders on pause. The puzzle forgotten for now, but not abandoned. Just like the two of you—unfinished, rough around the edges, but slowly, piece by piece, becoming something more.

Chapter Text

The office was a shadowed haven, steeped in the musky scent of leather, ink, and Bruno Bucciarati’s cologne—a potent mix of sandalwood and raw authority that lingered like a promise. The single desk lamp cast a warm, amber glow, sculpting his sharp cheekbones and the glint of his golden hair clips into something almost divine. His suit jacket hung open, just enough to reveal a sliver of tanned skin, a faint sheen of sweat betraying the long hours he’d already poured into his work. Stacks of ledgers, maps, and coded notes sprawled across the mahogany desk, each page a testament to his role as Passione’s steadiest capo. His pen moved with lethal precision, scratching out numbers and directives, his brows furrowed in that unshakable focus that made him untouchable. Beyond the open window, Naples hummed faintly, a city asleep but never truly silent.

You lingered in the doorway, a vision in a crimson silk slip dress that clung to your curves like liquid sin. The fabric shimmered with every subtle shift, the hem barely kissing your thighs, teasing the black lace beneath—a deliberate choice, your armor for this game. Your bare feet were silent against the polished hardwood as you stepped inside, hips swaying with a confidence that matched the heat curling in your veins. Bruno hadn’t looked up, but you saw the telltale pause in his pen, the slight clench of his jaw. He knew you were there. He always did.

“Bruno,” you purred, voice a low, velvet blade slicing through the quiet. You leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing your legs so the silk rode up, exposing a smooth expanse of thigh. His pen stilled, but his eyes stayed glued to the ledger, those piercing blue irises hidden beneath dark lashes. The restraint was maddening, and you loved it. “Still slaving away? You’re gonna turn into one of these papers at this rate.”

He exhaled, a soft huff laced with amusement and the faintest edge of warning. “Duty doesn’t sleep, cara,” he said, voice smooth as aged bourbon, though his focus didn’t waver. “You should be in bed.” The barest quirk of his lips betrayed him—he knew exactly what you were doing, and he was already playing along.

“Bed’s boring without you.” You slid onto the desk, perching directly in front of him, your knees brushing his as you leaned back on your hands, letting the silk slip higher. This time, his eyes flicked up, a fleeting glance that traced the curve of your thigh before snapping back to his numbers. That split-second look was enough to ignite a spark in your core, a challenge accepted. “Come on, capo,” you teased, voice dripping with honeyed defiance. “All work and no play? That’s no way to live.”

His pen resumed its rhythm, but the tension in his shoulders screamed that he was listening. “You’re a distraction,” he murmured, no real bite in the words, though his free hand flexed on the arm of his chair, as if fighting the urge to grab you.

“Then make me leave.” You slid off the desk and into his lap in one fluid motion, straddling him, your thighs bracketing his hips. The chair creaked, and you felt the hard lines of his body beneath you, the warmth of him seeping through his slacks. Your hands found his shoulders, fingers curling into the crisp fabric of his shirt as you leaned in, lips hovering just shy of his. “Or are you too weak to say no, Bruno?”

His hands settled on your hips, firm and possessive, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles against the silk. The heat of his touch bled through the thin fabric, sending a shiver up your spine. “You’re playing a dangerous game, tesoro,” he said, voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr that made your pulse race. His eyes met yours, dark and smoldering, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Think you can break me?”

“Let’s find out.” You rolled your hips, a slow, purposeful grind that pressed you against the growing hardness in his slacks. His breath hitched, a sharp intake that sent a thrill through you, but—infuriatingly—he reached past you, grabbing the ledger and flipping it open with one hand, the other still gripping your hip. He resumed writing, the scratch of the pen steady, as if you weren’t unraveling him inch by inch.

“Focus, cara,” he mocked, voice a sinful murmur as his free hand slid beneath the hem of your dress, fingers grazing the lace of your underwear with a touch so light it was torturous. “You wanted to play. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

You bit your lip, torn between indignation and the molten heat pooling between your thighs. He was turning your game against you, stroking you with agonizing precision while calculating shipment profits like you weren’t trembling in his lap. Two could play dirty. You leaned forward, lips brushing his ear, your breath hot and teasing. “You think you’re so untouchable,” you whispered, nipping his earlobe as your hands slid down his chest, tugging at his belt. The buckle gave way with a soft clink, and you palmed him through his slacks, feeling him twitch under your touch. “But you’re already breaking.”

His pen faltered, ink smudging a line, and you grinned, victorious. “Careful,” you purred, freeing him from his slacks, your fingers wrapping around his length—hot, heavy, and already straining for you. The low groan he let slip was raw, unguarded, and it fueled you. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your precious work.”

“Merda,” he muttered, the ledger forgotten as his free hand gripped your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh. His other hand slipped beneath your lace, stroking you directly now, each movement precise and unrelenting, sending sparks of pleasure through you. You gasped, your rhythm faltering, and he smirked, eyes glinting with dark amusement. “What’s wrong, tesoro? Can’t handle a little multitasking?”

“Not a chance.” You lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance, sinking down just enough to take him in, the stretch exquisite and overwhelming. His head tipped back, a guttural sound escaping him as you moved, slow at first, savoring the way he filled you completely. The desk creaked, papers crinkling beneath you as your pace quickened, chasing the friction that set your nerves alight.

Bruno’s control was fraying, his writing reduced to erratic scratches as you rode him, each roll of your hips drawing a curse from his lips. But he wasn’t done playing. He surged forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all hunger and dominance, his tongue claiming you with the same precision he’d used on his ledgers. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make you moan into his mouth, while the other slipped between you, fingers circling your clit with devastating skill.

“Bruno—” Your voice broke, pleasure coiling tight in your core. He thrust up to meet you, the rhythm punishing, each movement driving you closer to the edge. The office was a wreck—papers scattered, a wine glass tipped over, its contents pooling red across the desk like a crime scene. You didn’t care. All that mattered was the heat of his body, the way his lips devoured yours, the way he pushed you toward oblivion.

You came first, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashed through you, your body trembling in his grip. He followed moments later, a low, primal groan rumbling through him as he spilled inside you, his hands bruising on your hips. For a moment, you both stilled, panting, foreheads pressed together, the aftershocks rippling through you.

But Bruno wasn’t finished. His eyes, still dark with hunger, locked onto yours as he slid his hands under your thighs, lifting you off his lap with effortless strength. “Up,” he commanded, voice rough but laced with that velvet warmth that made your knees weak. You barely had time to process before he spun you around, pushing you forward until your palms hit the desk, your back arching instinctively as he pressed himself against you from behind. The silk dress was bunched around your waist, your lace underwear shoved aside, and the cool wood against your overheated skin sent a shiver through you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing you down until your chest grazed the scattered papers. His tone was sweet, almost tender, but the words were laced with a delicious edge of condescension. “So desperate for me you couldn’t wait five minutes. Pathetic, cara, but so very pretty like this.”

Your cheeks burned, a mix of embarrassment and arousal flooding you at his words. You opened your mouth to retort, but his hand fisted in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, his lips brushing your ear. “No talking back,” he said, still sweet, still cruel. “You wanted to be a brat, now take what you’ve earned.”

He thrust into you without warning, deep and unrelenting, and you gasped, fingers scrabbling at the desk for purchase. The angle was devastating, each movement hitting spots that made your vision blur, your body already hypersensitive from your earlier climax. Papers crunched beneath you, ink smearing across your skin as he set a brutal pace, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you in place.

“Such a messy little thing,” he continued, voice low and honeyed, each word punctuated by a thrust that drove the air from your lungs. “Ruining my work, my desk, my focus. But you love this, don’t you? Being taken apart by your capo.”

“Yes,” you managed, voice trembling, the admission spilling out as pleasure coiled tight again, faster this time. His words were unraveling you as much as his body, the sweet degradation sinking into your bones like a drug.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Capo."

“Good girl,” he purred, and the praise hit harder than the insults, sending a fresh wave of heat through you. His hand slipped around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts until you were shaking, your second climax building with terrifying speed. “Come for me again, tesoro. Show me how much you need this.”

You did, your body obeying before your mind could catch up, a broken moan escaping as you shattered beneath him. He groaned, low and possessive, following you over the edge once more, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep. For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breaths, the faint drip of wine hitting the floor, the distant hum of Naples outside.

He pulled out slowly, his hands gentle now as he helped you stand, turning you to face him. Your legs were jelly, your dress a crumpled mess, and he chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-damp forehead. “You’re trouble,” he said, voice soft, the earlier cruelty gone, replaced by a warmth that made your chest ache.

You grinned, still catching your breath, and leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “And you’re a tyrant.” You glanced at the desk—ledgers ruined, wine pooling, papers stuck to your skin—and smirked. “Good luck explaining this to the gang.”

He sighed, though his eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed the chaos. “Worth it,” he said, pulling you close, his lips brushing your temple. “But next time, cara, you’re working overtime to make up for this.”

You laughed, already plotting your next move as you sauntered toward the door, tossing a wink over your shoulder. “Only if you beg, capo.”

His rich, unguarded laughter followed you into the hall, and you knew he’d be thinking of you long after the desk was cleaned.

Chapter Text

Your Naples apartment feels like a haven, a quiet escape from Passione’s relentless underworld. Soft streetlight spills through the curtains, painting the cluttered living room in warm gold. On the coffee table, a half-empty bottle of red wine sits beside two glasses, one marked with your lip print. The air hums with the low, mournful croon of an Italian ballad spinning on Leone Abbacchio’s cherished turntable, the needle gliding smoothly over the vinyl.

You’re sprawled on the couch, barefoot, legs tucked beneath you, swirling your wine glass with a lazy flick of your wrist. “You know, Leone,” you say, shooting him a teasing grin, “I’m starting to think you only own records that sound like they’re crying over a lost love.”

Abbacchio lounges in the armchair across from you, looking unfairly good in his off-duty slouch—black tank top, silver hair loose and slightly mussed, a faint wine-flush on his cheeks. He snorts, arching a brow. “Maybe I just have taste,” he drawls. “Unlike someone who tried to sneak that pop trash onto my turntable last week.”

You gasp, clutching your chest in mock offense. “It was one song! And it was catchy!”

“It was a crime,” he deadpans, but the corner of his mouth twitches, a rare smile threatening to break through.

Your laughter rings out, bright against the record’s moody tempo. You set your glass down and stand, swaying slightly to the music. The wine’s loosened you up, and the slow, soulful melody is too tempting to ignore. You move to the center of the room, hips swaying, arms drifting like you’re dancing with an invisible partner.

Abbacchio’s eyes follow you, heavy-lidded but sharp, tracking every sway. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice low, almost lost in the music.

“Dancing, obviously,” you reply, spinning lightly on your toes. “Come on, don’t just sit there brooding. Join me.”

He scoffs, sipping his wine. “I don’t dance.”

“Liar.” You step closer, leaning down until your face is inches from his, eyes locked. “I saw you at Bruno’s birthday thing. You’ve got moves, Leone. Don’t play shy.”

His eyes narrow, a spark of something playful and dangerous flickering in them. “You’re pushing it,” he warns, voice rough.

“Maybe I like pushing it,” you whisper, smirking before straightening and swaying back to the music. You know exactly what you’re doing—teasing Abbacchio is an art, and you’re damn good at it.

The record shifts to a slower, more intimate track, the kind that pulls the room in tight. Abbacchio sets his glass down with a deliberate clink and stands in one fluid motion. Your pulse quickens as he crosses the room, his presence commanding despite the casual setting. He stops just shy of you, close enough that you can feel his warmth.

“Fine,” he says, voice like gravel. “But don’t complain when I step on your feet.”

Before you can fire back, his hand finds your waist, firm yet careful, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. His other hand catches yours, guiding you into a slow, swaying rhythm. Your breath catches as he pulls you closer, your bodies brushing with each step. Abbacchio’s no show-off, but he moves with quiet confidence, leading you effortlessly to the music’s pulse.

“You’re not bad at this,” you murmur, looking up at him. His face is close, silver hair falling into his eyes, and the faint scent of wine and his cologne makes your head spin more than the alcohol.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he mutters, but his grip tightens slightly, his thumb grazing your hip in a way that feels intentional. “You’re not terrible either.”

“High praise,” you tease, but your voice softens, the air between you growing thick. The music wraps you both in its spell, and for a moment, Passione, your missions, the world outside—it all fades away.

Abbacchio’s hand slides lower, resting just above the curve of your hip, his fingers warm through your shirt. He leans in, his breath brushing your ear as he speaks, voice a low rumble. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’re not gonna finish this dance, cara.”

A shiver runs through you, but you tilt your head to meet his gaze, bold despite the heat creeping up your neck. “Maybe I don’t want to finish it,” you whisper, lips curling into a challenge.

His eyes darken, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. In one smooth motion, he spins you, pulling you flush against him, your back to his chest. His arms wrap around your waist, holding you close as you sway together, the movement more intimate than any formal step. “Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Your heart pounds, but you lean into him, tilting your head to brush your cheek against his. “I can handle you, Leone.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, vibrating through you. “We’ll see about that.”

The record plays on, but the dance has become something else—something charged, teetering between sweet and spicy. Abbacchio’s hands stay firm, grounding you even as his touch sends sparks across your skin. When the song ends, he doesn’t let go, and you don’t pull away. Instead, you turn in his arms, looking up at him with a soft, unguarded smile.

“Another song?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Abbacchio’s gaze softens, just for a moment, before his smirk returns. “Only if you behave.”

“No promises,” you reply, and as the next track begins, you pull him back into the dance, the night stretching out with endless possibilities.

Chapter Text

The cabin was a cocoon of warmth, its air thick with the resinous scent of burning cedar logs and the faint, musky tang of Gyro’s cedarwood-and-leather body spray, a self-proclaimed “cowboy elixir” he’d spritzed on with a theatrical flourish. The fireplace roared, its flames licking at the hearth, casting a molten glow that danced across the knotty pine walls. 

Shadows flickered over a cluttered shelf where Gyro’s prized possessions sat: a battered cowboy hat, its brim curled from wear, and a tangle of cables for his phone, which leaned against a mason jar, looping a Spotify playlist of twangy outlaw ballads. The music’s low, gritty chords mingled with the fire’s crackle, a primal underscore to the night. A plush flannel blanket, soft as worn denim, sprawled across the hardwood floor before the hearth, its edges littered with the detritus of your evening: crumpled taco truck bags, their grease stains glinting in the firelight, a bottle of reposado tequila with a chipped cork, two shot glasses etched with cacti, and a scattering of lime-dusted tortilla chip crumbs that crunched underfoot. Outside, the autumn wind wailed, rattling the cabin’s windows, but inside, the heat was suffocating, the air heavy with the promise of something raw and untamed.

You sat hunched on the blanket, your bare legs folded beneath you, swallowed by Gyro’s oversized hoodie, its faded navy fabric brushing the tops of your thighs. The hoodie’s sleeves dangled past your wrists, the cuffs frayed from Gyro’s habit of chewing them during late-night Netflex binges. Its fabric carried his scent—leather, citrus, and a faint whiff of sweat—that wrapped around you like a second skin. Your fingers fidgeted with the hoodie’s drawstrings, twisting them into tight spirals as your mind churned. You were a project manager, neck-deep in a client’s last-minute demands: a botched campaign pitch, with your mockup slides mocked in a snarky Slack thread; a passive-aggressive email from your team lead, her “ASAP” in all caps; a looming deadline for a product launch that felt like a guillotine. 

Even here, in Gyro’s rustic escape, your brain was a battlefield, replaying every mistake. “If I don’t redo those slides by Sunday, I’m done for,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the fire’s pop. “And Jen’s gonna tear me apart in that review. God, why did I send that draft?” Your teeth sank into your lower lip, the skin already raw.

Gyro lounged beside you, one leg bent, his lean frame sprawled with the lazy confidence of a man who knew he owned the room. His flannel shirt, a deep burgundy check, hung open to his navel, revealing a tanned chest sculpted from years of rodeo stunts and gym flexes. 

His cowboy hat tipped back, exposing wild blond waves that framed a jaw sharp enough to carve stone, and his green eyes glinted under thick lashes, watching you with a mix of amusement and predatory hunger. A gold grill flashed on his canine when he grinned. He’d been scrolling through his phone, chuckling at something now and then, but now he tossed it onto the couch with a theatrical huff, the device skidding across the leather cushions. He grabbed his tequila shot, the amber liquid catching the firelight, and downed it, his throat bobbing as he slammed the glass down with a sharp clink.

“Pfft, Y/N,” he drawled, his Italian accent thick with charm, rolling over you like molasses. “You’re mumblin’ about work so loud. What’s got you all knotted up, huh? Some desk jockey ridin’ your ass about deadlines?” He shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours, the denim of his jeans rough against your bare skin. 

His hand landed on your knee, calloused fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles, the warmth of his touch sparking a shiver that coiled low in your belly. “Spill it, tesoro. Or you want me to guess what’s got my pretty little workaholic so damn twitchy?”

You swatted his hand, the motion half-hearted, your cheeks flushing. “It’s not funny, Gyro,” you snapped, your voice tight, frayed. “I fucked up a pitch deck—sent it with half the slides blank. Jen’s gonna have my head on a spike, and the client’s already pissed. I’ve got no time to fix this before Monday.” You rubbed your temples, the pressure behind your eyes throbbing. “I’m so screwed, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Gyro’s grin softened, but his eyes stayed sharp, glinting like a coyote’s in the firelight. “Screwed? Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be fine, trust me.” He grabbed your chin, firm but gentle, tilting your face to meet his, his thumb brushing your lower lip, lingering until your breath hitched. “Look at you, frettin’ over PowerPoints when you’re practically sittin’ in my lap. You think I’m gonna let that busy brain of yours ruin our night?” His voice was low, filthy, each word dripping with heat that made your core clench.

“Gyro, I’m serious,” you protested, but your voice wavered, his touch unraveling your resolve.

“Serious?” He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear, his stubble grazing your skin. “I’m serious ‘bout how I’m gonna have you screamin’ my name instead of whinin’ about your boss. You’re my needy little mess, darlin’, and I’m gonna fuck that stress right outta you.” He pulled you onto his lap fully, swift and possessive, your thighs straddling his hips, the hoodie riding up to expose the soft curve of your ass. 

His hands slid under the fabric, fingers digging into your hips as he ground you down against him, the hard ridge of his cock pressing through his jeans, unmistakable and demanding. “Feel that?” he purred, his grin all teeth and sin. “That’s what you’re dealin’ with tonight, not some fuckass email.”

You gasped, hands grabbing his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through the flannel. Your mind flickered back to work—Jen’s email, the blank slides—but Gyro’s touch was a wildfire, burning through your thoughts. “Gyro, I can’t just—” you started, but he cut you off, one hand cupping your face, his thumb pressing against your lips.

“Can’t what?” he teased, his voice a low growl. “Can’t stop bein’ a desperate workaholic? Too bad, ‘cause you’re mine now, and I’m gonna make you forget every damn spreadsheet.” He kissed you, rough and ravenous, his tongue claiming your mouth, tasting of tequila and smoke. His stubble scraped your chin, the burn delicious, and you moaned, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. “Fuck, there’s my dirty girl,” he murmured, pulling back to smirk at the dazed heat in your eyes. “Knew you were hidin’ under all that corporate crap.”

He flipped you onto your back with a practiced twist, the blanket’s soft flannel cradling your spine, the fire’s heat licking at your exposed skin. He shoved the hoodie up, bunching it above your navel, revealing the smooth plane of your stomach, the flare of your hips, and the black lace thong you’d worn, a secret hope for exactly this. 

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his eyes raking over you, dark with want. “Look at you, all wrapped up like a needy little slut just for me. Bet you wore this thinkin’ ‘bout my mouth, didn’t you?” His tone was playful, adoring, each degrading word laced with heat that made your thighs press together.

“Shut up,” you shot back, half-embarrassed, your cheeks burning, but his laugh was low, filthy, vibrating through you.

“How sassy,” he said, hooking his fingers in your thong and ripping it down, the lace tearing with a soft snap. “Talkin’ back like you ain’t already drippin’ for me. Let’s see how mouthy you are when I’m eatin’ you out like the desperate troia you are.” He tossed the thong into the fire’s shadows, the fabric vanishing in the dim. His hands spread your thighs, rough palms searing your skin, the calluses from his rodeo days scraping deliciously. 

He settled between your legs, his breath hot against your slick folds, the scent of your arousal mingling with the fire’s smoke. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned, his voice thick, almost reverent. “So good for me, gettin’ this wet just from my voice.”

“Gyro, please,” you whimpered, the degradation hitting like a drug, your hips twitching toward his mouth.

“Please what?” he taunted, his lips brushing your clit, a featherlight tease that made you jerk. “Use that big brain, city girl. Tell my dirty little workaholic what she needs from me.” His fingers traced your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you ached.

“Stop fucking teasing,” you snapped, voice shaky, desperate. “Eat me out, Gyro, please.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your core. “That’s my girl,” he said, then dove in, his tongue flattening against your clit in a slow, devastating lick that tore a moan from your throat. The wet heat of his mouth was electric, his tongue circling your clit with precise, punishing flicks, each one sending a jolt through your nerves. His stubble scraped your inner thighs, the burn a sharp contrast to the slick softness of his lips, and you bucked, hands scrabbling at the blanket, nails catching in the flannel’s weave. “Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he groaned, sucking your clit into his mouth, rolling it until your vision blurred. “My perfect Y/N, fallin’ apart already.”

“Gyro—god,” you gasped, your voice breaking, and he pulled back just enough to grin, his lips glistening, his gold grill flashing in the firelight.

“God ain’t here, darlin’,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, burning with mischief. “Just me, and my needy little thing screamin’ my name. You love this, don’t you? Bein’ my messy little slut, all spread out for my tongue.” He licked deeper, his tongue plunging into you, curling to stroke every nerve, the wet, obscene slurp of his mouth drowning out the fire’s crackle.

Your moans were raw, desperate, filling the cabin, and Gyro drank them in, his hands pinning your thighs wide, fingers digging into your flesh, leaving crescent marks you’d feel tomorrow.

“Fuck, yes,” you managed, your mind fraying, work dissolving into a distant hum. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Stop?” he mocked, sucking your clit hard, making your hips jolt. “My dirty girl thinks she’s callin’ shots? You’re mine, sweetheart, and I’m gonna make you come till you forget what work even is.” His fingers joined in, two sliding inside you, thick and curling to hit that spot that made your back arch. The stretch was perfect, his knuckles grazing your walls, and he pumped them in time with his tongue, the rhythm relentless—slow and teasing, then fast and brutal, keeping you on the edge. “Guardati, prendi le mie dita come una brava piccola sgualdrina,*” he panted, his breath hot against you. “So fuckin’ wet, you’re makin’ a mess of my blanket.” 

Your thighs trembled, trying to close, but Gyro’s hands forced them open, his grip bruising. “Nuh-uh, stay spread,” he growled. “My pretty mess doesn’t get to hide. Let me see that pussy, all swollen and beggin’ for me.” He was merciless, his tongue flicking your clit, his fingers pumping, the pressure building so fast it was dizzying. Your first orgasm hit like a storm, ripping through you, your scream echoing off the cabin walls as your body convulsed, thighs clamping around his head. You gushed against his mouth, and he groaned, lapping you up, his tongue slowing but never stopping, dragging you into overstimulation.

You squirmed, oversensitive, your hands pushing at his shoulders, nails scraping his skin. “Gyro, fuck—too much,” you sobbed, tears pricking your eyes, but he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, his grin feral, lips slick with you.

“Too much?” he taunted, licking a slow, torturous stripe up your clit, making you writhe. “My needy little slut’s cryin’ now, but you’re still soakin’ my face. You love this, don’t you? Love bein’ my overstimulated little mess.” His tongue was relentless, circling your clit, each touch a spark against raw nerves. The overstimulation was brutal—pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain—and you were shaking, a second climax building faster, harder. “Come on, darlin’,” he growled, three fingers now, stretching you, filling you. “Gimme another one. Show me how good my perfect slut is.”

“Gyro, I—I can’t,” you whimpered, voice hoarse, but your hips betrayed you, grinding against his mouth.

“You can.” he laughed, sucking your clit hard, fingers twisting. “Tu lo farai, e tu urlerai per me**. Look at you, my dirty little thing, fallin’ apart again.” Your second orgasm crashed through you, raw and overwhelming, your scream jagged as you came, your body shaking, vision blacking out. You gushed again, and Gyro moaned, licking you through it, his grip on your wrists bruising, his mouth insatiable.

You were a wreck, trembling, mind utterly blank—no work, no stress, just a buzzing, sated void. But Gyro wasn’t done. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin smug, triumphant, his chin glistening. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said, shedding his jeans in one fluid motion, his cock springing free—thick, veined, leaking precum that glistened in the firelight. 

“Round two, sweetheart,” he said, crawling over you, his lips crashing into yours. You tasted yourself—musky, tart—on his tongue, and it sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “My fucked-out little Y/N’s too empty-headed to think, but I’m gonna make sure.”

“Gyro, I—fuck, It feels so good,” you whispered, still reeling, your voice shaky, but he kissed you again, slower, his tongue teasing, his grill cool against your lips.

“Yeah?” he murmured, lining up, the tip of his cock brushing your entrance, making you whimper. “Oh, how sweet. You’re takin’ this cock like the good girl you are.” He thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt in one rough snap, the stretch so intense you screamed, your nails raking his back. He groaned, stilling to let you adjust, his breath ragged against your neck. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered. “My perfect little mess, grippin’ me like you were made for this.”

“Gyro—please,” you gasped, barely coherent, your body screaming for more despite the overstimulation.

“Please what?” he teased, starting to move, his thrusts deep, relentless, each one dragging against your walls, hitting that spot that made you see stars. “You want more? Look at you, takin’ my cock so well, all fucked out and still beggin’.” His hands gripped your hips, lifting you to meet him, the angle brutal, the wet slap of skin filling the cabin. “No thoughts left, huh?” he panted, his grill flashing as he grinned. “Just my cock, stuffin’ my perfect little tesoro.”

“Yes,” you moaned, clinging to him, your nails leaving red trails down his back. “Just you—fuck, Gyro.”

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his thumb finding your clit, circling, the overstimulation pushing you toward a third orgasm, your body trembling, nerves frayed. “Cum for me again, darlin’. Show me how good you are.” He bit your neck, sucking hard, leaving marks, and his thrusts grew erratic, his control slipping.

You came again, your cry hoarse, your body convulsing as you clenched around him, the pleasure so intense it whited out your vision. Gyro cursed, his rhythm faltering, and with a final, desperate thrust, he came, spilling inside you, hot and thick, his groan raw as he shuddered. 

You collapsed together, sweaty, tangled in the blanket, the fire down to glowing embers, casting a soft light over Gyro’s flushed face, his hat long forgotten.

He pulled you close, one arm slung possessively across your waist, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. His breath was warm against your temple, his grill cool when he kissed your forehead. “Still thinkin’ about work?” he murmured, his voice hoarse, a smug edge to it.

You shook your head, your mind gloriously empty, a warm, buzzing haze. “Not a fucking chance,” you whispered, voice raw, and he chuckled, the sound low and satisfied.

“Good,” he said, nuzzling your hair, his tone soft but still teasing. “My perfect girl finally relaxed. But if that brain starts whirrin’ again, I’m goin’ for four.”

Chapter Text

The ancient chamber was a cavern of power and shadow, its stone walls carved with intricate reliefs of gods and warriors, illuminated by the flickering glow of torches. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the faint, metallic tang of blood, a constant reminder of the sacrifices offered to the Pillar Men. You knelt on the cold stone floor, your heart pounding, your body thrumming with anticipation. As Kars’ favorite servant, you were accustomed to his attention, but tonight, his presence was a force of nature, pressing against you, igniting a fire in your core that made your knees weak.

Kars stood before you, a god incarnate, his crimson eyes glowing with an otherworldly hunger that pinned you in place. His long, purple hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing a face both beautiful and terrifying, its sharp angles softened by the cruel curve of his lips. His skin shimmered faintly, a hallmark of his vampiric Pillar Man nature, and his muscular frame was barely contained by the ornate, gold-trimmed armor that clung to his body. His presence was overwhelming, a mix of dominance and allure that made your breath catch and your thighs clench.

“Look at me, pet,” Kars commanded, his voice a low, velvety growl that slithered down your spine. You lifted your gaze, meeting his eyes, and the raw desire in them sent a shiver through you. He stepped closer, his bare feet silent against the stone, and tilted your chin up with a clawed finger, the sharp tip grazing your skin without breaking it. His touch was cool, almost glacial, yet it set your nerves ablaze. “You’ve served me well, but tonight, I want more than your loyalty. I want your complete surrender.”

Your lips parted, your voice trembling but fervent. “My lord, I’m yours—body, soul, everything. Use me as you please.”

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, revealing the sharp points of his fangs, glinting like polished ivory. “Such a devoted little thing,” he purred, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, coaxing it open. “Let’s see if that mouth of yours can worship me as well as you claim.”

He guided you to stay on your knees, his strength effortless as he unfastened the lower half of his armor. The metal clinked softly as it fell away, revealing the chiseled planes of his abdomen and the thick, throbbing length of his cock. It was as perfect as the rest of him—long, girthy, with a faint, otherworldly sheen that hinted at his supernatural nature. The sight made your mouth water, your core aching with need as you leaned forward, your hands trembling as you wrapped them around his shaft. His skin was cool, silken, and heavy, pulsing with a vitality that felt almost alive.

“Go on, pet,” Kars said, his tone laced with dark amusement and command. “Show your god how much you crave his favor.”

You pressed a tentative kiss to the tip, tasting the sharp, salty bead of precum that glistened there. The flavor was intense, almost metallic, a reminder of his vampiric essence. Kars let out a low growl, his clawed hand tangling in your hair, urging you to take him deeper. You parted your lips, taking him into your mouth, your tongue swirling along the underside of his cock, savoring the cool, smooth texture. His taste was intoxicating, primal, and distinctly otherworldly, setting him apart from any human. You worked him slowly at first, your lips stretching around his girth, but Kars was not one for patience.

“Deeper,” he growled, his voice rough with lust. “Choke on your god’s cock.”

You obeyed, relaxing your throat and pushing forward, taking him deeper until your lips were stretched wide, your nose brushing the dark hair at his base. The effort made your eyes water, your throat constricting around his length as you deepthroated him, the sensation overwhelming but exhilarating. Kars groaned, a deep, primal sound that sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. 

His grip tightened, his claws scraping lightly against your scalp, guiding your movements with a dominance that left no room for hesitation. You gagged softly, the sound muffled around his cock, but it only seemed to spur him on.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hissed, his hips rocking forward, thrusting into your throat with a controlled force that made your head spin. “Look at you, so eager to please me. Such a filthy little mouth, made for your lord.”

You moaned around him, the vibration drawing another growl from his chest. Your hands gripped his thighs, feeling the hard muscle beneath his cool skin, and you bobbed your head, taking him deep with every stroke. Saliva dripped down your chin, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps when he allowed you air. You pushed yourself further, your throat constricting around him, your tongue working frantically to please him. The coolness of his skin contrasted with the heat of your mouth, and the way he pulsed against your tongue made your core throb with need.

“You’re doing well, pet,” Kars purred, his voice thick with pleasure. “But I want more. I want to see you struggle for me.”

He thrust deeper, holding you in place as your throat spasmed around him, your gag reflex kicking in. Tears streamed down your face, but the way he looked at you—his crimson eyes blazing with approval—made the discomfort worth it. You wanted to please him, to be his perfect servant, his favorite. Just as you felt him twitch, a sign he was close, he yanked you off him with a wet pop, leaving you panting, your lips swollen and slick.

“Good girl,” he said, his tone dripping with sadistic satisfaction. “You’ve earned a reward for that pretty mouth of yours. But I’m going to fuck you until you see stars, woman. You’ll beg for me before I’m done.”

He hauled you to your feet, his strength effortless, and spun you around, pressing your back against the obsidian altar at the chamber’s center. The stone was cold against your skin, biting into your breasts as he bent you over, your hips tilted up in offering. Your simple servant’s dress—thin, white linen that clung to your curves—was no barrier to him. With a flick of his wrist, he tore it apart, the fabric ripping with a sound that echoed in the chamber. You gasped as the cool air kissed your bare skin, your nipples hardening instantly, but it was Kars’ gaze that made you tremble—his eyes devoured you, lingering on the curve of your ass, the glistening heat between your thighs.

“Exquisite,” he murmured, his claws trailing lightly over your hips, leaving faint red lines that stung deliciously. “A perfect vessel for your god’s pleasure.” He stepped closer, his cool body pressing against your back, and you felt the hard length of his cock against your thigh, still slick from your mouth. “Tell me, pet, how badly do you want me?”

“Please, my lord,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. “I need you—need your cock inside me. Fuck me, please, make me yours.”

He chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “Such a needy little slut,” he said, his fingers dipping between your thighs to find you dripping with arousal. He teased your clit with slow, deliberate circles, his touch maddeningly light. “But you’ll only come when I allow it. Beg for it properly.”

“Please, Kars,” you sobbed, your hips bucking against his hand. “I’m yours—fuck me, ruin me, please.”

He didn’t make you wait long. With a single, brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, his cock stretching you to the point of delicious pain. You cried out, your hands scrabbling against the altar as he filled you completely, his length hitting deep, brushing that spot inside you that made your vision blur. His vampiric strength made every thrust punishing, his hips slamming against your ass with a force that rocked your entire body. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin filled the chamber, his growls mingling with your moans as he fucked you with a ferocity that left you breathless.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Kars growled, his hands gripping your hips, his claws drawing tiny beads of blood that he leaned down to lick away. The sensation of his tongue, cool and wet, against the small wounds sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, making your walls clench around him. “This cunt was made for me, wasn’t it? Say it.”

“It’s yours,” you gasped, your voice breaking as he drove into you. “My pussy, my body, my blood—everything is yours, my lord.”

He rewarded your words with a particularly deep thrust, making you scream. His pace was relentless, each thrust pushing you higher, your body trembling as you chased the release he controlled. His hand slid around to your clit, his fingers rubbing tight, precise circles that had you sobbing with need. But just as you felt the coil of pleasure tighten, ready to snap, he slowed, his fingers pulling away, leaving you teetering on the edge.

“No,” he said, his tone cruel and teasing. “You don’t get to come yet. You’ll have to earn it.”

You whimpered, tears of frustration prickling your eyes as he resumed his slow, torturous thrusts. “Please,” you begged, your voice hoarse. “I can’t—please, my lord, let me come.”

He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his fangs grazing your neck. “You’ll come when I’m ready to reward you,” he murmured, his breath cool and sharp. Without warning, he bit down, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood. 

The pain was sharp, electric, mingling with the pleasure of his cock still moving inside you. He lapped at the blood, his tongue swirling over the bite, and the sensation pushed you to the edge again, your body trembling with the effort to obey his command.

He tortured you with denial, bringing you to the brink over and over, only to pull back, his laughter dark and mocking as you sobbed and begged. Your body was shaking, your mind hazy with need, but Kars was relentless, his control absolute. Finally, when you thought you’d lose your mind, he gripped your throat, his claws resting lightly against your pulse, and growled, “Now, pet. Come for your god. Let me see you shatter.”

The command broke you. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision whiting out as your body convulsed around him, your walls clenching so tight it drew a guttural groan from his chest. The pleasure was blinding, stars bursting behind your eyes as you screamed his name, your voice echoing off the stone walls. 

Kars didn’t stop, fucking you through every wave, his cock pulsing as he chased his own release. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep, his cum flooding you, the warmth of it mixing with your own slick as he marked you from the inside out.

He stayed inside you, his chest heaving against your back, his fangs grazing your neck as he lapped at the blood still seeping from his bite. The sensation prolonged your aftershocks, your body trembling beneath him, utterly spent. When he finally pulled out, you collapsed against the altar, your legs too weak to hold you, the slow drip of his cum leaking from your core a reminder of his claim.

Kars knelt beside you, his crimson eyes softening slightly as he brushed a strand of hair from your sweat-dampened face. “You’ve pleased me, my favorite,” he said, his voice low and sated, though the edge of dominance remained. “Your reward was fitting, was it not?”

“Yes, my lord,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, your body still trembling with aftershocks. “Thank you.”

He smirked, his fangs glinting in the torchlight. “Rest now, pet. You’ll need your strength for the next time I call for you.”

As you lay there, your body aching and your mind swimming in the haze of pleasure, you knew you were his—bound to him by desire, devotion, and the blood he’d tasted. And you would serve him, again and again, for as long as he deemed you worthy.

Chapter Text

The bathroom was a haze of steam, the air thick with the scent of eucalyptus from the body wash you’d both been using. The shower’s glass door was fogged over, droplets racing down its surface as the hot water cascaded from the overhead nozzle. You stood under the spray, letting it soothe the tension in your shoulders, the warmth seeping into your skin.

Leone Abbacchio leaned against the tiled wall, his silver hair plastered to his forehead, water tracing the sharp lines of his jaw and the lean muscles of his chest. His violet-and-amber eyes glinted with something dangerous, a hunger that made your pulse quicken.

“You’re taking up all the water,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, laced with that familiar edge of sarcasm. He pushed off the wall, closing the small distance between you in the cramped shower stall. His height loomed over you, his presence commanding even in the intimate space.

“Then share,” you shot back, tilting your head to meet his gaze, a playful challenge in your tone. You reached for the bottle of body wash, but his hand caught your wrist, his grip firm but not painful.

The heat of his touch rivaled the water’s warmth, sending a shiver down your spine despite the steam.

“Careful, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk that was equal parts predatory and teasing. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’re not getting out of here anytime soon.”

You raised an eyebrow, emboldened by the way his eyes darkened. “Maybe I don’t want to get out.”

That was all it took. Abbacchio’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of raw intensity. He stepped closer, crowding you against the glass door of the shower. The cool surface pressed against your back, a stark contrast to the scalding water and the heat radiating from his body.

His hands found your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he pinned you in place. The glass creaked faintly under the pressure, and you could feel the condensation slick against your shoulders.

“Bold tonight, aren’t you?” he said, his voice dropping to a husky growl. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours, demanding and unrelenting. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, a clash of need and control. You gasped into it, your hands finding his chest, fingers splaying over the taut muscles as you pushed back just enough to meet his intensity. The water streamed down your bodies, making every touch slick and heated, amplifying the sensation of his calloused hands sliding up your sides.

Abbacchio broke the kiss, his lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you tilted your head back, giving him better access. The glass behind you was unyielding, trapping you between its cold surface and the furnace of his body.

His hands roamed lower, gripping the backs of your thighs, and with a sudden, effortless motion, he lifted you just enough to press himself closer, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“Leone—” you started, but the words dissolved into a moan as he nipped at your collarbone, his tongue soothing the sting. The water made everything feel more intense, every brush of his lips, every press of his fingers leaving trails of fire on your skin.

“Quiet,” he muttered against your shoulder, his voice rough with desire. “Let me take care of you.”

He shifted, one hand bracing against the glass to steady himself as he lowered you slightly, his other hand guiding your hips. The position left you vulnerable, exposed, and the anticipation coiled tight in your core. You felt the hard length of him press against you, and your breath hitched, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

But Abbacchio wasn’t in a rush. Instead, he sank to his knees, the water pooling around him on the shower floor. His hands slid up your thighs, parting them gently but firmly, and you braced yourself against the glass, your palms slipping slightly on the wet surface. The sight of him kneeling before you, his silver hair darkened by the water, his eyes locked on yours with a mix of reverence and hunger, was almost too much.

“Hold still,” he ordered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. Before you could protest, his lips were on you, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your most sensitive spot. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of heat and pressure that made your knees buckle. You gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers tangling in the wet strands as you struggled to stay upright.

Abbacchio’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he worked, his tongue relentless, alternating between soft, teasing flicks and deeper, more purposeful strokes. The water cascaded over his shoulders, running in rivulets down his back, and the sight of him—focused, devoted, entirely consumed by you—pushed you closer to the edge. Your moans echoed off the tiles, mingling with the sound of the shower, and you could feel the tension building, a tight coil ready to snap.

“Leone, please,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you tugged at his hair. He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shockwave through your body, and you felt yourself unraveling, your climax crashing over you like the water pouring from the showerhead. Your legs shook, but his hands held you steady, grounding you as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were slick, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He rose to his feet, towering over you again, and before you could catch your breath, he spun you around, pressing your chest against the glass door. The cold surface made you gasp, your breasts flattening against it, the fogged glass smudging under your skin. His hands were on your hips again, pulling them back slightly, and you could feel him behind you, hard and ready.

“You’re not done yet,” he growled, his voice thick with need. One hand slid up your spine, fingers curling around the nape of your neck, while the other guided himself to your entrance. He teased you for a moment, the tip of him brushing against you, and you whimpered, pushing back against him in a silent plea.

“Impatient,” he chuckled darkly, but the amusement was gone the moment he thrust into you, filling you completely in one smooth motion. The stretch was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and pressure that made you cry out, your hands scrabbling against the glass for purchase. The door rattled in its frame as he set a rhythm, deep and relentless, each thrust pushing you harder against the glass.

The steam made everything slick, the water amplifying the sounds—the slap of skin against skin, the low groans spilling from Abbacchio’s lips, the breathless moans you couldn’t hold back. His hand on your neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you anchored, while his other hand gripped your hip, guiding your movements to meet his. The glass was cold against your cheek, your breath fogging it further, and you could imagine the blurred outline of your body pressed against it, a private show for no one but him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice strained as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back. His lips found your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin as he drove into you, the angle hitting just the right spot to make stars burst behind your eyes. “You feel so good.”

You couldn’t form words, only gasps and moans as the pleasure built again, faster this time, fueled by the intensity of his thrusts and the way his hands claimed you. The glass creaked under the pressure, and you wondered fleetingly if it could hold, but the thought was drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of him filling you, surrounding you, consuming you.

“Leone, I’m—” you managed, your voice breaking as the tension snapped, your second climax hitting harder than the first. Your body tightened around him, and he groaned, his rhythm faltering as he followed you over the edge, his release spilling inside you with a low, guttural moan.

For a moment, you both stayed there, panting, the water still pouring over you. His hands softened, one sliding around your waist to hold you close, the other brushing your wet hair away from your face. He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to the back of your neck, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before.

“Still think you can keep up with me?” he murmured, his voice teasing but laced with affection.

You laughed breathlessly, turning your head to glance at him over your shoulder. “Try me again tomorrow.”

He smirked, helping you stand upright as the water began to cool. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

The Italian sun was relentless, painting the cobblestone streets in a golden haze as you and Pannacotta Fugo sat outside a small gelateria. The table between you was cluttered with empty gelato cups—yours a vibrant strawberry pink, his a sensible pistachio green. The air smelled of sugar and sea salt, carried on a breeze from the nearby coast. You leaned back in your chair, fanning yourself with a napkin, while Fugo sat upright, his posture rigid.

“You know,” you said, twirling a plastic spoon between your fingers, “for someone who’s supposed to be a genius, you’re terrible at relaxing.”

Fugo shot you a look, his violet eyes narrowing. “I’m perfectly relaxed,” he said, though his fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the table. “You’re the one who keeps fidgeting with that spoon. It’s distracting.”

“Distracting?” You grinned, leaning forward to rest your chin in your hand. “Pannacotta Fugo, distracted by little ol’ me? I’m flattered.”

His cheeks flushed a faint pink, and he quickly looked away, muttering something about the heat. You’d known Fugo for months now, ever since you’d stumbled into Bucciarati’s crew by chance—a civilian with just enough Stand potential to catch their attention. Fugo had been tasked with “keeping an eye on you,” which mostly meant him lecturing you on Stand theory while you teased him mercilessly. It was a dynamic that worked, somehow, even if it drove him up the wall.

Today, though, something felt different. Maybe it was the way he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking, or the way his usual sharp retorts lacked their typical bite. 

You decided to poke the bear a little more.

“So,” you said, stretching the word out, “what’s got you so tense? Is it the mission tomorrow? Or are you just mad that my gelato flavor was clearly superior?”

Fugo snorted, pushing his hair out of his face. “Pistachio is pedestrian. Strawberry has complexity. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Complexity?” You laughed, tossing the napkin at him. It bounced off his forehead, and he glared at you, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You sound like you’re reviewing fine wine, not ice cream.”

“Gelato,” he corrected, his tone prim. “And it’s an art form. You’d know that if you had any taste.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “Wow, Fugo, you wound me. Here I thought we were friends, and you’re out here insulting my gelato preferences.”

“Friends,” he repeated, almost to himself, and there it was again—that strange, hesitant look in his eyes. You tilted your head, studying him. Fugo wasn’t like Narancia or Mista, who wore their emotions like loud shirts. He was guarded, analytical, always calculating the risks. But you’d learned to read the cracks in his armor: the way his fingers stilled when he was nervous, the way his voice softened when he was trying not to care.

“Hey,” you said, your voice gentler now. “You okay? You’re acting weirder than usual.”

He stiffened, then sighed, running a hand through his strawberry-blond hair. “I’m fine. It’s just…” He trailed off, staring at the table like it held the secrets to the universe.

“Just what?” you prompted, leaning closer. “Come on, Fugo, spill. You’re not gonna explode if you talk about your feelings for once.”

He muttered something under his breath, too low to catch. You raised an eyebrow, and he finally met your gaze, his expression a mix of frustration and something softer, more vulnerable.

“I’ve been… thinking,” he said slowly, each word chosen with care. “About… things. About you.”

Your heart did a little flip, but you kept your face neutral, not wanting to spook him. “Oh? What about me? My impeccable gelato taste? My charming wit?”

He rolled his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks deepened. “You’re impossible,” he said, though there was no real venom in it. “I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” you asked, genuinely curious now. Fugo was rarely this cryptic.

He hesitated, then leaned forward, lowering his voice as if the gelateria was full of spies. “This… feelings thing. Relationships. I’ve never—” He stopped, his jaw tightening, and you could practically see the gears in his head grinding to a halt.

You blinked, piecing it together. “Wait. Are you saying you like me, Fugo?”

His face turned the color of your strawberry gelato, and he looked away so fast you thought he might get whiplash. “Don’t make it sound so juvenile,” he snapped, but his voice cracked, betraying him. “I’m just… I’m trying to figure this out, okay? I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?” you pressed, though you had a pretty good idea. You wanted to hear him say it.

He glared at you, but it was a weak effort, more embarrassed than angry. “You know what I mean. Don’t make me spell it out.”

You grinned, unable to resist. “Oh, come on, Fugo. You’re the one who loves precision. Spell it out for me. What’s the great Pannacotta Fugo never done before?”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re the worst,” he mumbled, voice muffled. Then, quieter, almost inaudible: “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

The admission hung in the air, fragile and raw. Your teasing grin softened into something warmer, and you leaned back, giving him space. “Oh,” you said, your tone gentle. “That’s… actually kinda sweet.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, his eyes wide with suspicion. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not!” you protested, holding up your hands. “I mean it. It’s cute. Plus, you’ve been too busy being a genius mobster to smooch anyone. It’s endearing.”

“Endearing,” he repeated, like the word was an insult. He dropped his hands, his expression a mix of exasperation and nerves. “You’re not… weirded out?”

“Why would I be?” you asked, tilting your head. “Everyone’s got a first time for everything. No big deal.”

He studied you, as if searching for a lie, then relaxed slightly. “Okay,” he said, though he still looked like he might bolt at any second. “So… what now?”

You laughed softly, the sound bright in the warm afternoon air. “Well, we could just keep eating gelato and pretending this conversation never happened. Or…” You paused, letting the word dangle, and his eyes widened.

“Or?” he prompted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Or,” you said, leaning closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, “we could fix that whole ‘never kissed anyone’ thing. If you want.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually combust. “You’re serious,” he said, more a statement than a question.

“Dead serious,” you replied, your grin turning mischievous. “Unless you’re scared, of course.”

“I’m not scared,” he shot back, his temper flaring just enough to make his eyes spark. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” you said, softening again. “It’s not a math problem, Fugo. You don’t need a formula.”

He swallowed, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “What if I’m bad at it?”

You shrugged, trying to keep things light. “Then we try again. No pressure.”

He stared at you, his expression caught between disbelief and something like awe. “You’re… really okay with this?”

“Fugo,” you said, reaching across the table to touch his hand lightly. His skin was warm, and he didn’t pull away. “I like you. A lot. Bad kiss or not, I’m not going anywhere.”

He blinked, then let out a shaky laugh. “You’re insane,” he said, but there was a warmth in his voice you hadn’t heard before. “Okay. Let’s… do this.”

You stood, tugging him up with you, and led him around the corner of the gelateria to a quieter spot, away from the bustling street. The alley was shaded, the air cooler, and you turned to face him, your heart pounding despite your bravado.

“Ready?” you asked, stepping closer.

He nodded, though his hands were clenched at his sides. “Just… don’t laugh at me.”

“Promise,” you said, and you meant it.

You leaned in slowly, giving him time to back out, but he didn’t. His lips met yours, hesitant and a little clumsy, his breath warm and tasting faintly of pistachio. It wasn’t perfect, and he pulled back too quickly, like he’d been electrocuted—but it was so very Fugo, and that made it perfect in its own way.

You grinned as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his face scarlet. “Well?” you asked, tilting your head.

“I…” He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses unnecessarily. “Was that… okay?”

You laughed, unable to help it. “It’s the effort that counts,” you said, your tone teasing but kind.

He groaned, covering his face again. “I knew you’d say something like that.”

“Hey, it’s a compliment!” you said, pulling his hands down so you could see his eyes. “It was cute. Very you. And we’ve got plenty of time to practice.”

His lips twitched into a reluctant smile, and he looked at you, really looked, like he was seeing you for the first time. “You’re really not going anywhere, are you?”

“Nope,” you said, looping your arm through his as you started walking back toward the gelateria. “You’re stuck with me, Fugo. Better get used to it.”

He didn’t say anything, but the way he let you pull him along, his shoulder brushing yours, said enough. And when you stole a glance at him, you caught the smallest, softest smile on his face, like he’d just solved a puzzle he didn’t know he’d been working on.

Chapter Text

The Cairo night was oppressive, its heat slithering through the cracked window of the hotel room, mingling with the charged tension between you and Jotaro. The Stardust Crusaders were deep in their hunt for Dio, and this rundown hotel was a rare pause after weeks of brutal Stand battles and endless desert roads. Joseph and Avdol were likely strategising elsewhere, Kakyoin nursing a headache, and Polnareff probably primping in front of a mirror. You and Jotaro, however, were confined to this cramped room—a single bed, a wobbly nightstand, and a simmering desire that had been smouldering for days.

Your relationship with Jotaro was a paradox, a clash of fire and steel. He was a 6’5” fortress of stoicism, all sharp glares and clipped words, his Stand Star Platinum a mirror of his unyielding strength. You were a wildfire—vibrant, mouthy, always ready to poke at his icy exterior with a smirk or a quip. The others didn’t understand how you worked, your chaos against his control, but the heat between you was undeniable, forged in stolen moments and heated glances on this deadly journey. Tonight, in this dim room, that heat was ready to erupt.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a wicked smirk on your lips as you watched Jotaro. He sat on the bed’s edge, hat tilted low, his black shirt clinging to every hard line of his torso as he pretended to study a map. His jaw was tight, his fingers gripping the paper a little too hard—a telltale sign he was wound up, and you knew exactly how to push him over the edge.

“Staring at that map won’t make Dio appear, Jojo,” you said, voice dripping with mischief, the nickname a deliberate jab.

His eyes snapped up, blue-green and razor-sharp, slicing through you. “Good grief. You ever stop running your mouth?” His voice was a low growl, edged with a hunger that made your thighs clench.

You sauntered closer, hips swaying, hands on your hips. “Not when I know it gets you riled up. What’s wrong? Missing your dolphins?” You tilted your head, pushing just far enough to spark a reaction.

Jotaro stood, his towering frame swallowing the room, the air thickening with his presence. “You’re begging for trouble, Y/N,” he said, voice low and dangerous, each word a promise that set your skin ablaze.

You stepped into his space, knees brushing his, defiance in your eyes. “Maybe I want trouble,” you whispered, voice husky, challenging. “What’re you gonna do about it, Jojo?”

He moved like a storm, one hand slamming against the wall beside your head, caging you in. The other gripped your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “On your knees,” he ordered, his voice a guttural command that sent heat flooding your core.

His dominance crashed over you, and you sank to your knees, the rough carpet biting into your skin. Your eyes stayed locked on his, pulse racing as his hand threaded through your hair, gripping tight enough to make you gasp. The sharp sting fueled the fire in your veins.

“You’ve been a fucking tease all day,” he growled, tugging your head back, exposing your throat. “Think you can push me and walk away?”

You smirked, defiant even as your body hummed with need. “Maybe I want you to lose it.”

His eyes darkened, a predator’s glint, and his free hand came down in a sharp smack against your face. The sting was white-hot, radiating through you, and you moaned, the sound raw and unfiltered. “Wrong fucking answer,” he said, leaning close, his breath scorching your ear. “You’re gonna learn to behave.”

“Jotaro—” you started, but he yanked your hair harder, silencing you.

“Shut it,” he commanded, voice like steel. “You speak when I say.”

Your defiance flared, but his gaze—dark, commanding, ravenous—pinned you in place. You nodded, submission sending a thrill through you. He pulled you to your feet by your hair, the sting electric, and guided you to the bed with a grip that promised no mercy.

“Strip,” he ordered, stepping back, arms crossed, his stare burning through you. You obeyed, peeling off your shirt and pants with deliberate slowness, letting him see the challenge in your eyes. You weren’t going to make this easy, even if your body was screaming for him.

When you stood in just your underwear, he closed the distance, his hand wrapping around your throat—not choking, but claiming, his thumb brushing your racing pulse. “You’re mine tonight,” he growled, voice dripping with possession. “No running that mouth.”

You swallowed, teasing despite the ache between your thighs. “Big words for someone who gets shy when I kiss him in front of Polnareff.”

His eyes flashed, and he spun you around, bending you over the bed so fast your breath caught. Your hands gripped the sheets as his palm came down again, a sharp, burning smack against your ass that made you cry out, the heat pooling low in your belly. “Keep talking,” he said, leaning over you, his chest a wall of heat against your back. “See how much worse this gets.”

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling hard enough to arch your spine, and you felt him press against you, his arousal hard and insistent through his pants. “You’ve been begging for this,” he murmured, voice rough as he tugged your underwear down, leaving you bare and exposed. His fingers slid between your thighs, finding you slick and ready, and you whimpered, pushing back for more. “So fucking wet,” he taunted, his touch maddeningly light, circling just enough to make you squirm. “All that attitude, and you’re this desperate for me?”

“Jotaro, please—” you gasped, voice breaking as you rocked against his hand, chasing the friction.

He chuckled, a dark, dangerous sound. “Begging? Already?” His fingers pressed harder, stroking with a precision that made your legs tremble, but he pulled back before you could unravel. “Pathetic.”

He stepped back, and you heard the clink of his belt hitting the floor, the sound sending a jolt of anticipation through you. Then he was behind you, one hand gripping your hip, the other still fisted in your hair as he lined himself up.

He didn’t ease you into it—Jotaro thrust into you with a single, brutal stroke, filling you so completely you cried out, the stretch intense and overwhelming. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice raw as he set a punishing pace, each thrust deep and unrelenting, claiming every inch of you.

“You like this, don’t you?” he said, his hand coming down in another sharp smack against your ass, the sting blending with the pleasure coiling tight in your core. “Pushing me just to get fucked like this.”

“Yes—God, yes,” you moaned, hands clutching the sheets as he drove into you, the bed creaking under the force of his movements. His grip in your hair kept you arched, exposed, every thrust sending sparks through your body. 

He shifted, slowing just enough to tease, dragging himself out inch by agonizing inch before slamming back in, making you gasp. “Jotaro, don’t stop—”

“Who’s in charge here?” he growled, yanking your hair to pull you back against his chest, his lips brushing your ear. His thrusts didn’t falter, each one hitting deeper, harder, the angle making your vision blur. His free hand slid around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing with a ruthless precision that had you trembling. “Answer me.”

“You are,” you gasped, voice breaking as he rewarded you with another sharp smack to your ass, the heat pushing you closer to the edge. “Fuck, you are—”

“That’s right,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with a force that made the headboard slam against the wall. “You’re mine, Y/N. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, the words spilling out as your body shook, the pleasure building to a fever pitch. His fingers pressed harder, circling faster, and he leaned down, teeth grazing your shoulder as he fucked you relentlessly. 

The combination of his thrusts, the sting of his palm, and the relentless pressure of his fingers was too much—you shattered, a scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed through you, waves of pleasure leaving you trembling.

Jotaro didn’t stop, riding you through it, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release. He pulled you tighter against him, his grip bruising, and with a final, deep thrust, he came with a low, guttural groan, burying himself deep inside you. His breath was hot against your neck, his body tense as he held you there, both of you panting in the aftermath.

He didn’t pull away immediately, his hands softening as he turned you around, guiding you to the bed. You collapsed onto the sheets, body buzzing with aftershocks, skin slick with sweat. Jotaro sank down beside you, pulling you against his chest, his hand gentling in your hair—no longer pulling, just stroking. His breathing was steady, but his eyes softened, the hard dom giving way to the man you loved.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, a trace of concern breaking through.

You smiled, curling into him, still catching your breath. “Way more than okay. You’re a fucking beast, Jojo.”

He grunted, tugging his hat down to hide the faint flush on his cheeks. “Good grief. You’re gonna kill me.”

You laughed, the sound soft in the heavy air. “Love you too.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The morning sun filtered through the hotel’s dusty lobby, casting long shadows across the faded carpet. You and Jotaro descended the stairs, his hand brushing yours briefly before he shoved it into his pocket, hat tilted low as always. You were sore, every step a reminder of last night’s intensity, but you couldn’t help the satisfied smirk tugging at your lips.

The rest of the Crusaders were already gathered—Joseph sipping coffee, Avdol studying a map, Kakyoin rubbing his temples, Iggy being Iggy. Polnareff, however, leaned against a pillar, his grin far too smug as he spotted you both.

“Well, well, look who finally showed up,” Polnareff said, his voice dripping with mischief. He adjusted his headband, eyes glinting. “Rough night, eh? Some of us couldn’t sleep with all the… noise coming from your room. Sounded like a damn Stand battle in there.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you shot back, “Jealous, Pol? Maybe if you spent less time flirting with mirrors, you’d get some action.”

Jotaro’s glare could’ve melted steel, his voice a low growl. “Shut it, Polnareff, or I’ll make sure you don’t sleep for a week.”

Polnareff raised his hands, laughing. “Alright, alright, mon ami! Just saying, the walls are thin!” He winked, dodging as Jotaro took a step toward him.

Joseph coughed, clearly trying not to laugh. “Let’s focus, kids. Dio’s not gonna wait for us.”

You caught Jotaro’s eye, a flicker of amusement passing between you despite his stoic front. As the group moved to leave, his hand brushed your lower back, a subtle claim that sent a shiver through you. The mission awaited, but last night had stoked a fire that wouldn’t die anytime soon.

Chapter Text

You’d been testing him all day.

Walking a little too close. Smirking a little too often. That deliberately slow bend to pick something up in front of him during the mission—you didn’t need to do that. The smug little glance over your shoulder after? You knew exactly what you were doing.

And now?

Now, Abbacchio’s hand slams the apartment door shut with a finality that rings in your chest. His coat’s already half off, his jaw clenched so tightly the vein at his temple throbs.

“You’ve got a real attitude problem, y’know that?” he hisses through gritted teeth.

You don’t get a chance to retort—not before he grabs you by the waist and drags you in, slamming your back against the wall with a thud that makes picture frames tremble. His knee shoves between your thighs, spreading you open just enough. Just enough for him to slide close—flush—so you can feel everything.

“You think I didn’t notice you?” His voice is thick, low, dangerous. “The looks. The way you kept brushing against me. That little moan you tried to bite back when I pulled you behind cover?”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You wanted this.”

His hands roam — firm, hungry, impatient — hiking your shirt up just enough to palm your skin, cold fingers dragging heat across your ribs. You feel the snap of something shift in the air, like restraint being crushed under his boot. He isn’t playing anymore.

You gasp when he bites your neck. Not enough to break skin — just enough to leave something he can look at later and smirk. His hand slides between your thighs without warning, cupping through your clothes, fingers flexing in a slow rhythm that makes your legs shake.

“Already?” he mutters. “Tch. You’re so full of it… teasing me like that, and now you’re—”

You pull him in. You don’t care anymore. His mouth crashes into yours like punishment — tongue greedy, rough, devouring. He kisses like he fights: no mercy, all control. Your hips are already moving, grinding into the pressure of his palm, and it earns a dark chuckle from deep in his chest.

He doesn’t drag you to the couch.

He throws you onto it.

You land with a gasp, legs sprawled, and he’s on you again in seconds — dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. His hair’s a mess now, strands falling in his face, but he doesn’t care. He looks wild. Sharp eyes gleaming. Every inch of him radiates hunger.

He grips your thighs and pulls you down toward him — hard — so your hips crash into his. You barely catch your breath before he’s mouthing at your stomach, fingers slipping beneath your waistband.

“Y’know,” he mutters against your skin, voice vibrating against your ribs, “I could keep you here all night. Not even touch you where you want it. Just make you beg. You wanted to play games, tesoro—now lie still and take your punishment.”

He pauses. Looks up at you with that infuriating calm smirk that never means anything good.

“But you’ve been such a pain…” His teeth scrape across your hipbone, slow. Threatening. “…I think I’ll skip the mercy tonight.”

The way his hands pin your wrists above your head as he settles over you?

Yeah. You’re in trouble.

And you’re loving every second of it.

—

The night stretches long. Messy. Sweaty. Unrelenting.

Abbacchio never lets you come down — not completely. Every time your body starts to relax, he pulls you back up, dragging you through another slow, torturous build.

The air’s hot and heavy between you. The couch cushions are half-off the frame. At some point, his rings got tossed somewhere across the floor — you barely noticed until you felt his bare fingers digging into your thighs, pressing bruises into your skin like he wanted to mark you for later.

“You done teasing?” he asks at one point, voice hoarse, breathless, sweat beading along his temple.

You try to speak — try — but nothing comes out. Just a gasp, broken and whimpering.

Abbacchio’s smirk returns. “Didn’t think so.”

And when the sun finally starts to edge in through the blinds, painting your skin gold, you’re half-draped across his chest, completely wrecked, muscles aching in places you didn’t even know could ache.

Abbacchio presses a kiss to your temple.

“You pull that stunt again,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles over your swollen lips, “and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk for days.”

And the worst part?

You’re already planning on it.

Chapter Text

The sun had dipped below the Naples skyline, leaving the safehouse bathed in the dim glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds. The air hung heavy with the day's remnants—salt from the sea breeze mixed with the faint metallic scent of blood and sweat on your clothes. You and Bruno had barely scraped through another Passione mission: a messy ambush in the backstreets, Stands clashing like thunder, your hearts racing in sync as you covered each other's blind spots. Now, in this rundown apartment that passed for a hideout, the adrenaline had ebbed, leaving you both slumped on the old leather couch, limbs heavy and minds buzzing.

You'd grown up together, back when Naples felt like an adventure playground rather than a battlefield. Bruno was the kid who'd always had your back—patching up cuts from street fights, sharing cigarettes behind the docks when things got tough at home. Joining Passione had been a necessity, not a choice, and you'd done it as a team, rising through the ranks while the organization chipped away at your ideals. 

He was still that same guy, though: sharp-eyed, composed, with a quiet intensity that made him a natural leader. But lately, being around him stirred something deeper, a tension you'd both skirted around for years.

Bruno shifted next to you, shrugging off his white jacket and tossing it aside. His suit was creased, a smudge of dirt on the collar, and his dark hair was messed up from the fight—strands falling over his forehead in a way that made him look less like a capo and more like the boy you remembered. He caught your eye, his blue gaze steady but tired.

"You're not saying much," he noted, voice low and even, like he was testing the waters. He leaned back, arm draped over the couch, fingers close enough to brush your shoulder if he wanted. "That mess today rattle you?"

You exhaled, rubbing your neck where a bruise was forming. "A bit. Feels like we're always dodging bullets—literally. One wrong move, and..." You trailed off, glancing at him. "But we made it. Like always."

He nodded, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Yeah. We've been at this since we were kids, scraping by. Remember those nights by the water, talking about getting out of here?" He paused, his expression turning thoughtful. "Never figured it'd lead to this. Passione's got its hooks in deep, but at least we're in it together."

The words hit a chord, warming something in your chest. You'd felt it building—the way his presence grounded you, how a simple look from him could cut through the noise.

But admitting it?

That risked everything in a world where attachments were liabilities.

You tried to shake it off with a smirk, nudging his side. "Don't go getting nostalgic. You're the one who almost took that hit earlier. If I hadn't pulled you back—"

He raised an eyebrow, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, yeah? And who was the one flinching like a rookie?" Before you could retort, his fingers jabbed your ribs—right in that spot he knew too well from all those years ago. Your ticklishness was your Achilles' heel, and he exploited it without mercy.

A laugh burst out of you, involuntary and loud. "Bruno—cut it out!"

He didn't, grinning as he pressed the attack, his hands quick and teasing. "Admit it: I had your back more than you had mine today."

"No way!" You twisted, fighting back by going for his neck, that one weak point you'd found during some dumb childhood game. Laughter echoed off the walls, the couch groaning as you wrestled, pillows scattering. It was stupid, childish even, but it felt good— a release from the constant edge you lived on.

He got the upper hand eventually, pinning you down with his weight, chest rising and falling as he hovered over you. The laughter died down, replaced by the sound of your breaths syncing up, the room suddenly feeling smaller. His face was close, eyes locked on yours, and in that moment, everything unspoken rushed to the surface. The way his hair fell, the warmth of him—it hit you hard. You'd wanted this, him, for longer than you cared to admit. Not just the friendship, but more.

Bruno's expression changed too, the playfulness fading into something serious, almost hesitant. He swallowed, his hand moving to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly. "Y/N... this life we have, it's messed up. I've kept my distance because I didn't want to drag you into more complications. But after today—seeing you out there, risking it all—I can't ignore it anymore."

Your pulse quickened, a mix of fear and relief flooding you. "Bruno...I've been thinking the same. Every time we go out there, I'm scared it's the last. Not just for me, but for us. You're... you're everything to me."

He leaned in slowly, giving you a chance to pull away, but you didn't. Your lips met—soft at first, a tentative brush that sent a shiver down your spine, like the first drop of rain after a drought. It was hesitant, testing the boundaries you'd both built over years of denial, his mouth warm and gentle against yours. You could taste the faint salt of sweat from the mission, mixed with something uniquely him—clean, like the sea air he loved.

But the spark ignited quickly. What started as soft exploration deepened as the pent-up emotions surged forward. Bruno's hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer with a quiet urgency. You responded in kind, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, one hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt while the other traced up to cup his jaw. The kiss grew hungrier, lips parting as tongues met in a slow, deliberate dance—exploring, teasing, savoring the moment you'd both waited for too long.

He shifted his weight slightly, pressing you further into the couch, his body aligning with yours in a way that made heat pool in your core. A soft groan escaped him when you nipped at his bottom lip, and he retaliated by tilting your head back, deepening the angle, his tongue sweeping against yours with more intensity. It was messy now, breaths coming in short gasps between kisses, your fingers digging into his back as if to anchor yourself. His free hand roamed down your side, gripping your waist possessively, thumb brushing the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up. Every touch sent sparks through you—the roughness of his calloused palms contrasting with the tenderness in his movements, the way his hips subtly pressed against yours, hinting at the desire simmering beneath.

Time blurred; it could have been seconds or minutes as you made out, lost in the rhythm of lips and hands and shared breaths. You broke apart only when the need for air became too much, but even then, he didn't pull away far—nuzzling your nose with his, stealing a few more quick, lingering pecks that left you both smiling faintly against each other's mouths.

When you finally separated enough to catch your breath, foreheads touching, he let out a shaky exhale. "I've been in love with you for a long time. Didn't say it because I thought it'd make things harder. But screw that—I want this. Us. If you'll have me."

You smiled, tears stinging but not falling. "Yeah, I will. I've felt it too. Let's try."

He pulled you into another kiss, softer this time, a promise amid the chaos. From then on, you faced Passione's shadows not just as partners, but as something more—together in every sense, navigating the dangers with hearts finally aligned.

Chapter Text

The rain-slicked streets of Naples gleamed under the dim streetlights, a mirror to the turmoil churning inside you. It was a night like any other in this ancient city—humid air thick with the scent of sea salt and distant thunder rumbling like an omen. You sat across from Bruno Bucciarati in a small, dimly lit café tucked away from the bustling tourist spots, the kind of place where locals whispered secrets over espresso. The table between you felt like an ocean, vast and unbridgeable, even though your hands were mere inches apart.

Bruno's fingers drummed lightly on the edge of his cup, a rare sign of nervousness from a man who commanded respect and fear in equal measure as a capo in Passione. His white suit was impeccable as always, but his eyes—those piercing blue depths that had once made you feel seen, truly seen—were shadowed with exhaustion. 

You'd been together for over a year, a whirlwind romance born from a chance encounter during one of his quieter missions. You'd met him when he saved you from a petty thief in the market, his Stand, Sticky Fingers, zipping reality apart just enough to disarm the assailant without a trace. From there, it had been stolen glances, late-night walks along the harbor, and whispered promises in the safety of his arms.

But lately, the cracks had shown. Bruno's life was a constant dance with danger—gang wars, betrayals, the weight of protecting his team like they were his own blood. You, on the other hand, carried your own burdens: a history of abandonment that made you cling too tightly, doubt too deeply. You'd argued more in the last few months than in the entire time you'd been together. He was always pulling away for "business," leaving you in the dark, wondering if he'd come back alive. And you? You'd started to resent the secrecy, the way his world swallowed him whole, leaving scraps for you.

That night, the words had been building like storm clouds. "Bruno," you started, your voice barely above a whisper, "we need to talk."

He looked up, his expression softening with that familiar concern. "Y/N, whatever it is, we can face it. Together."

But that was the problem, wasn't it? 

Together felt like a lie.

You shook your head, tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes. "No, we can't. Not like this. You're... you're always gone, Bruno. And when you're here, you're not really here. Your mind is on your team, on Passione, on everything but us."

His brow furrowed, pain etching lines into his handsome face. "You know why. This life—it's not something I can just walk away from. I have responsibilities. People depend on me. But you... you're my anchor, Y/N. The one thing that keeps me grounded."

"Grounded?" You let out a bitter laugh, though it caught in your throat like a sob. "How can I ground you when I can't even ground myself? I wake up every day terrified you'll die out there, and it makes me... it makes me hold on too tight. I'm suffocating you, Bruno. And myself. We both know it."

He reached across the table, his hand warm as it enveloped yours. "That's not true. We've been through so much. Remember that night on the rooftop, when I told you about my father? How I joined Passione to protect the innocent? You understood me then. You still do."

"I do understand," you admitted, your voice cracking. "That's why this hurts so much. You're a good man in a bad world, Bruno. But being with you means living in that world too, and I'm not strong enough. Not yet. And you... you deserve someone who doesn't question every shadow, who doesn't make you feel like you're choosing between your duty and your heart."

Bruno's grip tightened, his eyes searching yours desperately. "Y/N, please. Don't do this. We can work on it. I can try to be more open, to shield you better—"

"Shield me?" You pulled your hand away gently, though it felt like ripping off a limb. "That's just it. I don't want to be shielded. I want to be your equal, but right now, I'm just... broken. And so are you. We jumped into this thinking love would fix everything, but it doesn't. We need to fix ourselves first."

Silence fell between you, heavy as the rain pattering against the café window. Bruno leaned back, his posture slumping ever so slightly—the unflappable Bucciarati, cracking under the weight of your words. "Is that really what you want?" he asked finally, his voice low and strained. "To end this?"

Tears streamed down your face now, unchecked. "No. God, no. But it's what we need. If we stay like this, we'll destroy each other. I love you, Bruno. More than anything. * Ma l'amore non basta se non sappiamo amare noi stessi. "

He nodded slowly, his own eyes glistening. It was the first time you'd seen him close to tears, and it shattered something inside you. "I... I understand," he murmured. "If this is goodbye, then know that you've changed me, Y/N. For the better. I'll always carry you with me."

You stood up, legs unsteady, and leaned down to press a final kiss to his forehead. His skin was warm, familiar, and it took every ounce of willpower not to collapse into his arms. "Take care of yourself, Bruno. Promise me."

"I promise," he whispered, his hand brushing your cheek one last time. "And you... find your strength. You have it in you."

With that, you walked out into the rain, the door chiming softly behind you like a death knell. The city swallowed you whole, and just like that, Bruno Bucciarati was gone from your life.

The months that followed were a blur of emptiness, a void you tried desperately to fill. You threw yourself into work, taking a job at a small bookstore near the harbor where the waves reminded you of Bruno's eyes—endless, stormy blue. You'd rearrange shelves until your hands ached, losing yourself in stories of heroes and heartbreak, hoping one day you'd find your own ending.

But nights were the worst. Alone in your tiny apartment, the silence pressed in like a vice. You'd replay memories: the way Bruno's laugh rumbled deep in his chest during rare moments of peace, how he'd zip open a hidden pocket in reality with Sticky Fingers to surprise you with a flower he'd "borrowed" from a garden. His touch had been gentle yet firm, an anchor in your chaotic world. 

Without him, you felt adrift.

You tried to love yourself, as you'd promised. Therapy sessions where you'd unpack your past—parents who left too soon, relationships that fizzled because you gave too much. "Self-love starts with acceptance," your therapist said, but acceptance felt impossible when every mirror reflected a woman still pining for a man she couldn't have. Dates with kind strangers ended in polite goodbyes; no one measured up to Bruno's quiet intensity, his unwavering sense of justice.

Whispers reached you through the grapevine—Naples was small for secrets. Bruno had risen higher in Passione, protecting his territory with the same fierce loyalty. Rumors of a betrayal within the organization, of him taking in strays like that kid Giorno. Part of you was proud; another part ached, wondering if he ever thought of you during those long nights.

Did he struggle too? 

You imagined him in his pristine home, staring at the sea, his hand clenching as if reaching for yours. But you pushed the thoughts away. This was for the best. 

Or so you told yourself.

Bruno Bucciarati moved through life like a ghost in those two years, his days a relentless cycle of missions and mentorship. Leading his team—Giorno, Abbacchio, Mista, Narancia, Fugo, and now Trish—kept him grounded, their chaos a distraction from the hollow in his chest. He'd always been the pillar, the one who zipped wounds shut and mended broken spirits. 

But who mended him?

Nights found him on the balcony of his safehouse, the city lights twinkling below like fallen stars. He'd light a cigarette, a habit he'd picked up to fill the silence, and remember you. Your smile that lit up even the darkest alleys, the way you'd challenge him when he bottled up his pain. 

"You're not invincible, Bruno," you'd say, your fingers tracing the scars on his hands. "Let me in."

He'd tried to let go, to focus on his path. After the breakup, he'd thrown himself deeper into Passione, uncovering the boss's secrets, allying with Giorno to reform the organization from within. Victories came—defeating Diavolo, saving Trish—but they tasted bittersweet without you to share them. 

Self-love? He'd meditated on it during quiet moments, reflecting on his father's sacrifices, his own choices. "I joined this world to protect," he'd tell himself, "but I forgot to protect my heart."

Attempts at moving on were futile. A dinner with a colleague's sister, polite conversation that fizzled into nothing. "You're still in love with her," Abbacchio had grunted one night over wine, his eyes sharp. "Stop pretending otherwise."

Bruno couldn't deny it. You were etched into his soul, a zipper he couldn't pull apart. He wondered if you'd found peace, if you'd learned to stand tall without him. The thought both comforted and tormented him.

Winter came early that year, blanketing Naples in a rare snowfall that turned the gritty streets into a fairy-tale wonderland. Flakes danced in the air like lost souls, sticking to rooftops and cobblestones. You bundled up in a thick scarf— one Bruno had given you, soft wool that still faintly smelled of his cologne—and ventured out for a walk, craving the crisp air to clear your mind.

The harbor path was deserted, the sea a frozen gray expanse under the overcast sky. Snow crunched under your boots, each step a reminder of your solitude. You'd been thinking of him more lately, dreams where he'd appear, unzipping the distance between you with a smile. "Foolish," you muttered to yourself, breath fogging the air.

Then, as if summoned by your thoughts, there he was.

Bruno stood at the end of the pier, gazing out at the water, snow dusting his broad shoulders like powdered sugar on a forgotten pastry. His hair, longer now, caught the wind, and his coat billowed slightly. Time had sharpened him—lines of experience around his eyes, a subtle weariness in his stance—but he was still breathtaking, still your Bruno.

You stopped dead in your tracks, heart slamming against your ribs. It couldn't be. Not here, not now. But he turned, as if sensing your presence, and his eyes locked onto yours. The world tilted, snowflakes suspended in the moment. Disbelief washed over his face, followed by a raw vulnerability that made your chest ache.

"Y/N?" His voice carried across the distance, hoarse with shock.

"Bruno..." You barely managed the word, legs rooted to the spot. Two years of longing crashed over you, tears freezing on your lashes.

He took a step forward, then another, closing the gap with deliberate slowness, as if afraid you'd shatter. "Is it really you? After all this time..."

You nodded, swallowing hard. "I... I come here sometimes. To think. I didn't expect—"

"Me neither," he interrupted softly, now close enough that you could see the flakes melting in his lashes. His breath came in visible puffs, mirroring your own. "God, Y/N, you look... just as I remember. Bellissima ."

A sob escaped you, muffled by the wind. "Bruno, why are you here?"

He hesitated, glancing at the sea before meeting your gaze again. "This place... it reminds me of us. Our walks. I needed to clear my head after a long day."

The backstory flooded back unbidden, the pain as fresh as that rainy night. "We ended it because we had to," you whispered, more to yourself than him. "Your world was too dangerous, and I was too scared. Too broken."

"And I let you go," he added, voice thick with regret. "Because I thought I was holding you back. My duties, the risks—I couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt because of me. But Y/N... I've spent every day since regretting it."

Tears blurred your vision. "I tried to move on. To love myself like we said we would. Therapy, new hobbies, even dates. But nothing filled the space you left. I realized... I was using you as a crutch, but without you, I forgot how to walk at all."

Bruno's hand reached out tentatively, brushing a snowflake from your cheek. The touch was electric, sending warmth through the cold. "I know that feeling. Leading my team, fighting for a better Passione—it kept me alive, but not living. I'd lie awake, wondering if you'd found someone who could give you the stability I couldn't. Someone safe."

"There was no one," you confessed, stepping closer. "How could there be? You're the only one who ever saw me, Bruno. The real me, scars and all."

His eyes softened, a mix of sorrow and hope. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. For everything. For not fighting harder that night. For thinking I could fix the world without fixing us first. I love you—I never stopped. But I needed to learn that love means being whole enough to share, not just protect."

You grabbed his hand, holding it to your chest where your heart raced. "I'm sorry too. For pushing you away when I was scared. For not trusting that we could grow together. I love you, Bruno. God, I love you so much it hurts. I just... I needed to understand how to love myself first. But I can't do it alone. Not without you."

He pulled you into his arms then, enveloping you in his warmth, the snow falling around you like a benediction. "Then don't," he murmured into your hair, his voice breaking. "Stay with me, Y/N. We'll figure it out—self-love, our love, all of it. Together this time. No more running."

You tilted your head up, meeting his lips in a kiss that tasted of salt and snow, of lost time and found hope. It was slow, desperate, natural in its emotion—like coming home after a storm. 

"Promise?" you whispered against him.

"I promise," he replied, his forehead resting on yours. "With everything I am."

As the snow continued to fall, wrapping Naples in white, you stood there in each other's arms, the past mending like a zipper pulling shut. It wasn't perfect—wounds like theirs took time to heal—but in that moment, it was enough. You had each other, and that was the start of everything.

Chapter Text

The summer heat in Morioh wraps around you like a warm, insistent embrace, making everything feel a little more alive, a little more charged. At 22, you've just uprooted your life from the bustling city to this sleepy coastal town, seeking a fresh start in a cozy house that's seen better days. The move was impulsive—a chance to escape the noise, the deadlines, the endless grind. But as you stand in your new bedroom, unpacking the last of your boxes, you notice something that makes your lips curve into a sly smile: the window directly across from yours belongs to your neighbor, Josuke Higashikata.

He's kinda around your age, you learn from a quick chat with his mom over the fence one afternoon—tall, with that outrageous pompadour that defies gravity and a laid-back vibe that screams small-town charm. You've seen him around, cruising on his bike or hanging out with friends, but it's that first accidental eye contact through the windows that sparks something.

You're stretching after a long day of hauling furniture, your loose tank top riding up just a bit, when you catch him in his room, shirtless and focused on some video game. His controller slips from his hands as your gazes lock, clattering loudly on his desk. He freezes, eyes wide, before scrambling to pick it up. You can't help but smirk, holding his stare for a beat longer than necessary before turning away. He's cute—flustered, with that boyish innocence mixed with a hint of cockiness.

That was a week ago. Now, it's evolved into something deliberate, a silent game that neither of you seems willing to end.

It begins innocently, or at least that's what you tell yourself. One humid evening, as the sun dips below the horizon and the cicadas start their chorus, you decide to push the boundaries. You "forget" to draw your curtains, the soft golden light from your lamp casting long shadows across your room. Slowly, you peel off your shirt, letting it drop to the floor, and wander around in just your shorts, pretending to organize your bookshelf.

You feel the thrill of exposure, the air cool against your bare skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement—Josuke's desk lamp flickers as he fumbles with the switch, trying to plunge his room into darkness. But not before you catch his stare, his mouth slightly agape. He ducks down, out of sight, and you laugh softly to yourself. The power of it all sends a shiver down your spine.

The next night, emboldened by his reaction, you take it further. Curtains flung wide, you strip completely, the fabric whispering against your skin as it falls away. You move with purpose, stretching languidly, arching your back just so, letting the light accentuate every curve, every dip of your body. You don't stare directly at his window, but you know he's there—his silhouette frozen in place, one hand braced against his desk. The knowledge that he's watching, that he's probably fighting every urge to look away, makes your pulse quicken. A quick, subtle glance confirms it: his eyes are locked on you, dark with something raw and unspoken. Hunger. Desire.

You feel a rush of heat, not just from the summer air, but from the game itself.

By the third night, Josuke decides to play along. You're in the middle of your routine, bare and unashamed, running your hands over your skin in slow, teasing trails, when you notice him standing boldly by his window. He's shirtless, his toned chest rising and falling a bit faster than normal, that nervous edge sharpening his features. He meets your eyes, holds them, and then—with a shaky but determined smirk—he hooks his thumbs into his sweatpants and tugs them down, stepping out of them to reveal his boxers. Your breath catches in your throat. The guy's got nerve, you'll give him that. The outline of his arousal is evident, straining against the fabric, and it sends a jolt through you. He's not backing down.

From there, the nights blur into a ritual of escalation, each one bolder than the last. You watch as he sheds his boxers one evening, revealing himself fully—long, lean, and achingly hard. His hand wraps around his length tentatively at first, stroking slowly as his eyes devour you. The sight of him like that, vulnerable yet defiant, makes you ache. You mirror him, your fingers tracing down your body, dipping between your thighs, moving in time with his rhythm.

The gap between your windows feels like nothing and everything at once—close enough to see every flush on his skin, every hitch in his breath, but far enough to keep it teasing, torturous. You draw it out, night after night, building the tension until it's almost unbearable. The sounds you imagine—his soft gasps, the slick slide of skin—haunt your thoughts during the day.

Finally, you can't take the distance anymore. You need to feel it, to control it up close. That night, after a particularly intense session where you've both brought yourselves to the brink without tipping over, edges sharp and breaths ragged, you lean out your window. The cool night air kisses your heated skin as you call across the gap, voice low and commanding. “You gonna keep hiding over there, Jojo, or are you coming over to finish what you started?”

His jaw drops, eyes widening in shock, but he recovers with that signature grin, all teeth and bravado masking the nerves. “Gimme five minutes,” he calls back, voice a little breathless.

He's at your door in three, knocking with a fist that's probably steadier than he feels.

You open the door, still bare beneath a thin robe that's barely tied, the fabric clinging to your damp skin from the earlier heat. Josuke stands there in a hurried outfit—jeans and a t-shirt that looks thrown on in haste—his pompadour slightly disheveled, cheeks already pink. You step aside, letting him in, and lock the door behind him with a click that echoes in the quiet house.

The air in your bedroom is thick, charged with the scent of summer and anticipation. Josuke hovers just inside the doorway, his usual swagger crumbling as he takes you in, eyes flicking from your face to the robe and back. You can see the uncertainty in him, the way his hands flex at his sides, but there's eagerness too, raw and unfiltered.

“You’ve been real bold behind that window,” you say, your voice smooth but laced with authority as you close the distance, tilting your head to appraise him like he's something you've decided to claim. “But you’re in my house now. My rules.”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “Y-Yeah, okay,” he stammers, that cocky edge from across the gap melting away under your gaze. Up close, he's even more striking—tall, with broad shoulders and a lean build honed from whatever adventures he gets into in this weird town. But his inexperience shines through in the way he shifts his weight, unsure where to put his hands.

You smirk, reaching out to trace a finger along his jawline, feeling the slight stubble there. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” you murmur, watching his face flush a deeper red.

He shakes his head, eyes dropping to the floor before flicking back up to yours. “N-No. I mean, I’ve… kissed girls, messed around a bit. But not… not like this. Not all the way.”

Your laugh is low, almost predatory, sending a visible shiver through him. “Good. That means you’ll listen to every word I say.” You tilt his chin up with your fingers, forcing him to hold your gaze. “Do exactly what I tell you, Jojo, and I’ll make sure you remember this night forever.”

He nods eagerly, his breath coming faster. “I will. Promise.”

You guide him toward the bed with a gentle but firm push on his chest, your movements deliberate, every step reinforcing that you're the one in charge. The room is dimly lit by the same lamp that's illuminated your teasing displays, casting warm shadows that dance across his skin as you untie your robe and let it slip to the floor. You're bare again, just like in the window, but now there's no glass between you. His eyes widen, drinking you in, and you see his jeans tighten noticeably.

“Strip,” you command softly, crossing your arms as you watch him. “Slowly. I want to see everything.”

His hands tremble slightly as he pulls off his t-shirt, revealing the smooth planes of his chest, the faint definition of abs from his active life. He kicks off his shoes, then fumbles with his belt, the buckle clinking in the quiet room. Finally, he pushes down his jeans and boxers in one go, stepping out of them to stand before you, fully exposed. His cock springs free, hard and curving upward, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. He's bigger than you expected, thick and veined, and the sight makes your core clench with anticipation.

“Not bad,” you purr, stepping closer to run your nails lightly down his chest, feeling him shudder under your touch. “Sit on the bed.”

He obeys without hesitation, perching on the edge, his hands gripping the sheets as if to steady himself. You stand between his legs, close enough that he could touch you if he dared, but he doesn't—not yet. “Touch me,” you say, voice firm. “But only where I tell you. Start with my thighs.”

His hands are warm, calloused from whatever fights or games he gets into, as they slide up your outer thighs, tentative at first. You guide him with words, your tone leaving no room for deviation. “Higher. Slower. Feel how soft the skin is there.” He complies, his fingers tracing patterns that make your skin tingle, inching closer to your center but stopping short because you haven't said otherwise.

“Good job,” you whisper, and he groans softly at the praise, his cock twitching. You thread your fingers through his hair—careful not to mess up that precious pompadour too much—and pull his head forward. “Now, kiss my stomach. Softly.”

His lips are hesitant but eager, pressing against your skin, trailing lower as you direct him. The heat of his mouth sends sparks through you, and you feel yourself growing wetter with each touch. You take your time, savoring the control, the way he hangs on your every command. “Lick,” you say when his mouth reaches the apex of your thighs. “Slowly, right there.”

He does, his tongue flicking out experimentally at first, then more confidently as you moan your approval. The taste of you seems to undo him; his hands grip your hips tighter, and he laps at you with growing fervor, but you pull back slightly when he gets too eager. “Easy,” you chide. “Follow my pace.”

You guide him through it all, teaching him with sharp commands and gentle corrections—how to circle your clit with his tongue, how to slide a finger inside you, then two, curling them just right. His inexperience shows in the way he fumbles at first, but he's a quick learner, his enthusiasm making up for it. Your breaths come in gasps as he hits the right spots under your instruction, building the pleasure slowly, deliberately.

When you're teetering on the edge, slick and aching, you push him back onto the bed, climbing over him to straddle his hips. His cock presses against your thigh, hot and insistent, and he bucks up instinctively. “Not yet,” you say, pinning his hips down with your hands. “You move when I say.”

“Y-Yes,” he pants, eyes glazed with need. “Please… I need—”

You silence him with a kiss, deep and claiming, your tongue dominating his as you grind against him, coating his length with your wetness. He whimpers into your mouth, hands clutching at your back. Finally, you reach between you, positioning him at your entrance. “Look at me,” you command.

He does, eyes locked on yours as you sink down slowly, inch by inch, feeling him stretch you perfectly. He's thick, filling you in a way that makes you gasp, and his face contorts in bliss, mouth open in a silent moan. “Fuck,” he breathes when you're fully seated, his hands trembling on your waist.

“Don't move,” you warn, starting to rock your hips at a torturously slow pace. You set the rhythm, rising and falling, grinding in circles that hit all the right angles for you. He tries to thrust up, but you press down harder, controlling every motion. “Let me use you.”

He nods frantically, sweat beading on his forehead, his body taut beneath you. You lean down, nipping at his neck, whispering commands—“Touch my chest,” and “Pinch here, just like that”—building the intensity layer by layer. His breaths turn ragged, hips stuttering despite your hold, and you feel him throbbing inside you, close to the brink.

“Please,” he begs, voice breaking. “I’m gonna—”

“Not until I say,” you growl, speeding up just enough to chase your own release. It hits you first—waves of pleasure crashing over you, your walls clenching around him as you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Now,” you gasp, and he follows instantly, thrusting up once, twice, before spilling inside you with a choked moan, his body arching off the bed.

You collapse against him, both of you panting, slick with sweat. He wraps his arms around you tentatively, and you allow it, stroking his hair. “Not bad for a virgin, Jojo,” you tease, voice husky.

He chuckles weakly, still catching his breath. “Yeah? Does that mean… round two?”

You smirk, already feeling the stirrings of more. “Only if you keep following orders.”

The game, it seems, is far from over.

Chapter Text

The hill overlooking Morioh wasn’t particularly tall, but it felt like the whole town was stretched beneath you in miniature—rooftops gleaming, trees swaying in the faint breeze, and the ocean glimmering in the distance. You and Josuke had ended up there almost by accident, your steps falling into rhythm as you wandered away from the noise of the streets.

Now, the two of you sat side by side in the grass, the setting sun staining the sky with shades of peach and violet. Cicadas droned lazily from the trees below, their chorus making the evening feel slower, softer.

Josuke shifted beside you. His posture was stiff at first, knees pulled up to his chest, arms draped loosely over them like he wasn’t sure how else to sit. The brim of his hat dipped low, casting shadows over his eyes. From the corner of your vision, you could see the way his fingers fidgeted against the grass, plucking at little strands before letting them fall.

“…The colours are nice,” he said suddenly, almost as if he was reminding himself to speak. His voice was quiet, a little rough at the edges, but careful in the way it broke the silence.

You smiled, leaning back on your palms. “They are. It feels like everything slows down when the sun sets. Like the world’s finally taking a breath.”

Josuke hummed, low in his throat. He didn’t answer right away, and you could feel his gaze flicker to you and then away again. His fingers started tapping restlessly against his knee, a steady rhythm that betrayed the calm he tried to put on.

You tilted your head toward him. “You okay?”

He tensed, shoulders stiffening before he exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Just… thinking.” He paused, dragging a hand across his face, his jaw tightening like he was holding back the words. Finally, he muttered, “About… you.”

Your heart stumbled over itself at the confession. “Me?”

Josuke turned his head quickly, and for a second you thought he might actually pull his hat down over his face to hide. “Yeah,” he mumbled, and his voice cracked slightly. He pressed his lips together, then pushed the words out in a rush before he could stop himself. “It’s… kind of embarrassing, but I like being around you. More than I probably should.”

You blinked at him, warmth blooming in your chest and creeping into your cheeks. The cicadas seemed louder now, filling the silence you couldn’t quite break.

Josuke’s fingers curled into the grass. “I’m not good at this stuff. Saying how I feel. But when I’m with you, I don’t… worry so much. About whom I am. About what I’m missing.” He hesitated, eyes darting toward yours before sliding away again. “With you, it feels like it’s enough. Like I’m enough.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t expected him to be so open, not in his usual quiet, awkward way. But the honesty in his voice struck something deep inside you.

Without overthinking it, you let your hand drift closer, brushing lightly against his. He froze, his body going still, and then slowly turned his palm upward, letting your fingers slip into his. His grip was tentative at first—careful, almost fragile—like he was afraid you might pull away.

You squeezed his hand, steady and reassuring. “I like being with you too, Josuke.”

His eyes widened at your words, and for the first time that evening, his lips curved into a small, unguarded smile. It was shy, but it softened every sharp line of his face, and you felt your chest ache in the best way.

The sun dipped lower, leaving only streaks of gold at the horizon. You and Josuke stayed there in the growing twilight, hand in hand, letting the silence between you settle into something warm, something shared.

Chapter Text

The first heavy snowfall of the season had blanketed Naples in a rare, pristine white, turning the usually bustling streets into a hushed winter wonderland. You tugged on your mittens, glancing over at Abbacchio, who stood by the door with his arms crossed, looking every bit the reluctant participant. 

His long, silver hair peeked out from under a black beanie you’d insisted he wear, and his usual scowl was softened just a touch by the flush of cold on his cheeks.

“Come on, Leone,” you said, your breath puffing out in little clouds. “It’s snow! We can’t just ignore it.”

He sighed dramatically, but there was a hint of amusement in his golden/violet eyes. “Fine, but if I end up with frostbite, it’s on you.” He pulled on his coat and followed you out into the yard, the crunch of snow under his boots echoing in the quiet morning.

You grinned, already scooping up a handful of the powdery stuff. “Deal. First things first: snowman. We need a big one. Like, taller than you.”

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow but showed a small smirk. “Alright, show me how it’s done, expert.”

You started rolling a small snowball, packing it tighter as it grew. “Okay, this is the base. Help me make it bigger.” You pushed it along the ground, and soon enough, he joined in, his larger hands helping to shape it into a sturdy foundation. The snow was perfect—wet enough to stick but fluffy on top.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but tease him. “You know, for someone who acts like they’re above all this, you’re pretty good at it. Ever built one before?”

He grunted, lifting the middle section onto the base with ease. “Once or twice as a kid. Back when life was simpler.” His voice had that rare nostalgic edge, the one he only let slip around you.

You paused, smiling softly. “Well, I’m glad we’re making new memories then.” You handed him a carrot from your pocket for the nose, and he stuck it in with a smirk.

“Needs eyes,” he mumbled, scanning the ground for pebbles. You both rummaged around, laughing when you slipped on a patch of ice and nearly face-planted. Abbacchio caught your arm just in time, pulling you upright. “Careful. Can’t have you breaking something before we finish this masterpiece.”

“Masterpiece, huh?” You pressed two dark stones into the snowman’s face, stepping back to admire your work. It was lopsided, with a scarf you’d wrapped around its neck dangling unevenly, but it was yours. 

“What should we name him?”

Abbacchio tilted his head, pretending to think. “Moody Blues. Obviously.”

You burst out giggling. “Perfect. He does have that brooding vibe.”

With the snowman complete, you weren’t ready to head in yet. The yard was too inviting, the snow untouched except for your footprints. “Snow angels next!” You flopped backward onto the ground without warning, arms and legs sweeping wide to create the shape.

Abbacchio watched you for a moment, arms crossed again. “You look ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on! Join me. It’s fun.” You sat up, brushing snow from your hair, and patted the spot beside you. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Only because you’ll whine if I don’t.” He lowered himself carefully onto the snow, lying back and mimicking your motions. His long limbs made a much bigger angel, and when he stood up, you both admired the imprints side by side.

“See? Yours looks majestic,” you said, linking your arm with his. “Mine’s cute and compact.”

“Just like you,” he muttered, but there was warmth in his tone. Before you could respond, a snowball hit your shoulder—lightly, but enough to make you yelp.

“Hey!” You spun around, but he was already packing another one, his expression innocent.

“What? Thought we were playing in the snow.”

“Oh, it’s on.” You scooped up your own handful and lobbed it at him. It exploded against his chest in a puff of white. What followed was a chaotic, breathless chase around the yard—snowballs flying, laughter echoing. Abbacchio was surprisingly agile, dodging most of yours, but he let a few hit just to hear you cheer. Finally, you tackled him into a snowbank, both of you tumbling down in a heap.

“Truce,” you gasped, straddling his waist as you pinned his arms. Your noses were inches apart, cheeks rosy from the cold and exertion.

He looked up at you, eyes softening. “Truce.” Then, in a swift move, he flipped you over gently, hovering above you. “But I win.”

You pouted playfully. “Cheater!”

His response was a soft kiss, cold lips warming against yours. It lingered just long enough to chase away the chill before he pulled back. “Let’s get inside before you turn into an icicle.”

Back in the warmth of your home, you both shed your wet coats and boots by the door, the scent of pine from the fireplace already filling the air. Abbacchio headed straight to the kitchen while you stoked the fire, watching the flames dance and crackle.

“Hot cocoa?” he called from the other room.

“Yes, please! With marshmallows if we have any.”

A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming mugs, handing you one before settling onto the plush rug in front of the hearth. You joined him, leaning against his side as he draped an arm around your shoulders.

The cocoa was rich and sweet, the perfect antidote to the winter outside. You took a sip, sighing contentedly. “This is heaven. Snow day achieved.”

He chuckled lowly, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. “Didn’t think I’d enjoy it as much as I did. You’re infectious, you know that?”

You tilted your head to look at him. “In a good way, I hope.”

“The best way.” He set his mug down and pulled you closer, your back against his chest. The fire’s glow cast flickering shadows on the walls, and outside, the snow continued to fall softly.

You nestled in, feeling his heartbeat steady against you. “We should do this more often, y’know, when we’re not so busy with Passione. Minus the snowball war—my aim needs work.”

“Practice makes perfect,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But yeah. More of this.”

As the afternoon faded into evening, you talked about nothing and everything—dreams for the future, silly stories from the past—wrapped in each other’s warmth. The world outside might have been frozen, but right there, by the fire with Leone, everything felt perfectly alive.