#I need Bruno sitting at the table
Note
congrats on hitting 2k! if song repeats are allowed i’d like to request Promiscuous with stripper!nanami inspired by that one fan art smutty ofc tysm ❤️
Promiscuous
Pairing: stripper!Nanami x f!reader
Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Word Count: ~4.0k
cw: modern day setting, no curses au, Americanized customs in regard to bachelorette parties, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – PIV sex (reverse cowgirl), cunnilingus, cream pie, slight breeding kink
Summary: You’re the maid-of-honor for your best friend Sara, the bride-to-be. This weekend, you’re celebrating her bachelorette party and what better way to end the night than at the strip club? Little do you expect that the breadsticks from dinner would come in handy much more than you think.
Author’s Notes: Thank you for the request anon for the y2k karaoke party! In case anyone wants to see the fan art being referenced, here’s the link on twitter. I didn’t want to use it as the header in case the artist doesn’t allow it. Anyways, this was such a fun one for me to write and I hope it’s a fun one for you all to read! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are ALWAYS appreciated! Thanks for reading! MDNI divider credit to @/cafekistune.
“Bruno! Another Aperol Spritz, please!” Sara slurs happily at the waiter.
He flashes her a thumbs up, disappearing into the other room towards the bar. Five of Sara’s bridesmaids, including you, the maid-of-honor, gather around the table, blitzed on either cocktails or Prosecco. You’re tipsy at best, purposefully holding back to take on the responsibility of making sure everything goes as planned tonight. As long as the bride has the time of her life and returns to the hotel in one piece, you’ll be happy.
Sara is the only one tonight wearing white, while the rest of you stun in little black dresses, sporting hot pink cowboy hats atop your heads and cowboy boots on your feet, celebrating the bride’s “last rodeo.” By the end of your meal, everyone in your party is giddy and ready for the next destination in your itinerary: the strip club, which is a few blocks away. You manage to pack the leftover breadsticks from dinner into your purse, anticipating that it will come in handy, especially when the drunken munchies start to hit. Together, the six of you parade the sidewalk, giggling and stumbling into the venue, beaming at the bouncer with goofy smiles as you display your IDs to him.
You’re sat at a table near the front of the stage, next to the runway. Next to you is Sara, who is swaying in her seat, resting her head on your shoulder, mumbling something about more alcohol. You pet her hair, knowing she needs water more than anything, so you ask one of the other less intoxicated girls to sit beside her, telling the rest of the group that you’ll grab drinks for everyone. With your bag, you go to the bar, taking the empty spot between another bachelorette party taking shots and a bespectacled blonde man in a tan suit, sipping on a glass of whiskey on the rocks.
The bartender, a beautiful brunette with soft brown eyes, nods at you before she helps the other patrons who were there first, so you wait patiently for her to return. The bridesmaid next to you, a feather boa around her neck, bumps into you by accident. She apologizes profusely, the potent smell of tequila wafting from her breath. You laugh, assuring her it’s alright and congratulating the bride. They offer you a shot, refusing, so instead they drape one of their fluffy scarves on your shoulders.
When they leave, the man to your other side chuckles, taking a swig of his liquor, smirking. “I’m surprised you didn’t take the free shot.”
You glance at him, taken aback by his handsome appearance. Slightly flustered, you focus your eyes on his uniquely spotted tie. “I’m taking care of another bride tonight, so I can’t get too wasted.”
He turns to face you completely now, and you can’t help scanning his physique, impressed by his stature, and of course, extremely good looks. “How responsible of you. Let me guess, you’re the maid-of-honor?”
This time, you meet his gaze, grinning with a shrug. “Guilty as charged.”
He reaches towards you, tipping the brim of your cowboy hat, getting a better view of your face. “And what’s the story behind this get-up?”
You laugh nervously, reluctant to explain. “It’s her last rodeo. You know, the last ride for the bride.” Heat rushes into your cheeks, already frazzled by his presence, now embarrassed about the clichés.
Amused, he hums. “Ah, I see. Clever.” He holds his hand out. “I’m Kento Nanami. Nice to meet you.”
You take it, introducing yourself. It’s obvious he’s here alone, and you wonder what someone like him is doing here at a male dance venue dressed like this, as if he came straight from the office. However, you’re not here to make assumptions about strangers, so you don’t question it.
The bartender finally approaches you, apologizing. “Sorry for the wait. It’s been really busy tonight.”
You wave it off, telling her it’s fine, ordering a few cocktails and a water. Before she starts on your order, she looks at Nanami. “Need anything else, Kento?” You’re curious about their relationship, which seems close given the first-name basis.
He twirls his drink, ice clinking in the glass. “If you have any food in there, that would be great.”
She pushes a container of maraschino cherries towards him. “You know we don’t. Here’s some healthy fruit to hold you over for the show.”
He snorts, “Thanks, Shoko.”
She makes the drinks in silence, leaving you alone with him once more. You set your purse on the counter, unzipping it to retrieve the pack of warm breadsticks from the Italian restaurant, sliding it to him. He looks at it, then at you, surprised.
“It’s your lucky day.”
Still in disbelief, he opens it slowly, inhaling the fragrant aroma of garlic and butter. He pulls one out, staring at it like he’s just discovered hidden treasure. “Am I dreaming right now?”
You beam at him. “This is totally real.”
He takes a bite, eyes fluttering. “This is heavenly. Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”
You giggle, watching him savor it. “I told you: it’s your lucky day.”
He takes another one, smiling. “It really is.” Wiping one side of his mouth with a napkin, he adds, “Not that it matters, but I’m curious. Why does a beautiful cowgirl like yourself have my favorite food in her purse?”
You try not to the let the subtle compliment faze you, though you’re not sure how good of a job you’re doing considering how hot your body is, especially your face. “I took it from the restaurant we had dinner at in case any of my friends need it for later.”
Halfway into the second breadstick, he comments, “You really are a good girl, aren’t you?”
Another comment that flusters you. Quickly, you pull yourself together. “I’m just trying to make sure everyone’s having a good time and won’t feel sick later.”
He finishes it off, licking the residual butter off his fingers. “Well, I won’t take all of it, then. You never know how the night will go, right?” He passes it to you, chugging the rest of his booze until there’s only ice left.
Shoko returns with your drinks, including a water for Sara. You hand her your card, expecting to pay, but Nanami interjects. “Shoko, put it on my tab.”
You gape at him. “You don’t have to – ”
“I want to. For the breadsticks,” he winks. He stands, grabbing two of your cocktails. “Can I help you bring these to your party?”
Stunned, and completely infatuated now, you nod without speaking, leading him to your table. Your friends ogle him when he serves them, probably smitten like you. You make one more trip for the remaining drinks, giving Sara the water, who reluctantly sips on it. “Thank you. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you.”
“Just have a good time tonight, then we’ll call it even. I’ll see you later.” He waves goodbye to you and your friends, walking towards the rear of the club, for employees only.
Your curiosity peaks, though you don’t have time to ponder it because dance music begins blaring through the speakers, resulting in cheers from the audience. Sara hollers from her seat, drinking her water with a stack of bills in her hands, ready to toss at the dancers.
The emcee, a muscular older gentleman who calls himself “the Principal”, stands to the side of the stage, wearing an all-black suit and sports sunglasses. “Are you ladies ready for a special show tonight?”
Everyone applauds, excited for the performers to come out. “Let’s bring them out! Our first dancer is mysterious, sexy, and maybe just a little bit scary. A voice that can put any woman in a trance, and an even better body that will make anyone loyal to him, please give a big round of applause for…the Master!” A man with long, black hair draped on his back in a traditional Buddhist robe walks across the stage, smirking at the crowd with an alluring expression on his face. Many of the women scream for him, clearly already a favorite. He winks, resulting in louder shrieks.
“Next, class is in session! He’s got bright blue eyes that can peer into your soul and undress you in seconds. And when he’s not too busy doing that, he’s disciplining his very, very naughty students. Please welcome…the Professor!” This results in an overwhelming standing ovation, a couple of woman already tossing their bills towards him as an impressively tall and fit man with snow-white hair struts next to the Master, beaming towards the audience.
Two more dancers are introduced, leaving one left. “Last, and certainly not least. He’s wise, he’s good with money. Most of all, he hates work. But if it’s with a pretty coworker like you, he’ll work overtime to give you that good lovin’. Please give it up for…the Salary Man!”
To your shock, Nanami walks across, in the same exact outfit you saw him in earlier. When he takes his place at the end of the line, he glances at you, giving you a small wave. Sara whips around, shaking your shoulders. “He just waved at you!”
The entire show, you’re focused on Nanami, who graces the stage with smooth and fluid movements, hips thrusting into the air, booty popping in those tight slacks. At some point, each dancer starts to shed their clothing. He strips out of his jacket, tossing it towards your party where your friends catch it. Eventually, they reach the point of the show where each dancer performs a solo act. They step up and choose a woman in the audience who volunteers to be selected, usually a bride. You turn to Sara, asking her who her choice would be. She points to Nanami, whispering, “Definitely him.” A pang of jealously surrounds your chest, wishing you were posing as a bride tonight. It passes quickly, happy to live vicariously through your best friend.
After the first four strippers perform, Nanami’s turn comes. He steps forward in his half-buttoned dress shirt and unzipped slacks, teasing the black briefs he’s wearing beneath. Many women raise their hands, begging to be picked. Sara hoists both her arms, waving at him. He looks at her, then at you, back to her, holding his palm out to beckon her on stage. Suddenly, Sara shoves you, yelling, “She’s going up for me!”
The rest of the crowd cheers, coaxing you to get on. Nanami has a pleased grin on his face, waiting for you, almost like he expected this. You make your way slowly, stunned that this is really happening. As you stand before him, he pulls the feather boa off you slowly, letting it fall beside him on the floor, tipping your hat to see your face, like he did earlier at the bar. You can barely make out the Principal saying, “It seems our cowgirl has finally found her cowboy! Better take the proper position!”
Nanami’s voice is hot on your ear, low and soothing amidst the chaos surrounding you. “Can you lay down for me? I promise, I won’t touch you.”
You swallow hard, bending to lay flat on the stage, head towards the crowd. Nanami stands above you with you between his legs. You notice the outline of his cock in his pants and before you know it, you’re salivating profusely, pussy throbbing with arousal. The music starts, and soon, the familiar chorus plays: Promiscuous girl, wherever you are I’m all alone and it’s you that I want. Nanami trails down his chest, popping the rest of his buttons on his dress shirt, revealing his chiseled abs for everyone to gawk at.
The intense bass of the song and the shrieks of those watching pound your eardrums, and even with that as a distraction, all you can do is fixate on Nanami grinding his hips into the air, eyes never leaving yours. Soon, he’s kneeling over you, straddling your chest, still not touching. He rocks himself above you, moving with the beat of the music, bills raining you from the other women. Arms caging you in, he leans in, soothing voice in your ear again, whispering, “You can touch me, if you’d like.” He sits up, straddling you, running his fingers through his hair.
Without thinking, you act on instinct, hooking at the elastic of his briefs, tugging to snap it against his waist. The other dancers behind him whoop, encouraging you to keep going; you drift up to fondle his abs. Sara cheers the loudest from her seat, chucking the rest of her money at you and Nanami.
Unfortunately, the song fades out, ending the performance. There’s a standing ovation, more cash being thrown on stage. Nanami doesn’t seem to care as he removes himself from you, helping you on your feet. “Are you alright?”
Too mortified to meet his gaze, you look at the floor at all the bills scattered, nodding sheepishly. You’re not sure how you make it to your seat, Sara hugging you tightly, the other girls hollering for you. Your mind is still completely focused on Nanami, desperate for more.
The show ends and the emcee announces that the dancers will come out to greet the crowd. You have your face buried in your hands, embarrassed about the whole situation, despite your friends being thrilled about. Wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, you gather everyone, ready to return to the hotel just a four blocks away. On your way towards the exit, someone grabs your wrist gently. You turn, surprised to be face Nanami, in his office attire. He murmurs your name, a blush in his cheeks, hair ruffled from his rousing performance. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
Snapping out of it, you reply, “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for such a fun night.”
You expect him to let you go, but he doesn’t, holding your hand in his. “I don’t live far from here. Just down the street.” He reaches into his pocket, passing a business card to you. “Call me if you want. I’d really like to see you again, get to know you better.”
You take it, smiling at him. “We have to get to our hotel now. But thank you.”
He nods politely, dropping his grip, watching you leave out the door with the rest of your cowgirls.
~~~
It takes nearly two hours to get everyone settled for the night. Stomped on cowboy hats litter the floor of your hotel room. Whatever is left of the breadsticks gets consumed within minutes while the remaining snacks you’ve purchased throughout the trip are eaten without so much as a crumb left. You make sure everyone is hydrated with their own water bottles and help them unzip their little black dresses so that they can slip into their pajamas. Sara keeps babbling about how much fun she had, how hot all of the strippers were. She ends up leaving her soon-to-be husband a hilariously drunk voicemail reiterating her love for him.
It's a little past three in the morning, the rest of the girls sleeping soundly in the bed, your best friend snoring noisily. Nobody budges when you sneak out of the room in your black dress, rocking the cowboy hat and boots, following the directions to the address Nanami texted you after you messaged him first, asking if he’s still up. You don’t expect him to respond seconds later, convinced he’s asleep by now, so you’re more than excited to know that he’s awake, possibly waiting for you.
He meets you in the lobby of his apartment complex, dressed in grey sweatpants and a white undershirt. Even in his casual wear, you’re drawn to him. He looks you up and down, smirking when he sees you. “Howdy, cowgirl.”
You laugh, following him to the elevator heading up the fifth floor. His hands are stuffed in his pockets during the ride, keeping a safe distance from you. You tap your foot, the boots making a clicking noise on the tiled floor. You turn to him, inching a bit closer. “I hope I didn’t keep you up. It took a while to get everyone to bed.”
He faces you, eyes twinkling with kindness. “You’re a really good friend, taking care of them like that.” He pauses, stepping to the side, closing the distance, arms brushing now. “But who’s taking care of you?”
Deciding to be bold, you reply, “I was hoping you could take care of me tonight. If you’re okay with that.”
The doors split open, finally on the right floor. He reaches for you, lacing his fingers with yours, leading you into the hallway, rushing to his room. Once inside, he traps you against the door, caging you between his arms, looking at you with an intense expression. “You’re sure you want me to take care of you?”
You tug on his collar, pulling him in. “I’m positive.” He leans in kissing you softly on the lips, palm cupping your cheek. He breaks apart briefly to remove your hat, tossing it behind him, going in for more. You slip out of your shoes, following him into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind you.
“Can you lay down for me, sweetheart?” He’s hot on your ear, exactly the way he said it on the stage just hours ago. You bite back a moan, so incredibly turned on while you get on the bed, lying flat on your back, anticipating. He rolls the hem of your dress up your thighs, enough so that you can spread them apart, exposing your panties to him, already damp with arousal.
“Wow,” he says, kissing the plush of your thighs. “You’re incredible.” He hooks the crotch of your panties to the side, pussy throbbing. He swears under his breath, readjusting himself so that he can stroke his cock through his pants, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. You squirm from the contact, moaning his name, his tongue licking circles around you. He doesn’t hold back, pushing himself deeper, lapping at your clit.
You clench the sheets beneath you, grinding on his face. He responds by eating you out sloppier, spitting thick wads of saliva to smear on your clit. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans, licking your cunt, collecting your slick on his tongue. “I want you to come on my face, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”
Head thrown into the pillows, you whimper, “Yes,” reaching for his hair, feeling him thrash around, slobbering all over you until you climax, gushing into his mouth. He continues to flick your swollen bud with his tongue while you ride out your high, stopping only when you recoil from him, overstimulated. He surfaces, meeting your lips with his, messy with your arousal. You exchange a few more kisses before he strips his shirt off, followed by his pants. You almost gasp out loud at the impressive bulge in his briefs, palming it.
He nibbles on your ear lobe, rutting his erection against you, whispering, “Ride it, cowgirl. Ride me.”
Sliding out of your panties, you get into position, facing away while you straddle him, his grip on your ankles, adjusting you so you’re sat on his lap. You lift your ass, letting him guide his hard cock inside you, stretching you out gradually, inch-by-inch. “Fuck,” you hear him curse behind you, bottoming out. He slaps one of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh between his fingers. You bounce on him, ass jiggling with each pump of his cock, slutty moans pouring out of your mouth.
“Look at you go, fuck. You’re perfect. So perfect for me,” he purrs, guiding you up and down his dick.
He’s so deep, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust, your core tight with pleasure. Your tongue hangs out, drool leaking from the sides of your lips, eyes glazed over in bliss. You’re getting your brains fucked out of you and you find yourself blurting out every carnal desire crossing your mind. “Film me, Nanami. Want to see it.”
He gets even stiffer. “Yeah? You want to see how this fat ass swallows my cock up, huh? Better ride it harder, cowgirl.” Reaching for his phone, he holds it up, camera towards you. Before he records, he confirms one more time, “Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?”
You nod, whimpering, “Yes,” leaning down to grip the end of the bed, giving you more leverage to get fucked deeper.
“There you go. Keep fucking me,” he grunts, filming you now. “Use this cock to get yourself off. Let me take care of you, make you feel good.” His voice encouraging you pushes you closer to the edge, on the verge of another orgasm. You whine his name, moving faster.
“What is it, baby?” he coos, sweat beading on his forehead. “Are you going to come for me again?”
“Fuck yeah. Going to come on this cock,” you moan, rubbing your clit.
“Then do it. Give me all that fucking cum, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. Squirt on it. Cream all over it, oh fuck,” he growls, thrusting into you. “Can I come with you? Please, pretty girl? Can I breed you and make you mine?”
That does it. You orgasm, clutching him tight, pussy squeezing around him. Seconds later, he comes, filling you with his hot load, pumping his cock until he’s milked dry. He stays inside you for a bit, admiring the view before lifting your ass to pull out, watching his creamy mess leak out of you slowly, wet cock flopped against his abdomen. He stops the recording, running his fingers along his hair, damp with perspiration. “Come here,” he says, caressing one of your ankles tenderly, setting his phone on the nightstand.
You crawl to him, nuzzling your nose to his chest as he wraps you in his arms. It’s silent for a moment, neither of you sure of what to say next. He clears his throat, speaking first. “I hope you don’t think I do this often.”
You look at him, confused. “Do what?”
“Take women home from work. To do this.”
Smiling, you respond, “Even if you did, it wouldn’t matter to me.”
He hugs you tighter, kissing you on the forehead. “Still, I just wanted to make that clear.”
You trace the outline of his abs idly. “Well, in that case, I don’t do this often either.”
He chuckles, mimicking you now. “Do what?”
“Hook up with sexy dancers from the strip club.”
Another smooth, this time on the cheek. “It wouldn’t matter to me even if you did.”
You cuddle with each other for a while longer, reluctant to let go. Begrudgingly, you break away from him to check the time. “I should probably head back now.”
He nods. “Can I walk you there?”
“Sure.”
It’s a short trip back to the hotel, so you take your time, walking slowly, fingers laced together. “Is it a long flight home for you tomorrow?” he asks.
“We all actually live close-by, so we drove here together.”
He stops, pausing to look at you carefully. “You live around here?”
“Yes. And I work here in the city.”
His lips parts, sputtering nonsense before he responds, “I thought I’d have to say goodbye to you tonight.”
“Do you not want to?”
“No, I don’t. I’d like to see you again if that’s okay with you.”
You lean into him. “I’d like that too. I don’t go around giving my breadsticks to anyone, you know. Only the special ones.”
He chuckles, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close. “And I don’t go around giving my breadstick to just about anyone either.”
“Oh no,” you laugh, hiding your face. “Don’t tell me these are the kind of jokes you make.”
“Unfortunately, it is. And now, you’re stuck with them.”
You hug him around the waist, gazing at him lovingly. “Lucky me.”
He smiles at you. “Me too.”
#nanami smut#nanami x you#nanami x reader#kento nanami#nanami#nanami kento#kento nanami smut#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#nanami kento smut#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami kento fluff#kento nanami fluff#nanami fluff#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#y2k karaoke party#milestone event
590 notes
·
View notes
Text
who needs stars, we've got a roof. ☆cl16
masterlist
author's note. finally writing something after like a month, had this unbearable burst of motivation. this one is heavily inspired by nothing by bruno major. listen to it while reading this if you want the full experience:)
as always, come over to talk, give feedback, give opinions, ask requests, or anything at all. asks are always open. ♡♡♡
warnings: fluff, angst. lowercase intended.
summary: moments with his girlfriend that altered Charles Leclerc's brain chemistry
charles leclerc wasn't exactly a man who knew his way with words. he might not have perfect answers for every question he was asked, but he could tell you one thing. if anyone were to ask what his favorite thing to do, ever, was, he would tell you that it was doing nothing with his girl.
---------
she kept tossing and turning in the bed, not caring enough that it might wake up the man beside her. she couldn't care less that he was tired, that he had just returned home a few hours prior after a double header, and that he was a light sleeper. the windows were open to let the summer breeze in, and her skin was starting to itch. he was starting to wake.
he eventually turns to face her, having had enough of her whines. 'what is it' he tried to sound irritated, but he wasn't fooling anyone. he could never be annoyed, not with her. 'i want ice cream' he sighed, getting up and walking into the kitchen to fetch her some. he comes back in a minute, pointing an accusatory finger at her. 'you' he moves to sit on the bed, just as she gets up, leaning her weight on her elbows. 'you had all the ice cream we had-' 'i can explain-'.
they both sit across each other in a small ice cream shop 20 minutes later. she thanks whatever god there is that this store was somehow open at this unconventional time, and that too in some alley away from the streets that she was sure were still busy and, oh so noisy.
she feels giddy, like a kid in a candy store. which, she suppose she was. charles watches her with a smile on his face, in a sweater she will be sure to rip off him the minute they get back home. he hasn't had a single bite of the strawberry ice cream she had ordered for him, too busy watching her.
she somehow manages to get her own strawberry ice cream on her nose, and charles doesnt even realise what he's doing until she looks up at him as he wipes the ice cream off her nose with his thumb, and licks it. he reaches his body over the small table a minute later, and kisses her. he then leans back in his chair, and finally starts eating his ice cream, after being threatened by his girlfriend.
charles steals glances at her and tries not to get caught, like he was a school boy trying to look at his crush without making it too obvious that he was staring. he tries to commit this frame to his memory, almost like he was never going to experience it again. he pays for two chocolate ice creams to go, and holds out the door as he lets her settle into the passenger seat of his car before placing the bag in her lap.
charles wasn't a relegious person by any means, no, so he thanks the universe instead, for keeping the ice cream shop open. he likes to think that it was something more than a coincidence.
---------
charles likes to act like he hates the notebook, which wasn't entirely false. he doesn't hate watching it with his girlfriend, but he hates how many times she has made him watch that one single godforsaken movie.
he grumbles into her shoulder, complaining for the 100th time that evening. they had been too lazy to put on decent clothes and go out to eat, so take out and movie night it was. the notebook plays on the tv, and boxes of chinese takeout lay on the coffee table as charles' lays his body on top of his girlfriend's on the couch.
'charles, if i hear you say anything one more time so help me god i will throw you out of the window'. he laughs at this, amused as he imagines how the scene would actually play out. she shushes him, and keeps her palm flat against his lips, and it stays there until he gets bored again and starts licking it.
it's her turn to be amused when she hears him wiping his nose with a hand kerchief just as the movie comes to an end. she takes out her phone, and takes what feels like a hundred photos of him crying to the movie he supposedly hates.
---------
they're both panting, their legs tangled together, both laying on their backs to the mattress, with a thin layer of sweat covering their bodies. she says they should really get up and shower, or they'll be too hot to get any actual sleep. 'in a minute', he says.
he turns to look at her, and she keeps staring at the ceiling. he feels like he could cry when she looks up at him with hooded eyes. he tells her how much he loves her, with infant tears adorning his eyes. she pulls the bedsheet over their bodies, and leans closer to bite at his bottom lip.
he pulls her closer and she eventually ends up on top of him, her chin on his chest and looking up at him with those eyes again. no words could ever convey what they feel for eachother, and they stay in a heap on the bed, too tired to do anything else.
he tells her how much he adores her and how she was the love of his life, 4 more times before she falls asleep on his chest. charles always makes sure to leave no words unsaid. he always says enough for the both of them.
---------
charles holds his heart on his sleeve as he tries not to freak out, his fiance far too drunk to be dancing on a table the way she was, on a fucking yacht nonetheless. he hovers around the table, ready to catch her when she inevitably falls.
what was supposed to be a small dinner with some friends on his yatch, had somehow turned into an overnight party, thanks to pierre being pierre. she had originally not wanted to attend the party at all, feigning tiredness. charles wondered where it had gone, the minute she saw pierre and his girlfriend.
she falls over the edge of the table, red wine splattering all over the floor of charles' yacht. her upper body suffers no impact, unlike her legs and thighs, charles having caught her in time. he later rubs her legs with muscle spray on their bed back home, her being too gone to register the act.
she wakes up with no pain body pains, and charles doesn't mention her hurting herself ever again.
---------
lando makes them play mario kart, wanting to finally defeat charles after losing brutally every single time he's played with the monegasque. they're on the couch, shouting like teenage boys when she gets home with grocery bags almost falling out of her hands in their hallway.
she huffs and puffs as she puts them away in assigned cabinets, and she thinks she hears lando crying. finally making her way to the living room with a cup of tea in her hands, she watches lando making mistakes he could've easily avoided, only if he wasn't so stupid.
she tells him exactly that as she snatches the controller from his hands, and he's too shocked to say anything. charles lets out a laugh, and lando doesn't worry much because he knows charles was too good at this game to not win, and patiently waits for his turn to call her stupid.
she leaps up from the couch, and shoves her hands into charles' face, being too smug about her win. lando stares at him, slack mouthed and annoyed that he'd let her win.
there's not many people charles wouldn't mind losing to, and she was always the first on that list.
---------
he could feel her staring at him from the passenger seat, and she's too tired to feel embarrassed about it. they're in his car returning home from a gala they had to attend, and charles told her one too many times that he would rather be at home, doing nothing with her.
'never leave me, charles.' he waits until they reach a red light, and turns in his seat to properly look at her. she has the softest smile on her lips, her lipstick a little smudged. her freckles stand out from the moonlight, and she looks like she could fall asleep any moment.
charles has to stop himself and admire her, and he thinks she could sprout wings from her back any moment now and he wouldn't be surprised. she was his angel, his precious angel of a girl.
'I couldn't if I tried, you've bewitched me body and soul'. he knows it will make her crazy, that line. he has seen her physically clutching her heart everytime she's somehow reminded of it.
she tells him how happy she is right now, and says that she wouldn't mind if she died right then and there. charles brings her hand to his mouth and places a kiss on the back of her palm in response.
---------
charles is sure god isn't real now. he's not sure who's to blame. he's not sure where it all went wrong. maybe it's true that nothing lasts forever. she never got to walk down the aisle to him like they dreamed of.
charles says nothing as she leaves the keys on a table beside the door, and he couldn't convince himself to look at her face one last time, as the door closed shut.
charles never seems to find the ice cream shop open when he's wandering through monaco alone, on those sleepless nights. he supposes it's for the best, and he's not entirely sure that he could have a strawberry ice cream in that shop without breaking down. so he sits outside the shop instead, replaying the scene of her across the table from him in his head.
he never loses to anyone at mario kart again, and he doesn't scream with his hands in the air when he wins. he tries not to cry as the notebook plays on the tv, during a movie night with his friends. he thinks pierre squeezes his knee to offer comfort, but he's not sure about that either.
he lays in his bed, after opening his windows just the way she always had them open, reaches his hand to his side, and longs for the weight of her on his chest. he knows he'll never feel it again, and thinks of all the things he would do just to feel her lips on his, just one more time.
#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc
757 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Gift ~ an Encanto fic
[Summary: On her sixteenth birthday, Mirabel receives a gift like no other. Sequel to “Home” but also serves as a stand-alone fic.]
As the party wound down, Bruno retreated to the little alcove tucked into the side of the staircase. He sat at the empty table there, facing the courtyard. Though most of Mirabel’s friends had already gone home, Antonio and his buddy Juancho, fueled by sugar and coffee respectively, had no intentions of letting the party end anytime soon.
Riding Chispi, Juancho chased Antonio, who rode Parce, in a wide circle around the remaining partygoers. Bruno chuckled. He wondered whether the capybara had had coffee as well, judging by how energetic he was. Or perhaps he simply enjoyed being the cat for once in the age-old game of cat and mouse.
Maybe I should have had more coffee, Bruno mused. He looked down at the small package that sat before him on the table and idly drummed his fingers on the aged wood. He’d given it his best shot by attempting to actively include himself in the festivities for Mirabel’s sake. It was her birthday, after all. He’d wanted her to know that he cared enough to be a part of it, and to her credit, she had asked him several times throughout the day if he wanted to take a break. Coffee could only do so much, and spoons of sugar did not equate to spoons of social energy.
Now that Bruno had retreated to the alcove, he knew that the party was officially over for him. Still, he’d managed to stick it out better than he had at his own birthday party five months earlier. It had been his first birthday with his sisters in ten years, but he hadn’t really been ready for it. With each family member’s birthday since his return, he made the effort to be in attendance, and though he tried to be inconspicuous, he felt like he could never escape the curious glint or distrustful glare of the villagers’ eyes.
And there were times, like right now, when Bruno would almost swear that he felt his father’s eyes on him. If he were to turn in his seat and peer up through the faded blue balusters of the staircase, he would be able to see Pedro’s portrait hanging up over the landing. On the back of his head, they seemed to cast an uneasy tingle, but whenever Bruno looked into those amber eyes, they were gentle. Compassionate. Wise. Patient. And sometimes it was all too much, and he would have to look away.
Still, there was a strange comfort to this small section of Casita. As a child, Bruno had spent a lot of time on that landing and in the alcove beside it, where he was sitting now. Just to be near that portrait. Just to be close to the father he never knew. The package on the table drew his attention again, and he moved his fingers to drum on that instead. The paper it was wrapped in did not make the same satisfying sound that the tabletop made, but feeling the little gift under his hand gave him an added sense of comfort.
Bruno turned his head to cast an apologetic glance at the staircase. He did not meet the eyes of the portrait. He didn’t need to. He felt his father’s approval. Now all he had to do was wait for Mirabel to approach him. Even without his gift, he knew it would happen soon. And sure enough, there she was walking up to him with a smile on her face and a plate in each hand.
Bruno moved to stand up, but Casita was already pulling a chair out for Mirabel to sit down.
“I saved you some merengón!” she said, setting one of the two plates in front of him.
Bruno had moved the package to his lap when he saw her approach. He looked at the small mountain of merengue, whipped cream, and fruit that took its place on the table. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he still was, despite having food thrust at him left and right by his mother and sisters during the party.
“Oh, gracias!” Bruno replied, picking the fork off the plate. He tucked his hair behind his ears before taking a bite of the merengón.
Mirabel chuckled. “Looks like Dolores was right.”
Bruno swallowed and gave her a puzzled look. “Right about what?”
“About not having the biggest ears in the family.”
“Oh, heh. Yeah.” Bruno touched an ear self-consciously. “That’s why my hair is so long. To cover ‘em up. But then my hair sometimes gets in the way of me eating, and hair in your food is gross, even when it’s your own, you know?”
Mirabel nodded. “Did you enjoy the party?”
Bruno nodded back. “Yeah. It was good. I mean, as good as a big, noisy gathering of people can be, so kindaaaeehhhh… But anyway, shouldn’t I be asking you that question? It was your party, after all. So, did you enjoy it?”
She looked at him for a moment before answering. “Yeah. It was good.”
They finished their dessert in silence. Somewhere upstairs, the deep, pitiful meows of a jaguar could be heard. This was followed by the pleading voice of Antonio begging his mother to let Parce into her room for some reason that was drowned out by thunder. Moments later, a light hailstorm spilled over the upper mezzanine and onto the courtyard below. Parce must be acting like a big kitten right now, trying to butter Pepa up, Bruno thought. He and Mirabel were sheltered by the alcove, but he watched with a smile as the little marbles of ice bounced on the floor tiles nearby.
Bruno looked over at Mirabel as the two of them finished their merengón.
“You’ve got a little something here,” he said, tapping the corner of his mouth.
Mirabel wiped at the corresponding spot on her face with a finger, then licked the dab of whipped cream from it.
“Sorry. I was too excited for dessert to remember napkins.”
Bruno chuckled. “Oh! That reminds me…”
He picked up the package on his lap and placed it on the table. It was so lightweight that he had completely forgotten it was there.
Bruno grinned at Mirabel. The look on her face told him exactly what he already knew: she recognized the parchment paper and the green yarn tied around it. The very same paper and yarn she had used to wrap her birthday gift to him the previous year.
“Happy birthday, Mírame.”*
Mirabel looked up at him in surprise. “I haven’t been called that since I was five.”
Bruno’s face fell. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind. I mean, I’m fifty-one and I’m still being called Bru and Bruni and Brunito and hermanito. B-but if you feel like you’re too old to have a nickname, I completely unders–”
Mirabel reached out to Bruno’s wildly gesturing hands and squeezed one reassuringly.
“You were the only one who ever called me that,” she said softly, with a smile as gentle as a sunrise. “Don’t ever stop. But maybe don’t use it around Camilo!”
Bruno smiled back. He picked up the package with his free hand and offered it to her.
“Hope you like it.”
Mirabel undid the yarn bow and unfolded the parchment paper. Inside was a small scrap of powder blue fabric. It unfurled to reveal a handkerchief, not unlike the one she had given him for his birthday. Just as his handkerchief had his initials embroidered in opposite corners in gold thread, this one had two M’s embroidered in opposite corners in turquoise blue thread. The letters were off-centered and crooked. In each of the other two corners was a yellow and pink butterfly. They were different sizes, and one had asymmetrical wings.
Mirabel stared at the handkerchief. Bruno rubbed his arm.
“It’s been a long time,” he murmured, looking away. “I, uh, I started on it in November, but I knew it wouldn’t be done in time for Christmas because I’m out of practice, but –”
“Wait, YOU made this?”
Bruno looked back at Mirabel, who was now staring at him in wide-eyed shock. He couldn’t help but wince a little.
“Y-yes?”
Mirabel’s stare seemed to intensify, making Bruno wince visibly this time.
“Like I said, it’s been a long, long time, Mira. I mean, I mended my clothes all the time inside the walls, but I haven’t embroidered anything since –”
“YOU KNOW HOW TO EMBROIDER AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN TELL ME?!”
By this point, the girl sitting across from him looked positively maniacal. Bruno was sure she was about to pounce on him, but whether it would be to hug him or throttle him, he could not foresee. The one time he really should have winced, he found himself chuckling instead.
“I thought you already knew! Who do you think embroidered the pink and purple flowers on that pillow over there?” he said, gesturing toward another alcove across the courtyard. In it was a sofa with several throw pillows. “And who do you think put the stars on your bedroom curtains?”
Mirabel looked from her uncle to the cloth in her hand. “I had no idea.”
Bruno studied her. She hadn’t said a word yet about her gift, and he was beginning to grow uneasy. Did she like it? Did she hate it? Was she appalled that it was embroidered by a man? Surely she knew –
“I always thought that… Abuelo taught Abuela, and she taught me,” Mirabel whispered. She looked up at him questioningly.
Bruno nodded with a smile. “I wanted to learn whatever my father could teach me. Even if he wasn’t there to teach me himself. I-I just wanted to make him proud, you know? To be just like him.” He looked at the cloth and his smile faded. “But I never got very good at it, as you can see. Not like you. I know you made him proud. But I –”
Mirabel’s sudden and crushing hug rendered him silent.
“It’s perfect,” she told him. “Gracias, Tío.”
Bruno hugged her back, relieved. “De nada, Mírame.”
After a long moment, Mirabel finally let go, and Bruno took the handkerchief from her. He stood up and turned to face the portrait on the landing, holding up the cloth like a child proudly showing off the picture he drew in school.
“Sorry about your shirt, Papá. I managed to save part of it, though.”
Mirabel looked at him curiously.
“Your abuela gave me all of his clothes when I came of age, hoping they’d fit me,” he explained. “Most were too big on me, and we had them tailored so I could wear them. I kept one shirt unaltered as a way to preserve it the way Papá wore it. Unfortunately, some of the rats found it while I was living in the walls and chewed holes in it. I would have been able to mend it if the holes were close enough to a seam, but there was no way to fix them where they were without using a patch to cover them up, so…”
Mirabel gasped and grabbed the cloth from his hands. “Are you saying you made this from Abuelo’s shirt?”
Bruno nodded, blushing slightly.
Eyes brimming with tears, Mirabel held the handkerchief to her heart. “This best gift ever just got even better.”
Sharing a smile, the two turned to gaze up at the portrait.
THE END
[Bruno's handkerchief from Mirabel (from the fic "Home") and Mirabel's handkerchief from Bruno]
* Mírame means "look at me" in Spanish. It sounded like it would make a cute nonsensy sort of nickname for Mirabel when she was little.
Thank you to @moon-calvary and @jacarandaaaas for your suggestions!
#Encanto#Mirabel#Bruno#Madrigal#birthday#encanto mirabel#encanto bruno#Mirabel Madrigal#Bruno Madrigal#Disney#we talk about bruno#happy birthday Mirabel
50 notes
·
View notes
Note
Jjba Bruno prompt #24 with interrogation :)
You're already shaking with nerves before you step into Bruno Buccellati's office. You'd only met him a scant few times after your family had come pleading to Passione for protection — and each time had unnerved you. His unnerving gaze seemed to hover on you when you were in his presence. You'd never willingly choose to stand in front of his office's doorstep, but a summons there by Bruno himself had forced your hand. Your family made it more than clear that saying 'no' wasn't a possibility.
Behind you sits some of his crew, their eyes burning into your back as you stand silently, your hand raised to knock. Your muscles refuse to let you move, and a bead of sweat begins to roll down the back of your neck. If you weren't sure your family would be punished for your disobedience, you'd turn tail and run as fast as you could.
Before you can move, the door in front of you swings open. You see Bruno seated behind his desk, and he beckons you forward with the crook of his finger. The question of how the door opened if he was sitting behind his desk was only a fleeting thought. You enter quickly and the door shuts seemingly by itself. Flustered already, you huff out a surprised noise, and you hear a low chuckle across the room.
He was amused by how nervous you were. Heat creeps up your neck as you swallow the verbal jab you wanted to throw at him. You hated Passione, and that extended to the man in front of you. It didn't matter that you'd heard good things about him from nearly everyone in the neighborhood - you refused to trust someone who aligned themselves with the mafia.
You finally come to stand in front of his desk. Though he was seated, it felt as if Bruno towered over you. His presence made the fight or flight instinct in your brain flare to life, and it was all you could do to not reconsider your earlier plan of running away.
"I assumed I wouldn't need to explain why I called you here today." Bruno offers no pleasantries as he immediately begins whatever it was he had planned to say to you. He doesn't give you time to reply, folding his arms on the table as he leans forward and continues to speak. "That blank look on your face when you stood at the door told me I was wrong."
You shift, uncomfortable. How did he know what you looked like when you were standing out there? Before you can question him, he gives you a look that keeps your mouth shut.
"Come here." Bruno gestures to his side of the desk, and you swallow thickly. What did he want? You follow his words, cringing inwardly at how easily you gave in to him. You hadn't even been able to choke out any words. He gives you an expectant look when you round his desk to stand before him. “No, not there, in my lap.”
You grimace, unable to stop yourself, and he smiles. "You really are naive. Your family didn't tell you what kind of deal they made, did they?"
You're pushed by an unknown force into Bruno's lap, awkwardly splayed across his legs. Your heart skitters in your chest, anxiety and fear clawing its way into your nervous system. It was all too much in such a short period of time when you hadn't even known why you were here in the first place.
You're held steady in Bruno's lap even though his arms remain on either side of the chair he sits in, his lips curled into a smile that made your skin crawl. "I suppose I shouldn't keep it from you any longer. When I told your parents of my interest in you, they jumped to find a way to make me happy." He pauses, letting his words sink in. "Today was the day we agreed you'd come into my possession, and in return, they'd get a hefty discount on their future fees."
"Wh-what? What the hell are you talking about?" You finally manage to find your voice, adrenaline surging. "You're lying. Just tell me how much my family owes, and I'll pay it."
Bruno begins to laugh, throwing his head back as if you'd told the funniest joke he'd heard in years. You don't know how to respond, wordlessly sitting on his lap until he finally stops.
"Sorry, sorry." He starts. "It's just, you really have no idea, do you? Your family owes multiple generations of debt. It didn't start with your family, but your parents were more than happy to pay their share by way of... well, you. And I told them I'd consider beginning to chip into their remaining debt if you behaved. I suppose they were too cowardly to tell you what they'd done before sending you to me."
Bruno sneers, as if they were the only ones making poor moralistic choices in the situation.
The pit in your stomach that had been growing before you'd walked into Bruno's office practically feels like a black hole now. You want to hold on to something, to grasp at something tangible, but any movement would put you closer to Bruno than you already were.
"Don't worry about them," Bruno interprets your silence as acceptance, unwilling to consider you'd feel any other way. "We'll make a new family. Together."
#yandere cw#this kind of started as an interrogation but turned into something else lol sorry#ask prompt#my writing#jjba.txt#yandere bruno bucciarati#yandere bruno buccellati#yandere jjba x reader#yandere bruno x reader#yandere bruno bucciarati x reader#vento aureo#i wrote this when i was high#dark content#oops this got a lil longer than i meant it to be#i wanted to keep these prompts under 500 words LMAO
104 notes
·
View notes
Text
Calcified Cage.
Yan Bucciarati x F Reader x Yan Fugo.
A glimpse into a "bad end" from Scarlet Ribbons.
Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied power imbalance.
Word count: 1.5k.
Pannacotta Fugo knew on an intrinsic level that nothing good was to come from this private meeting with Bucciarati.
For someone who prefers to make judgments on empirical merit, this odd bout of premonition felt uncharacteristic, further adding to his unease. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. Bucciarati often consulted him in private over various Passione concerns.
In private, yes, but never in the total seclusion of his humble home along Napoli’s outskirts.
Fugo can count the number of times he’s been here on one hand. Normally, if Bruno needed to discuss an issue with Fugo, he’d ask him to stay behind after the gang finished eating their meal at Libeccio. The mixing of business and home life is considered taboo in this profession. Although Bucciarati is a bachelor who lives by himself, Fugo figured that he adhered to this unspoken virtue on principle alone.
When Fugo finishes reading the letter in his grasp, it’s no longer a mystery why his leader has taken these precautions. The paper trembles like a leaf in the wind, Fugo’s grasp on it weakening.
“You understand what this means, don’t you?”
Bucciarati’s voice sounds far away, despite his position a few feet across the table. Ringing resounds in Fugo’s ears, quiet at first, yet building in an all-consuming crescendo. The melody it weaves is melancholic at its core. A tragedy cast by the indifferent divine, thrusting him into the spotlight, where he stumbles through his lines as a lead character.
He has to tell himself to breathe.
Inhale.
For if what’s written crawls into reality—
Exhale.
—He’ll no longer have a reason to.
Fugo downs a glass of water his host generously had the forethought to provide. His fingers grip the rim tight enough that his knuckles nearly turn as white as his complexion.
“Are you asking for my legal counsel?” he manages to get out. There’s a rasp in his voice that he can’t hide, regardless of his best efforts. He can feel his collected mask melting from his face like wax on a candle. There won’t be any welding it back into place once it’s gone. It’ll require time to mold one in its predecessor's likeness — time he most certainly doesn’t have.
“No,” Bucciarati gives an answer he somehow already expected. “I want to hear your personal opinion.”
“My… personal opinion? Is that really necessary?”
“It is.”
It shouldn’t be. This is about as black and white as a dilemma can get. Trying to mix the colors on a palette to form gray would be impossible; a fool’s wish. The shades are so diametrically opposed that he’d sooner find success in combining oil and water.
His esophagus burns like he’d just drunk hard liquor instead of water.
“This is… good,” he fights back a wince at the wooden delivery, “For— for her, I mean.”
Something tells him that even if he had put on the performance of a lifetime, Bucciarati still wouldn’t have believed him.
“For her,” Bucciarati echoes dryly.
Fugo inwardly curses his clumsy word choice. There’s no point in concealing his cards, he may as well have just laid them all out for Bucciarati’s viewing pleasure. He loosens his tie. The quiet intensity radiating from Bucciarati is suffocating. He’s reminded then that while he greatly cares for and respects the man sitting across from him, Bruno Bucciarati is, at his core, a mobster.
And there’s nothing more dangerous than a mobster who feels his family is under threat.
You are, in essence, the heart of Bucciarati’s ragtag team.
This letter is proposing to transplant you into another body. An objectively healthier body.
To do without you would be to live as a dead man walking.
Fugo feels the phantom pain as if his chest cavity was being split in half by spectral hands. No anesthetic, no scalpel. Just raw, brutish force. Your nonsensical questions he pretends to find irritating are his veins. The blueberry pancakes dutifully arranged in a smiley face on his birthday, the arterioles; how you reach for his hand in crowded areas so as not to get lost, the capillaries.
You are snowball fights and hot cocoa in the winter, beach trips and shared gelato in the summer.
(“I can’t ever decide which flavor I want,” you’d lament, wilting all the while. It never took long for you to blossom again. “I know! Fugo, get this flavor, and I’ll get this one. That way I can try both!”
He’d sigh and pretend to consider it as if he hadn’t made up his mind the second you smiled at him. “Fine. I’d rather not hear you complaining if you ordered something you don’t like, so… just this once.”
“Just this once,” you repeated.
He’s never turned down your request in the times you’ve asked since).
Bucciarati leans back in his seat. He crosses his legs, folds his hands onto his lap, and smiles. Fugo is so put off by this shift in demeanor, the dissonance both perplexing and unsettling him. He sets the damning paper down for the temporary reprieve straightening it out provides. It points west, toward the window behind Bucciarati, where the sun’s final rays for the day crawl through.
“You love her,” Bucciarati says it as casually as one describing the weather.
Fugo’s entire body goes numb.
“... I do.”
“Do you love her enough to make her hate you?”
He’s been on the defensive throughout this entire interaction. He’ll allow himself one retort, one provocation.
“Do you?”
The softening of Bucciarati’s expression says it all.
“We shouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t.”
Right. Fugo isn’t sure if this is a conversation so much as it is an interview, his most pivotal test since joining Passione’s ranks. For once, he didn’t need to study. Passing with flying colors isn’t the issue. It’s deciphering the purposefully cryptic manner that Bucciarati has been conducting himself that poses an obstacle.
However, when he stares into Bucciarati’s resolute eyes, he thinks he might be starting to crack the code.
The promise he made to himself to reprise his role of an obsequious soldato is broken as easily as it was made.
“Forgive me for being blunt, Bucciarati,” he means it too, “But what exactly are you getting at here?”
“I won’t be able to conceal this for long.”
Nausea swirls inside him and bile claws its way up his throat. He swallows it down, despite how dry his mouth feels.
“The way I see it, we have two choices,” Bucciarati takes a deep breath. Pausing like this must mean he doesn’t savor the flavor of what he’ll say next. “Her happiness or ours.”
It’s debt that brought you into Passione and debt that’ll keep you here. Fugo considered how you were taken advantage of in such a desperate position truly unfortunate. Cruel, even. The offer of a loan that’d take considerable financial strain off your family. You didn’t know to look for jargon that’d increase the interest rate to something unholy, Passione was clever like that.
The worst mistake of your life is what led you to be the best thing in his — and so many others would attest the same.
However…
You are bright, but even the most radiant light is destined to flicker.
Living under the same roof as you for two years has taught Fugo much. He sees it, how you hesitate to take the phone when he tells you your parents are on the line. He hears the telling hitch in your voice when you spin another falsehood about why you can’t come home for the holidays again this year. He feels the wetness on your pillowcase when he goes into your room to retrieve a book you borrowed from him.
Your debt is what shackles you here and this letter is offering to break the chains.
You've successfully won over many key individuals during your tenure. The would-be benefactor who penned this letter — Signore Conti — had deep influences and even deeper pockets. His wife had taken a particular liking to you during a bodyguard assignment. She must've caught wind of your predicament somehow and beseeched her husband to intervene.
Fugo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "There's really no other way?"
"I'm open to suggestions, Fugo."
Questioning Bucciarati's resolve is just a weak attempt to stall for time. For Fugo to still be sitting here, even entertaining the possibility of snuffing out your future for the sake of maintaining his, he must've already made up his mind. The mere implication of Bucciarati's designs would've inspired righteous anger in most — not this internal weighing of pros and cons Fugo is neatly arranging on a scale.
"... We'll need to handle this delicately," Fugo says. His stomach feels like it's turning inside out. "We can't outright reject an offer like this from such an influential figure, it'd be considered an insult. Accept it on her behalf. Then... to ensure she can't go anywhere, I'll reach out to our contact in the bank and have her account frozen."
Bucciarati steeples his fingers. "It's a start."
That night, innumerable plans are formed, with you unknowingly starring as the centerpiece.
No matter how cruel, how unfair, it is silently agreed upon that you are their lifeblood, an organ essential to their survival.
And a heart cannot remain in place without the bones that make up its cage.
#bruno bucciarati x reader#bruno buccellati x reader#pannacotta fugo x reader#fugo x reader#jjba x reader#yandere jjba x reader#vento aureo x reader#part 5 x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#scarlet ribbons#my stuff
175 notes
·
View notes
Text
(𝟓𝟔) - 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐈
𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: none im sobbing rn
𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮
“jimin, again.”
sweat dripped down jimin's forehead as she danced. she had been executing the same movements over and over again. she was in this predicament because she had made an error in the choreography, and the instructor was furious about it.
“again.”
her body ached, everything was sore, and she couldn’t think straight anymore.
“faster. again.”
the young woman inhaled a staggered breath, trying her best to not to shout in frustration. as much as she wanted to yell at the instructor, she couldn’t. she was a trainee, and emotions came second in this industry. you were no longer human once you entered the doors of a company.
“again.”
jimin’s arms moved faster, executing the movements in a more sharper manner, emphasizing her wrist movements as she did so. the sweat on her brow only thickened, making her eyelashes wet from the beads that trickled down.
“do it again.”
it wasn’t until seven more attempts that the dance instructor decided she had enough of humiliating jimin in front of her peers.
embarrassment. exhaustion. empty.
three E’s of feeling that yu jimin could currently feel burning inside her chest. her feet dragged as she made her way down the hall, aches surging with every step she took. her mind was foggy and she didn’t want anything else except going into her room and sleeping until the next year.
SM entertainment was home to talent of all kinds, but it came at the cost of one’s humanity at one point.
her feet moved faster. she already had her destination in mind. her hands knocked at your door, praying that you would answer it and not ningning. when you opened the door, she practically shoved you inside again and shut the door behind her.
the taller girl’s hands moved to your waist, and your hands cupped her cheeks as tears fell. “oh baby,” you whispered softly. it didn’t take a genius to notice that your girlfriend had a bad day. “let me make you something to eat. you’ll feel better afterwards, i promise.”
and so that’s what you did. jimin’s eyes watched as she leaned against the wall. you hummed in the kitchen, plating the food you had just made into two bowls. the baggy shirt you were wearing was actually one of hers. the way you softly sang a bruno mars song, the way your hair fell over your face. she had to admit, you had a knack for doing the right things at the right time. jimin was starving, and that was part of the reason why she had a lack of energy today.
the food was definitely going to help her feel better, but it was also just your entire existence that made her forget about all of her problems.
the two of you laid on the couch, bowls of food in each other’s hands as you sat in comfortable silence. jimin felt bad. she knew she didn’t want to just sit there and bring up what happened, but she also knew that you were probably going to ask her anyway.
except, you didn’t. you did something else.
“we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” you had whispered softly, your shoulder resting against hers as you set your bowl on the small coffee table. “i know that look on your face.” a small chuckle escaped your lips as you intertwined your fingers together.
jimin was stunned to say the least. you had been able to read her like it was nothing. without her even saying a single word, you could read her like an open paged book.
in that moment, yu jimin realized something. as her inner turmoil faded, and the sea of doubt in her mind turned dry, a small smile crept up onto her lips.
you didn’t need anything else except her.
and she didn’t need anything else except you. all she ever needed was you, and sweet nothing.
as the evening unfolded, the weight of the day gradually lifted from jimin's shoulders. the warmth of your presence and the tenderness of your actions reminded her that she wasn't alone in this journey. with you by her side, she felt empowered to face the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that she had someone who understood and supported her unconditionally.
as the night grew darker, you both settled into a peaceful embrace on the couch. no words were needed; the silence spoke volumes. the soothing rhythm of your breathing intertwined with jimin's, creating a serene symphony of comfort and love.
the world outside faded away and jimin knew that tomorrow would bring its own set of obstacles, but she faced it with renewed strength and determination. because she had you—her rock, her solace, and her inspiration.
for jimin, the days of endless repetitions and harsh critiques might continue, but she had found a sanctuary within your arms, a safe haven where her spirit could rejuvenate and her dreams could thrive.
and as the night enveloped them in its embrace, jimin whispered those three simple words that carried the weight of a universe:
"i love you."
you smiled next to her, leaning in to give her a soft kiss on her lips as her hand came up to cup your cheek. her thumb brushed across the skin, relishing in the small gesture you showed.
“i love you too.”
yu jimin looked into your eyes with an idea she knew the both of you would enjoy. it would turn this bad day around even more than it already had been.
“let’s go write a song together.”
the room was filled with an air of creativity as you and your girlfriend sat side by side, surrounded by instruments and notebooks filled with scribbles and lyrics. the moonlight gently streamed through the windows, casting a white glow on your faces as you delved into the world created by your lyrics.
jimin’s fingers effortlessly moved across the keys of the piano, creating a soft melody that resonated with your emotions. your voice filled the room, the words floating in the air like delicate petals. your lover listened intently, humming to herself a few words as she was determined to craft something beautiful with you.
as you intertwined your thoughts and shared experiences, the room became a sanctuary for creativity. your minds danced with ideas, and your hearts synchronized as each of you poured your souls into the lyrics. verse by verse, melody by melody, eventually led to a weaved tapestry of emotions, a song that would encapsulate love, struggles, and dreams.
in those moments of doubt, you would gently rest a hand on her shoulder, offering reassurance and unwavering support. "we'll figure it out together," you would say, your voice a soothing balm to jimin's creative soul. how fitting was it? that you, her muse and the inspiration for this song in the first place, were further proving her point about it all?
you were truly her sweet nothing, the calm to her chaos, and the eye in her storms.
hours turned into days as you tirelessly crafted your masterpiece together. the song was half written for the most part, but you and jimin wanted to finish it eventually.
if only the two of you could see, that like your relationship, the half written song would remain an unfinished story. an unsung song that would never see a life outside of the pages it was written on.
and now, in the present and not the past, jimin sat in SM’s recording studio, tears brimming at her eyes as she stared at the ink filled paged of her notebook. karina ran a hand through her black hair as she stared at the lyrics she wrote all those years ago. the lyrics to the half-finished song she wrote with you, the love of her life, her sweet nothing.
it had been years since you two last worked on it together, the unforeseen ending of the relationship taking you on separate paths. life had a funny way of intervening, the universe putting you two together just to tear you two apart.
as the idol read the words she had penned, a mixture of nostalgia and longing flooded her heart. the memories of why it was written in the first place, the late nights spent harmonizing voices, and the laughter shared in the creation of this half-finished masterpiece came rushing back.
the song had remained unfinished since the day you and karina broke up. she couldn’t bring herself to throw the song out even after she found it almost a year later. yet, here she was now, years later, making the song you two once started together, the song for her solo project.
as she traced her finger along the faded ink on the paper, jimin couldn't help but wonder. the potential of that song, the magic you both had created in those early days, it was something she could not let go to waste.
it was time to revisit that unfinished song, to rekindle its fire that once burned so brightly.
for a fleeting moment, jimin thought about asking you to work on the song with her again. after all, you were the muse and inspiration for it. however, she quickly shot her idea down, remembering what yunjin had called you that night.
karina sat at the piano, her fingers gently caressing the keys as she stared at the lyrics you had last penned all those years ago. there were two phrases you had last written.
they said the end is coming. all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing.
she took a deep breath, closing her eyes and calming her mind for a moment. she thought about everything that had happened recently with you two. jimin thought about the way she felt back then, and how she felt now. truth be told, there was not much of a difference in how she felt back then compared to now.
she still remembered everything, she could see the memories as clear as day. it felt like yesterday to her, honestly. it was all the same, but somehow not. she still hated her company for making her break up with you. she still hated how minjeong had a hand in all of this mess. she hated how all around her, it seemed as if there was no safe place to just be herself.
it seemed like there was always someone or something that would come after yu jimin’s happiness.
"industry disruptors and soul deconstructors," she softly sang, her voice filled with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. the words echoed in the room, resonating with the struggles she faced, constantly pushed and pulled by the demands of the music industry.
karina remembered the way your laugh sounded in that same room all that time ago, and her eyes filled with tears of gratitude and love. "to you, i can admit that i'm just too soft for all of it," she whispered, her voice just barely audible. the weight of the world seemed to dissipate as she poured her heart into the lyrics, finding solace in the honesty she shared in her feelings.
the aespa leader continued to sing, her fingers dancing across the white keys. she remembered the way minjeong had betrayed her trust, and yours, by putting those photos out. it was something that she would never forgive the younger girl for.
"they said the end is coming, everyone's up to something," jimin sang, her voice tinged with a touch of defiance. the outside world may be filled with push and shove, but in that moment, it didn't matter. in the midst of her love for you, she found a refuge from the noise and the expectations, even now after all this time.
"all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing," karina sang, her voice filled with tenderness. in the grand scheme of things, it was the simplest of gestures—the moments of peace, your soft whispers, the love that transcended the noise of the world—that mattered the most.
as the final note faded away, the raven haired girl felt tears falling from her cheeks. the half finished song you had written together spoke of your journey—the struggles, the refuge, and the profound connection that once sustained it.
just as she did back then, karina knew that she had found her sanctuary in the arms of the person who saw her for who she truly was. this now finished song would be a testament to her love for you, a reminder that amidst the chaos and the demands of the world, all she needed was the sweetness of you.
the song was finally finished, and in each note and every word, she found solace, strength, and a profound sense of belonging.
and maybe once you finally heard it, you’d still feel the same way too.
┊┊┊┊⋆ ✧ · ✧ ✵
┊┊┊☆ * * ⋆
┊┊★ *
┊┊* . * ✦
┊☆ ° ✧ ·
★*
you and jimin met as trainees before she debuted, and you two never felt more in love. however, once she breaks up with you before her debut, you completely leave SM entertainment under the notion of needing a fresh start. you eventually debuted a few years later in le sserafim, where you met huh yunjin and have slowly started developing feelings for the idol. much to karina's dismay, she hates to see you have moved on, but deep in your own heart, you still can't help but feel as if maybe she has forgotten about you.
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @captivq , @wonyoluvr , @yunalvrrr , @spritin , @babycubchae , @vnschldd , @sserafimez , @chaersly , @rosiehrs , @baldd , @bwljules , @jenaissantesworld , @jennasluma , @dream-chasers-things , @lcv3lies , @elyds , @archerheejin , @vnschldd , @skisk1 , @cfvgbhndun-new-blog , @silantryoo , @phamminji , @bzeus28 , @writingficsblog , @strangegirlcode , @uzumakioden , @noiacha , @sserabey , @archerheejin , @pindoris , @yourstrulytrissmerigold , @jisooftme , @yacii , @ddrummie , @justalittledissociation
[ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ]
#smau#kpop#kpop smau#aespa#lesserafim#yunjin x reader#aespa x reader#lesserafim x reader#huh yunjin#karina x reader#yu jimin#yu jimin x reader#about you#perfectsunlight
259 notes
·
View notes
Text
Joe Velasco: (Untitled for now) Part 1
Part 2
Warnings: Sexual assault (not to reader), talk about sex and sexual situations.
Time didn’t slow down when it happened. It felt more like flashes of a camera lens. You walk into the room. Flash. You see that you weren’t alone. Flash. The man that was on top of the woman noticed you. Flash. Her clothes ripped. his fly unzipped. Flash. She is not moving. Him lunging at you. Flash. Pain searing white hot through you, glass shattering. Flash. Him on top of you. Eyes cold and hard. Flash. You struggle underneath him as he tries to restrain you. Flash. Your hand hits a cold plastic in your purse. Flash. The weight of him falls on top of you as you press the taser trigger down holding it against him. Flash. The sound of voices outside the door. Flash. He's getting up and running. Flash. A yell for someone to call 911.
You don’t remember exactly how you got to the precinct, but you're now sitting on an exam table. You had been asked if you wanted to go to the hospital, but you refused saying that you were okay and the EMTs had reluctantly cleared you. You knew that you would have to give a statement to the police. It shouldn’t have, but it surprised you when instead of setting you down in front of a detective to take your statement you were ushered down to the medical examiners to have evidence taken.
The door opened but instead of someone in a lab coat, there were two detectives. A woman that you didn’t know and a man you did, Terry Bruno. His bright blue eyes were worried. Your brain felt fuzzy as they entered. Time was becoming a fickle thing and it felt like there were short but disorientating time jumps. You felt slightly woozy. You're jolted by Bruno saying your name to the woman telling her that you are a forensic tech for the department. He eyes you again clicking at his phone. Your mind blanks, trying to shield you from the memory.
“Can you tell me what happened?” You look up at the woman realizing that she is now talking to you. She repeats herself the words echo in your mind a few times before you can understand them.
“I was- I was at a convention for training. I-I,” You swallow hard not recognizing your own shaky voice. You try again, “I was late and was just trying to cut through that room when I saw... I saw that guy over that woman-is she okay?”
“We aren’t sure yet. She got hit in the head pretty hard. We will know more when she wakes up.” The door opens again. Melinda walks in with another young pretty tech a few paces behind her. Melinda walked up to the table greeting you and setting her clipboard to the side. She looks you over and you shift on the table awkwardly. Your eyes bounce between the four people in the room.
“I think you know the drill. I’m going to have to take your clothes for evidence.” You nod. “I want to do a full workup to look for fibers, hairs, blood, and other body fluids. This guy might have left something behind in the struggle.” You sat up a little straighter at that.
“Melinda, I-” You don’t know why but you feel embarrassed. It has to be the stress of the day or strangers staring at you. You take a deep breath, and you suddenly feel the pain in your ribs. The adrenaline is starting to fade. You steal yourself, “I’m going to have DNA. I had sex this morning. I didn’t have time to shower, so.” Melinda smiles reassuringly at you.
“That’s okay, we will just match those samples-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know how it works. I was just...” You trail off self-consciously. Everyone was still staring at you like they were waiting for something. You wished you knew what it was so you could get them to stop.
“I feel the need to remind you that you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” Melinda’s voice was as soothing as it was definitive. It was motherly, in a no-nonsense way, and like balm to your wrecked nerves. You knew the woman well. There was a lot of information sharing between your two departments. You had a coworker friendship but it didn't go to a more personal level. You supposed it would now.
“I know,” You state simply, you can feel the tension in the room as everyone waits on your next move, “It’s okay, it’s just-it's a lot.” You are saved from having to continue explaining yourself when the door swings back open. Joe is on you in seconds, his gait eating up the distance between you. The woman calls his last name and asks him what he is doing here. Bruno takes another step back making more room for him to stand next to you. There is fear and anger in his eyes as he halts beside you. His eyes are scanning you, taking in your appearance. “I’m okay.” You assure him, or maybe yourself. It’s not a complete lie- you're okayish-Alive, breathing, most unscathed. He scoffs at the statement, obviously not liking your minimization tactics.
“So, we are lying to each other now? Have you seen your face?” His hand reaches out to touch you before stopping a couple inches away.
“Actually, I haven’t.” You honestly didn’t know what you looked like post-attack. You weren’t sure if you really wanted to. You still mostly felt numbness in your body, but it was slowly fading leaving a deep ache on your face and right side. “I look that bad?” He pauses clearly unsure how to answer that without offending you. He chooses instead to ignore the question and start whispering soothingly to you in Spanish. He pulls you into a light but encompassing embrace stroking your hair. It sends rivulets of warmth through your chilled body. You soak in the loving contact while pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Wait, how did you even know I was here?”
“I called him.” Bruno cut in, “He is your emergency contact, isn’t he?”
“You should have called me, mi amor.” He pulled back to look over your now throbbing face again. You apologize grabbing his forearm, and he slides his hand down to intertwine with your fingers instead.
“Hold on,” The woman who was interviewing you earlier called out. Everyone turned to face her, and it was clear that she was in charge. “You know her, on a personal level? Velasco, you can’t be anywhere near this. Matter of fact, everyone out, this needs to do this by the book. We collect the evidence. Then a statement.”
“You kidding me, Captain? I’m not leaving,” Joe's grip on your hand tightens. You then realize the woman is Joe’s higher-up, Captain Olivia Benson. You had heard a lot about the women but had never met her yourself. She had put Joe through a hell of a time because of his past. Joe respected her but you were still a little angry with her for the pain and heartache that she had caused him. The lack of understanding or compassion. You were petty like that.
You begrudgingly agreed with her on this one. You know the strict rules of collecting evidence and keeping it from cross-contamination. it would be better for you to be alone while you did this anyway. You doubted Melinda would be able to do her job with him in here. Your normally calm and collected detective boyfriend was not okay in the sight of you getting hurt. You squeeze Joe’s hand, and he looks back at you. You tell him it’s okay. “No te dejaré cariño (I’m not leaving you sweetheart).”
“Really, it’s okay,” You run your hand across his clean-shaven jaw. “It’s not like anything is going to happen to me in here. Melinda needs to do her job. Besides I’m going to have to leave my clothes here. I was hoping that maybe you had some spares I could wear? Maybe get me something cold to drink? Por favor Corazón.” The reluctance is written all over his face. He doesn’t want to leave. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t. His hand is still tight on yours. His green eyes are searching yours trying to find even a hint that you don’t want him to leave. You seem to reassure him because he presses a quick kiss on your forehead.
“Okay, but if you need me-” You kiss his hand and tell him you know. The three detectives file out. Joe gives you one last glance as Bruno puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him moving forward. When the door clicked closed you felt a sigh escape you. The detectives' eyes had been analyzing and seeing Joe that upset and worried had been hard.
“You have quite a guard dog with that one.” You turn to Melinda and smile a genuine smile. Throughout your relationship with Joe, he has proved that he showed love through actions first, and words second. You knew had you asked him to stay or told him that you wanted to leave, it wouldn’t have been a conversation, it would have simply been done.
“You have no idea.”
“Just make sure you lean on him throughout this. It’s clear he doesn’t want you to have to do it alone.” Melinda turns to the young tech, who walks closer with her camera. “You ready to start?”
You try to sit still as the camera flashes in your face taking pictures. You remove your top and put it in the evidence bag that is held out to you. The tech asks you to lift your right arm. You go to do so, and a zap of pain flares up your side making you wince and drop it back down. You look down to see the entire length of your ribs is an awful shade of black and blue. That small dose of pain opens the floodgates as you start feeling just how sore and rough you really are. You pull your arm across your chest instead which hurts significantly less. Pictures are snapped.
Next to go into a bag is your pants. Your thigh and knee are photographed. More big ugly bruises on your right side. The tech catches sight of bruising on your inner thighs and asks you to spread your legs. Embarrassment floods through you. You had never felt awkward talking about your sex life, but this was far more intimate than bragging about having hot sex on the kitchen table. “Oh, no. Those are...old. Consensual.” It feels strange to say that about bruises, but you recalled in vivid detail the night Joe had held you hard enough to leave fingertip-shaped bruises. Telling him to stop had been the last thing on your mind.
They had run a black light over you when you were in just your underwear. You lit up like a Christmas tree on your inner thighs, stomach, neck, and chest. You blushed bright crimson, even though neither woman made any comment. You had sex that morning and a few times the night before. That was why you had been running late to your conference meeting. Even so, Melinda took samples of everything regardless reminding you that it would be better than accidentally missing something. She prodded at your injuries with more swabs hoping for touch evidence. It hurt like a bitch but you tried not to fidget. You didn’t think they would find much. You had been pushed into a coffee table and you were pretty sure that was what had caused most of your injuries.
You are asked for your bra and underwear as well, even after your weak protest that he hadn’t made his way under any of your clothes, Melinda persisted. They too went in evidence bags. Along with your necklace and ring. You were given a loose gown to wear as she finished with scrapping under your fingernails taking clippings and combing through your hair looking for anything that may have been caught in the strands.
The process was invasive and tiring. By the end of it, your whole right side was throbbing, and your face hurt. You just wanted to go home and lay in bed and never move again. The tech left and Joe was standing in the doorway. It was clear that he had been waiting outside for some time. It was also very apparent that he wasn't happy about not being allowed to stay. “You can come in Detective Velasco. We are all done.”
He doesn’t waste any time in closing the distance between the two of you. He gently sets a pair of sweats on your lap before pressing a cold bottle of water in your hand. He untwists the top for you like he thinks you might not be capable, but you don’t take offense. Any unnecessary movement is something you want to avoid. You take a sip, and it feels good in your mouth and throat but doesn’t settle well in your stomach.
“While you're here,” Joe turns to see Melinda holding up another swab. Joe’s eyebrows furrow uncertainly. You know he doesn’t like having his DNA in evidence. “Just need a sample to exclude any of your DNA that is found. Open up.” He obliges and she swabs the inside of his cheek before closing it into a bottle and writing his name on the side.
When he turns back to you, you have already shrugged on his oversized NYPD sweatshirt and were pulling up the pants. You are swimming in them and have to roll them multiple times to get them to stay. The loose fit is a relief because it doesn’t rub up against your injuries. They smell good too, comforting even if there is a slight lingering tinge of his sweat under the smell of his deodorant and cologne. You're done with the first step, now you steal yourself to face SVU and give your statement.
#law and order svu#law and order special victims unit#svu#jose velasco x you#jose velasco x reader#joe velasco x reader#joe velasco x you#joe velasco#jose velasco
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
IM INSPIRED YIPPIE
I was thinking about everyone's favorite gambler and had funny thoughts so enjoy please
Orange Slice
Warnings; slight angst, mentions of slavery, mentions of abuse, mentions of parent
A few days ago Jade had called him into her office saying that he was to come with her to a smaller planet named Anides to see if they could talk the planet into being open to interglacial trade. And so, as he was asked, he went.
-----
The ship was welcomed by the Royal family of Anides. Queen Clora standing next to the oldest, Prince Soulris and the middle child, Prince Orion.
Queen Clora worse robes that seemed to be loosely draped over her. The colors of the spring garden they stood in. Her hair, long and a light brown fading to a light pink, flowing as if a breeze were blowing it. There was no breeze.
Prince Soulris wore a suite of white with a light pink tie. His hair, short and golden. Waving just like his mother's. His eyes a shade of gold.
Prince Orion was next. His hair, short and brown, also waving. His eyes golden. Freckles dotted his skin. He wore lose fitting robes like his mother, only they were the colors of the sunset, accented with a deep purple.
Strange. Hair waving with no breeze. He looked up to Jade who just greeted the family. With a wave of Queen Clora's hand they weee walking to the grand castle.
"There are two more. The king is asleep, working only at night. His daughter takes after him. As for the hair, it's because they are spell casters, one of the few in the galaxy. Their hair flows due to their strong magical abilities. Pay attention, this will not be an easy negotiation"
Jade whispered down to him as they walked behind the family. Aventurine nodded, keeping mental notes. He would watch closely. He has too, he wants to claw his way to the top, he has to watch closely.
He had no chips at the table, and he sure wanted some.
------
The meeting had ended several system hours ago. They would be here for a few more days, Jade still trying to convince the very stubborn queen.
Aventurine had wondered out to the garden, the night cool and calm. He was avoiding fresh nightmares still. He couldn't stop seeing the slaves he had killed, the dreams he had taken. They tormented him nightly, just like tonight.
With a shaky breath, he rubbed his neck, over his mark. An awful reminder of the life he had escaped from. It seemed to burn at times, even on nights as cool as this. Another one of many painful memories.
He walked deeper into the garden, stopping when he saw a woman. Long waving hair, robes lose fitting and light purple with small little gold accents, as if they were stars. Eyes a shade of gold. Around her ankles were gold anklets. 
She turned and looked at him, a bit surprised.
"H-hello?"
Aventurine froze before waving back and introducing himself.
Was she a member of the royal family? She had the same eyes. Was waving hair exclusive to the royal family? The royal family was all wearing crowns and she isn't so maybe she's not?
His thoughts raced and the woman looked away, shy.
That was the first night
The second night went much better. They introduced themselves. The woman showed him around the garden, showing him all the flowers that only bloomed at night. Showing him the constellations.
They went like this nightly. The two meeting in the garden and the woman showing him around, the night markets, the rivers and springs. Aventurine started to look forwards to their nightly meetings.
It was the fourth night, the two simply sitting together in the garden.
"You said you were born with exceptional luck, correct?"
"Yes, why?"
"A-ah then you may not have need for my gift but" 
The woman presses her hands together. When she pulls them apart she had created him a poker chip. Instead of the center being blank, it held the imprint of a star. The colors, matching his own colors. His eyes widened.
A chip. He had his first chip.
He looked up at her. She looked nervous. He smiled, thanking her.
Did he have two chips? Could he use this against the Queen? No he couldn't. She never said if she was a part of the royal family or not. And even if she was, did he want to use her as a chip? No, it felt strange. Awful.
So he had his one chip.
But he wasn't sure if he wanted to spend this chip.
So he tucked it away, in his breast pocket, close to him at all times.
The two talked and talked till the sun started to rise.
The woman walked over to an orange tree in the garden. She pealed it, and handed him the orange. Smiling as she spoke with a smile,
"Good morning Aventurine"
Aventurine didn't let him self think. Sure four days was a short amount of time to fall in love with someone, but he was leaving in two days. He was gifted something special, so he decided to return something equally as special.
He kissed her cheek as he took the orange from her hand
"Good morning (y/n)"
------
The queen ran late to the fifth day's meeting.
Again the meeting trialed on and on. Both parties fighting over the intergalactic trade, the IPC wanting a foothold and the Queen, not budging, always denying.
Aventurine kept learning by watching, observing both sides. Learning and watching how Jade and the Queen would both gain and gamble their metaphorical chips.
Soon enough the sun set and they all went to their rooms, all but Aventurine, who went straight to the garden.
He sat on the bench they always met. And stayed, waiting. Waiting for several system hours until Soulris walked out, finally finding Aventurine.
Aventurine shot up, quickly bowing. Soulris looked guilty. He held out an orange as he spoke,
"Mother broke her legs in two. I overheard her saying that it was too dangerous for her to walk out there, in the gardens with you, so she had to save her"
They both looked equally horrified. Aventurine took the orange and pealed it. Asking Soulris to deliver a message to his sister, and an orange, something they both started to share in the mornings.
Soulris nodded and left to deliver the orange and message to his sister.
--------
It's been years since then. Aventurine was pealing an orang, leaving the peals all over Dr. Rato's desk.
With each layer removed another pleasant memory bubbled to the surface, about the woman he met in the gardens of a palace, and the sharp and abrupt goodbye that they had to share.
"The Greeks used to eat Oranges every day in the mornings, they figured it would warm the stomach"
Ratio spoke up, before swiping away all the orange peals
"Now get your damn orange peals off my desk"
The two were then called to Penacony.
--------
Again, Aventurine sat in the lounge, eating an orange when he saw a face he never imagined he'd see again, and feeling he thought he had managed to lose bubbling again to the surface.
It was her, the woman whose mother broke her legs, walking by and taking a seat near him, pealing an orange.
The two made eye contact, eyes widening, breath quickening, scooting closer to eachother.
Orange slices getting exchanged with smiles
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fifth part of Intertwining Threads of Gold, based on a prompt by @time-for-a-grandkid-round-up.
(I caved. You can have it early).
The one where Mirabel becomes matriarch.
Dolores and Luisa confront Mirabel. The truth is laid out on the table.
Previous part of ITOG.
Next part of ITOG.
Comments are always appreciated.
~~~~~~
Intertwining Threads of Gold V
Mirabel had barely set a foot over Casita’s entrance when Dolores appeared.
“We need to talk.” She said.
“Oh, well, I was just going to make a start on dinner, Dolores—”
“Not you, Tía. Mirabel.”
Julieta and Agustín nodded (clearly misunderstanding this as some light-hearted conversation), stepping aside so Mirabel, who had been stood behind them, could get by.
Dolores didn’t wait for her, simply grabbed her primita’s hand and started walking. Mirabel eventually falling into pace behind her.
“What is happening? Why do we need to talk?” Mirabel whispered, genuinely confused.
“You know why.” Dolores responded.
Before Mirabel could point out the fact she didn’t and that is why she had asked in the first place, she was pulled into the sitting room.
Laying on the table was a familiar piece of cloth.
Mirabel froze.
“When… when did you go into my room?” Mirabel asked, not able to take her eyes off the thing.
“A few hours ago, but that’s not important right now.” Dolores answered.
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. That’s not very acceptable behaviour.” Mirabel mumbled.
Considering Mirabel made no effort to move herself, Dolores guided her to the closest chair and sat her down in it, taking a seat across from her, where Luisa had been waiting.
“Do you want to tell us about it?”
Not that Mirabel was really going to get a choice in the matter.
“I… um…” Mirabel trembled. As Luisa had already pointed out, acting and lying weren’t skills Mirabel had. Watching her improvise would be funnier, in a different situation. “You have me floored, Dolores. What is there to tell? It’s a piece of embroidery.”
“Yes, a piece of embroidery that you made,” she pointed out.
“What? Do you actually think that is my hand? I’m honoured, prima, really. But, my needlepoint is completely incomparable to that. You have seen what I can do and it’s awful.”
Neither of them said anything.
“Well, I’m glad we had this discussion,” said Mirabel, standing. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to help my mother in the kitchen—”
“Mirabel, you seriously aren’t going to talk about this?” Luisa tried.
The girl looked back at the piece, nervously digging her nails into her arm. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s just a piece of embroidery.” She said, sounding small.
“Right, fine. Don’t talk.” Dolores sighed, after a minute. “I’ll just tell you about it.” She leaned over, pointing at each individual claw. “This is our family, each of our colours for these fingers, sharp and pulling; forceful. There’s your parents, my parents, Tío Bruno, Abuela—”
“It’s not,” Mirabel attempted.
“Then this,” she trailed her finger over to the hummingbird. “Is you. Small. Observant. Clever. Flighty. Having your wings ripped out, symbolising your loss of freedom.”
“Is that what it means?” Mirabel asked. “I assumed it was the thing bleeding to death.” She took a breath, taking a step backwards. “I think the lesson we should all take from this is that perception and imagery is really up to the individual, and there is no definite right or wrong answer.”
They stared at each other.
Take two.
“Luisa, here’s two lists of chores,” she turned, handing her cousin two crumpled bits of paper, before grabbing Mirabel’s arm. “Come back when you’re finished.”
Luisa got up, nodding without a word. Leaving quickly.
“W-where is she going?” Mirabel asked.
“To do some work.” Dolores answered.
“But nobody is meant to be working after six in the evening though. It’s half seven.”
“You don’t say.”
“Where is she going?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Why?”
“Because you refused to tell us about the tapestry, so I thought I’d do the same. You want my knowledge? You can pay the price for it.”
Mirabel wailed, almost a scream.
Dolores raised a brow.
“I… I can’t… Do you promise you’ll tell me where she is? As soon as I’m done?”
“You have my word.”
~~~~~~
Luisa really should have tried harder to convince Dolores out of this idea.
The weather has taken a miserable turn which she didn’t prepare for and she isn’t allowed back to Casita for another hour, according to the plan.
She and Dolores had argued for the last two and a bit hours over what exactly they should do with the new information they’d found. Finally, they’d decided to toss a coin and Luisa promptly lost. So subsequently she had to go with Dolores’ plan.
Dolores’ plan of confronting Mirabel with the hard evidence didn’t sound appealing as a hypothetical, never mind actually doing it. And then after working her into a clearly overwhelmed and stressed state, to then pull out this card of forcing her into a confession. Dolores might as well have just asked Luisa to crack something.
Mirabel had sounded so broken and concerned though when she realised Luisa was going to work. The tapestry, and convincing Dolores she knew nothing of it, quickly forgotten.
Poor baby. Dolores is going to eat her alive—
What the hell?
She looked over at honestly the last person she expected to see out here, on the bridge and sobbing.
“Mirabel?”
The girl didn’t turn around, but as Luisa got closer she had her answer confirmed.
Mirabel’s eyes were very red and leaking with tears, blood dripping down her arm from her nails earlier. Too far into her grief that she didn’t even react initially to Luisa’s presence, didn’t even turn around and attempt to insist she was fine.
“Mirabel?” Her sister froze at her name, Luisa could almost hear her lungs working overtime. “It’s Luisa. It’s just me, I promise.”
Luisa stepped closer taking Mirabel’s hand into one of her own, rubbing some warmth into the cold, shaky appendage. With her other hand, Mirabel pushed her glasses aside and began drying her eyes.
“What happened with Dolores?” Luisa asked.
“I spoke. Tía Pepa heard us and came in. She had thoughts about the tapestry,” Mirabel mumbled.
Well. That explains the weather.
“Dolores admitted you weren’t working. I left and came here. I didn’t want to… I don’t want to be there when she tells everyone else. Or after.” She took a shaky breath. “What are you doing out here if you aren’t working? You aren’t wearing enough layers; you’re going to catch a cold, Luisa.”
Luisa just scooped her sister up into a hug. “You are so precious. But you can mother hen me later. We need to talk.”
She takes the opportunity to set Mirabel back on the ground, ending the hug, so the other can have some breathing room.
Mirabel glanced down at their hands.
“We both know what the tapestry means. But I want to hear it from you,” Luisa said. “Doesn’t need to be specific. I just want to know what’s going on and how I can help. I promise I won’t be mad or upset with anything that you tell me.”
Mirabel nodded in defeat, taking another breath, “I… I don’t want to be the matriarch. But… I have to. It’s what the family wants. And you are all too important, it is my job as the pawn to fill in wherever. And everyone would be disappointed in me if I didn’t… and I don’t… I don’t want to be that burden again.”
Silence settles between the two.
Luisa can feel Mirabel’s pulse quickening through soft skin. As she continues to stare off at the river, shivering or shaking or both, and her eyes water again.
Antonio once said that a hummingbird’s heartbeat goes over a thousand beats per minute.
She thinks Mirabel has managed to double that.
“Mirabel, nobody thinks you’re a burden - the only one saying that is you,” Luisa says firmly but as gently as she can. “And nobody will be disappointed in you if you don’t want to be the matriarch. It’s totally reasonable why you wouldn’t because of.. the past, but also because it just isn’t something you’re interested in. And if anyone thinks otherwise they can talk to me.” She turned Mirabel around to look at her. “You’re insanely intelligent and wonderfully creative, and too good to be wasted for a council because someone else decided for you. If this was the other way around, you wouldn’t let me do it, would you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you different?”
Mirabel opened her mouth to argue but sighed. Good. Luisa was going to shut down the giftless excuse very quickly.
She slowly got up, pulling Mirabel to her feet as well. They slowly headed home.
“But… what would I do instead?” Mirabel inquired.
“Whatever you want,” she answered, smiling. “It’s your future. What did you want to do before all of this happened?”
“I don’t know. I assumed I would just continue doing household chores forever. When I tried getting a job last summer, everyone just laughed at me and said ‘no’. I figured nobody wanted me.” Luisa looked offended and pissed, but Mirabel didn’t notice. “It’s probably why I forced myself into this; to feel wanted.”
She might actually kill some of the townspeople.
For now, she pulled Mirabel closer, giving a mocking sigh. “I’ll just have to bring you to work with me. Then you’ll feel wanted.”
Mirabel laughed.
A genuine laugh and smile.
“I’d love to, but I don’t think heavy lifting, construction and architecture is any more of a skill of mine than governing and leadership is.”
“Maybe it’s for the best.” Luisa teased, nudging her. “You’d probably just lecture me about not wearing special protective gloves or goggles or a safety helmet or something.”
“Please, I’m not that pedantic— I’m sorry, you’re not wearing what?”
#encanto#my writing#dolores madrigal#luisa madrigal#mirabel madrigal#julieta madrigal#agustín madrigal#antonio madrigal#pepa madrigal#ask me anything
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
Granada | Chapter 15
Author's note: You do not want to miss the two chapters going up next week 👀
Previous chapter | Next chapter
Masterlist
"Good night, princess. My prince" Rowena's maid said as she left their room.
"I am so tired" Rúben sighed, stretching before getting into bed.
"Of course you are" Rowena whispered to herself.
"Aren't you coming?"
"Yes" she said, getting up from her dressing table.
"Hey!" Rúben complained as a pillow hit him. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing" she said, throwing another pillow to the bed.
"Are you asking for a fight?" he asked with a cheeky smile.
"No" she replied, throwing two more pillows.
"Then what are you doing? Why do you need so many pillows?"
"Because I'm building a wall."
"Again?" Rúben chuckled.
"Yes, again" Rowena said while putting the pillows in place.
"Why?"
"Because I want to."
"Rowena…"
"That's my name."
"What happened? Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want to. Good night, husband" she said, giving her back to him and closing her eyes. But not because she was sleepy. It was to stop her from crying. Again. It was everything she had done since she had heard the servants talk, since she had found out about Iris.
"Are you alright? You didn't seem yourself at lunch, and at dinner you barely said a word. Rowena…"
"Don't touch me!" she spatted when she felt his hand on her arm.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing! I just want to sleep in peace. Is that possible?"
"I… Yes, of course" Rúben said, the confusion in his voice making the pain on Rowena's chest grow a bit more. But he deserved it. He had been lying to her, playing with her feelings. And she had been a fool, falling for it all. For his small gestures, for his nice words, for his smiles. But not anymore. Not anymore.
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
"Excuse me, my prince."
"What is it?" Rúben asked as he took off his boots.
News of the enemy moving closer to their borders had reached the palace that morning, and he had spent the whole day with the new soldiers, making sure they were ready. Every muscle on his body ached and he couldn't wait to get into a warm bath, to just relax and not worry about anything. Though he knew that would not be happening. He would start thinking about Rowena.
The training had kept his mind busy and he hadn't had time to think about her, about whatever was going on with her. In just a few hours, she had gone from being all smiles and blushed cheeks around him, to not wanting him to touch her, to building a literal wall between them. And he still didn't know why.
"It's the princess."
"What about her?"
"I can't find her."
"You what?" Rúben said, getting up from his chair and almost tripping with his boots. "What do you mean you can't find her? We just had dinner together."
"And then she said she was going out to the gardens because her head hurt and needed some fresh hair, and we haven't seen her again."
"Have you sent someone to the gardens? Have you made sure she isn't there?"
"Yes, my prince" the maid said. "I asked some servants to help me look for her, and nothing."
"What about the stables?"
"Nothing either. We've looked everywhere and we haven't been able to find her. It's like she is…"
"Gone" Rúben whispered, sitting down again. Could she… Could she have run away again? Could that be the reason why she had been acting so weird?
"My prince, what should we do?" the maid asked. "Should we alert someone? I worry something bad may have happened to her."
"We…"
"Sorry to interrupt, my prince" a servant said after knocking on the door. "But there is someone waiting for you in the kitchens."
"For me?"
"Yes. He says it is important, that it is about the princess."
"Rowena" Rúben said, putting on his boots as fast as he could and leaving his room.
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
"Bruno?" Rúben said with a confused look when he walked into the kitchens.
"My prince" the young boy replied, bowing his head.
"What are you doing here?"
"Iris sent me, my prince."
"Iris?" he asked. Why would she had sent Bruno all the way to the summer palace and at night? He was a clever boy, but it was dangerous.
"Yes, my prince. She is with her."
"Who is?"
"The princess. Lady Rowena. She is with Iris."
"She is…" And that was when realization hit him. Rowena knew. She had somehow found out about Iris, and that was why she had been acting so weird. But why had she gone to see her? What was she planning? Could she… No. Rowena would never hurt anyone. She only attacked to defend herself. Though what if she felt attacked by Iris? What if she saw her as an enemy? As a threat? No. She wasn't the jealous type either. And that would mean that she felt something for him. He had noticed things here and there that made him believe that it was the case, but he wasn't sure anymore. "Did you bring a horse?"
"Yes, my prince."
"Good. Then meet me outside the south wall. Let's go find my wife before she does something she may regret."
64 notes
·
View notes
Note
Have you ever written anything with Abacchio? I feel strong yandere vibes from him. Controlling and mean, not ready to compromise type of vibes. Obsessed yet detached. Would you be willing to share some headcanons with us? Thank you!
I think I did write for him once, but not a lot. In my head Leone and Guido are roommates, and Bruno, Pannacotta, and Narancia live together somewhere else. Bruno’s all “These are my sons.” but Leone and Guido see each other more like a “guy who I happen to live with, mutual trust.” kind of thing. Leone’s a bit of an outsider (Absolutely no one in Team Bucciarati likes cops, even if Leone is an ex-cop.), I think I’m still working out how I’m interpreting him.
Leone is a cold, mean man. He acts disinterested in you, he might even pretend you just don’t exist. But is that really how he wants to be? I think Leone’s temperament depends on how badly his depression is affecting him, whether you’re in public or private, and how comfortable he is with you in general. He’s… a bit moody, pun not intended.
A totally comfortable and reassured Leone would treat you like his savior. But he’s just too prideful to really admit that, especially if you’re not in a relationship, so he keeps that to himself. Those are his private thoughts, ones he won’t express until much later on in your relationship. You’re the only thing keeping him going, the thing that gets him up every morning. I said this in that alphabet ask request I did, “Leone loves to just sit and watch you. He gives you space, careful not to step on your metaphorical toes, and just sits quietly to watch. He won’t look away if you look over while he’s giving you that stupid, lovestruck stare. He’s so lucky he gets to witness you.” and I really do hold firm on it. When you’re alone, Leone’s face changes so much, if he’s in the mood to show you how utterly obsessed he is. He doesn’t mean to get in your way, please, continue what you’re doing. Don’t mind him.
And Christ he’s obsessed. Leone’s addicted. He doesn’t really… need to stare or even just interact with you, since he can just replay it. He pretends you’re annoying him, he wants to just sit there and listen to Monteverdi, what could you possibly have to say that’s more important than a classical genius? Shut up and eat your food, have Guido entertain you if you’re really that bored. The second you’re gone, though.. Leone’s all over his stand. He’s such a degenerate that he’ll get under the table just to see how you position your legs. God, you’re gorgeous. He’d kill to kiss your real ankle, or to drink from your glass at the same spot you did…
But Leone’s not at all ready to talk to the real you, so he won’t. He holds himself over for as long as he can this way- with placeholder you. He feels disgusting for it- piggybacking off of Narancia’s jokes and pretending your laughter was at what he had to say, holding ‘your’ hand over the table and pretending you’ve been in love forever, sitting in the place of whoever you were cuddling up to just to feel what it would be like… He really has no hard limits, Leone would replay you sleeping if he could find a safe way to do it. Does the guilt keep him up at night? Certainly. Will he stop? Never.
Quick digression, isn’t that such a horrifying stand in a captor/victim situation? You can’t hide anything from him since he can just use his stand and replay you doing it. I’d hate him as a yandere, I love to argue. I hit him with the old reliable “I didn’t say that.” and he replays me, in fact, saying that. That’s my Hell.
And what happens in the meantime, before he’s ready to be a giant mush to you? He’s a cunt. A total dick. He’s physically present (Always physically present, for a man that “hates” you…), but emotionally distant. He doesn’t want to be seen with you in the slightest. He goes out of his way to drive you away- he doesn’t want you to engage with him at all. If you sit down next to him he’s knocking his drink onto your lap. Won’t even apologize, unless the glass breaks. Then he’ll just snap at you to stay still. Doesn’t want the glass digging into that gorgeous skin of yours… huh? He didn’t say anything. He’s glaring at you because he thinks he missed a piece, don’t get all worked up. (He’s staring, actually. He just looks mean.)
It’s a constant game of push and pull. Incredibly mixed messages. How are you supposed to take it when he bumps into you with enough force to knock you back (When he clearly had room to go around), but also puts his arm around you so you don’t fall while taking the train? Leone has the audacity to directly command you, but not the confidence to consistently speak to you. He wants you, badly, but can’t handle speaking to you for more than a minute- and that’s generous. Once you finally crack him it’s like he’s an entirely different person. Doting and attentive, just not very verbally affectionate. He’s very handsy.
"Don't look at me like that. I'm busy, find someone else to play with."
#I'm still figuring out how I want this pretentious bastard to sound#yandere leone abbacchio#yandere leone abbacchio x reader#yandere team bucciarati#request granted
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Think I Wanna Marry You ♡‧₊˚
Boyfriend!Jake x Fem!reader ♡‧₊˚⋆｡˚ ⋆
En-Hale Comeback ~~ Manifesto Day 4
SYNOPSIS ≕ You walk in on an adorable Jake baking cookies and singing Bruno Mars. It was only supposed to be movie night, but Jake has something else planned. Too bad you showed up 30 minutes earlier...
WARNING ≕ 18+/smut (kitchen sex, 69, cowgirl, unprotective sex). Alcohol. Mild cursing. Read at your own discretion !
WORD COUNT ≕ 1.4k
AUTHOR'S NOTE ≕ While this is smut, it's still very fluffy and sweet. The smut is more towards the end and it's very short. I thought of this bc I had a dream about Jake and me at a wedding, not getting married but we were just there. So this fic was born! Please enjoy! Tune into day 5 tomorrow at 10pm CST!
© to en-hale. no translations/reposts etc. (w/out permission!)
──•°.-ˏˋ ♡ ˊˎ-.°•──
Jake's singing voice carries all the way to you, who was just beginning to unlock the door to his apartment.
It was still a phenomenon when Jake handed you the spare key to his place. You left it sitting on your nightstand, watching it in awe thinking of how he wanted you to come to his place anytime you needed to, no matter the day, and no matter the time. He even suggested that you bring a few of your things over so that you can stay for periods of time.
But it was weird thinking of the both of you being domestic. Always being together within arms reach, sharing appliances and food, saying good morning and good night in person, the 'I love you's before leaving for the day. It racked your brain a mile a minute.
However, most of the time he's so busy that you'll walk in, and the house is dead silent. But today was different. Jake begged you to meet him at a specific time at his house. But once you were done running errands, you arrived 30 minutes earlier.
His voice is still carrying out, you're positive now that he was singing a Bruno Mars song, the one about marriage.
As you walked through the front door, you're immediately hit with the aroma of something baking. It smelt amazing, kind of like the cookies that Jake made you anytime you were down about something.
You grow a fuzzy warmth in your heart thinking about him baking for you. But what was the occasion? You weren't sad, no big holiday, nothing he had announced or you either.
"Hey baby -- I think I wanna marry you." His voice sang out. You rounded the corner into the kitchen and get to the whole setup. There were candles on the dining table, but they had not yet been lit up. Giant bouquets of roses were placed everywhere in the room, the white and pink ones that you gushed to him about years ago when you both started dating. Food was already decked out on the table and there Jake was, opening the oven to take out the perfectly baked snickerdoodles.
"Well I know this little chapel on the boulevard we can go- oh!"
Jake turns towards you and abruptly stops singing. His mouth hangs open in surprise. His splatter of freckles on his nose and cheek disappears under his harsh blush.
"Uh -- Um -- hi." He scratched the back of his head and you laugh at how adorable he is. You walked up and kissed his cheek in greeting and took a deep breath to pull in his delighted cologne, the one he wore when you both went on expensive dates.
"What's the occasion?" You smiled cheekily.
You watch his eyes scan for an answer. Instead, he doesn't say anything and takes you in a warm kiss.
"I wasn't expecting you for another 30 minutes."
He sat in the dining chair and you plant yourself comfortably on his lap. "Yeah, but I didn't feel like wasting time, so I thought I stop by early. I thought we were doing a movie tonight." You gesture at your grandiose surroundings and he gives a nervous chuckle.
"Yeah, but -- I thought dinner would be nicer."
"It is!" You giggle, kissing his cheek. You leap off his lap and into the other chair across from him.
Ten minutes later the both of you sat in genial silence while eating grilled chicken with broccoli and a side salad. You both moaned when taking in the first bite of the deliciously juicy meat, but after that, you noticed Jake barely touched his food, mindlessly rolling around the broccoli with his fork.
"Not hungry?" You're the first to break the quiet. Jake was startled for a second like you woke him up from his trance.
His fork fell out of his hand with a loud clank sound. He took a deep breath. "Tonight was almost perfect." He exclaimed.
You furrow your eyebrows, "Almost?'
Jake rose and wandered over to the kitchen drawer. He rustled around inside and turned towards you with an awkward smile. You could see slight sweat beads traveling down his temples.
"I'm so deeply in love with you that I can never find the words that really explain that clearly," Jake spoke, but it was so quiet that you practically had to perk your ears to hear. He took another shaky breath and continued speaking. "You're so open and caring and diligent and smart and funny and I wish that you could see from my point of view how fucking beautiful you are because -- geesh." His blush crept up again, but you could barely see it through the tears forming in your eyes. You clasped your hands together and covered your mouth, aghast at what was happening.
Jake watches and nervously laughs to keep his own tears from falling down. "I didn't buy this apartment because I wanted my own space and privacy away from the others," His voice cracked and he swallowed down another lump of tears.
"I bought this place because I want a place that we can call ours, and back when I bought it, I was too much of a wimp to ask you then, but now -" You watched his tears fall from his face. You were practically weeping. "I'm so sure that I can't wait anymore." He walked to you and knelt down. From behind his back, he pulled out a small jewelry box and your heart stopped.
"This is me telling you that I am finally in a place where I am more than sure, I'm certain. I'm secure with where I am, and everything I have done up until this point to feel more than ready to ask you this question that I'm praying you say yes to." He pulled open the box and the fluorescent light glimmers down on the sterling rock and it glitters in your eyes. "Will you give me the honor of becoming your husband?"
Words wouldn't form, and you weren't sure if they would in the state that you were currently in. So you hoped that pulling him into a kiss would satisfy his question. He grabbed your face and kissed back. Seconds went by of both of you kissing and whining and crying.
He breaks away for just a second. "That means yes right?"
You giggled and nodded. He slipped the ring onto your ring finger and a moment later he held out a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He popped the cork and alcohol fizzled in the cups. You both down them like it's water and are back kissing desperately.
Jake lifts you off the chair and onto the counter where he fits between your thighs and feels against your hips. You placs a calming bite on his neck and he shudders and a breathy moan rose from his throat.
"You want to do this now? We hadn't gotten to the dessert yet." You laugh at how easily his words could turn into something naughty.
"This is dessert." You whispered close to his ear. He shuddered again.
A moment later clothes went flying and without hesitation, you went for what you wanted since you stepped inside.
Your dainty fingers teased Jake's sensitive skin. Your lips ran in similar motion to your hand and he thrashed and groaned from underneath you, where he worked at lapping within your folds and keeping steady hands on your ass. All of this took place on top of the cold marble counters that once held possessions of other things but now those were thrown to the floor.
You gently sucked him while your hand fiddled with his balls. You both took time in warming each other up before he slipped into you. Your hips matched in rhythm very quickly, your tongue danced in his mouth when it wasn't busy busting out lustful moans.
It wasn't until very late in the night when Jake allowed you to release around his ridiculously long cock. You both came at the same time and let out mewling whines.
Nobody said anything, it was only heavy breathing and the occasional sound of something else falling off the counter.
"Fuck --" Jake panted. "Those were the snickerdoodles,"
And you both laughed in-between pants of air.
Right now nothing could've been more perfect. Jake was your fiance -- soon to be husband. You said your name attached with his last and smiled to yourself.
Soon -- very soon, you'd be Mrs. Sim, and there was nothing you wanted more than that.
#jake enhypen#enhypen jake#sim jake#jake smut#jake hard hours#jake soft hours#jake fluff#jake headcanons#jake fics#jake imagines#jake scenarios#enhypen smut#enhypen hard hours#enhypen fics#enhypen scenarios#enhypen headcanons#enhypen fluff#enhypen x reader#enhypen x female reader#jake x female reader#bruno mars#kpop smut#kpop fluff#enhypen#engene#enhypen writer#!kay! writer#!kay! writes#en-hale comeback extravaganza#enjoy!
615 notes
·
View notes
Text
@ramblesanddragons made a post about how Bruno would look into the future and see Star Wars and stuff and how he would love the Mars Rover and then I started thinking if he might rant about those things when sick and then this madness happened. It completely got away from me, especially in the end, I'm so sorry. This doubles as a get well soon story for you @ramblesanddragons hope you feel better soon
🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀
"Tio Bruno? Everything alright?"
Mirabel's question, although uttered silently as to not attract too much attention, has - of course - attracted the attention of the entire family.
'Because they are busybodies, every single one of them,' Mirabel thinks with fond exasperation, conveniently ignoring the fact that she is just as bad.
Hence, her question.
But honestly, Bruno looks… bad. Not 'straight out of the walls malnourished'-bad, but bad enough. He does his best to act like everything is fine, but Mirabel sits next to him at the breakfast table and she can see the sheen of sweat on his brow and the red tint to his cheeks.
Her tio blinks at her owlishly, a vacant look in his eyes. "Huh?"
"Are you alright?" Mirabel doesn't bother keeping her voice down. The whole family is more or less openly staring by now.
Bruno blinks some more and then waves his hand dismissively. "Ah sure, sure. Of course. Just a bit of a headache and I stubbed my toe. The force has forsaken me today."
Mirabel blinks. Bruno owlishly blinks back.
"The… the what now?"
Bruno shrugs and tries to put some butter on his knife, but somehow he can't seem to make it stick. "Miercoles. I wish I had a lightsaber right now. Would cut through this butter like… butter. Heh."
"Uh-"
"Luke's lightsaber. I like his color best."
"What are you-?"
Pepa and Julieta groan and get up from their seats. Julieta gives her brother a quick kiss on the forehead (announcing "yep, a fever" to the gathered crowd) and then hurries to the kitchen to make him some healing soup. Pepa takes the knife out of Bruno's hand and butters his bread for him.
"Don't worry about it, kids. When your uncle has a fever he sometimes talks about some weird stuff he's seen in the future."
"It's not weird." Bruno mutters,nibbling his now buttered toast. "It's the war among the stars." He turns to Antonio sitting on his other side and pats his head. "The force is strong in you, young padawan. I can feel it."
Antonio has no idea what that means, but he beams anyway. "Thanks Tio."
"Wait wait wait?" Camilo leans forward. "There is gonna be a war among the stars?"
Pepa tries to shush him, but it's too late. Bruno is already getting to his feet. He wobbles a little but keeps his balance by putting his hand on top of Mirabel's head. The girl is too perplexed to argue. "In a galaxy, far away! It's a period of civil war and the spaceships -"
"Spaceships???"
"Enough." Pepa snaps. "It's the fever talking. There is no war in space. And I don't think there will be, it's just your uncle talking nonsense. We can't go up to space."
"We so will. We will be all over the place." Bruno disagrees. He lights up. "Like Opportunity! Opportunity will be up there." He lifts his head to look at the ceiling and to the horror of all but Pepa, who merely sighs, he starts to cry. "Oh Opportunity! Far away from home, but so brave. Oh, such a brave, little rover. You did good. You did really good. Everyone loved you. Will love you. Will have… Will have been lo-... Will have to have love-?"
"Okay, he's messing up his tenses. That's our cue to get you to bed." Pepa interrupts his confused ramblings. "Tell Juli to bring the soup to his room."
She takes her brother's arm to lead him away. Dolores gets up and walks up to them. "Do you need help, Mama? Should I cancel my date with Mariano?"
Bruno stops and takes Dolores' face between his two hands.
"No! Don't you dare! That's a good himbo you got there. The best. The perfect blend of hunk, jock and decent man. Don't you let him get away, Queen!"
Pepa looks so done as she pulls him away. "Come on Bruno, there is some nice soup with your name on it waiting for you."
They disappear around a corner but the kids can still hear some of their conversation.
"Aw, that sounds fab af. Shut up and take my money, sis!"
"I have no idea what that means, hermanito."
The kids all stare at each other in various states of bafflement, worry and confusion.
"What is a himbo?" Dolores breaks the silence. "Is that… Is that something good?"
"I'm sure it is." Agustin reassures her. "But maybe don't ask what it means either?"
"Why?"
"Well… once during a fever Bruno told me that the women of the future would consider me a dilf. I asked him what that meant and he wouldn't tell me but then Juli kinda forced him to tell her but then she refused to tell me! But every now and then she will look at me and whisper that word and just… giggle."
Felix pats his shoulder with an understanding air around him and all present get the distinct impression that he has a similar story to tell.
The grandkids all exchange looks and silently agree, there and then, to never ask.
#encanto#encanto fanfic#bruno madrigal#Encanto drabble#I don't even know man#I'm so sorry about that ending but I couldn't NOT!#surely you understand#Sick Bruno Madrigal
166 notes
·
View notes
Note
* wakes up* Its time🫠
Sooo, Narancia and a reader who looks intimidating and no one has the courage to approach him, but they approach Narancia and reveal themselves to be just a complete sweetheart that could break you in half but they never would (like Jonathan) and they're also love cute things and plans to give Narancia a cat :D
omg hello lovlie!!! I am so so so so sorry this took so long i have been busy as hecc! but im back everyone! im alive i swear! this idea was so so cute thank you for the request my love! i love writing for you!! <3
Narancia with an intimidating looking reader who's actually a sweetheart
Pairing - Narancia x reader
Warnings - none!
Word Count - 417
Notes - thank you again! this was a super cute idea and i loved writing it! i have never written for narancia, so this was super fun!!! thanks again @osanapolnarefflover have a great day love and stay hydrated! <33
You felt so… apart from the gang. The only person who truly would talk to you was Bruno. You saw him as a parental figure, nothing more. So you really felt like a no one. Someone to fear. It felt like you had no friends in this gang, but honestly… that was okay with you. You had one job and that was to help Bruno with anything. Be there for him and his gang. Protect them. You didn't need friends anyway.
But Narancia? He was different. Something about him sparked something in you. You had never gotten butterflies before, but here you were, falling in love with the sweetest, cutest guy ever. All while you had to be this intimidating character. You were jealous and craved something, anything, that would bring the two of you closer.
You didn't know how you built up the courage, but you did. You walked up to him, like your legs were just moving on their own and you smiled at Narancia. He looked at you with some slight concern, but you didn't mind, you were used to it anyway.
“Narancia, wanna see something cool?” You held out your hands to reveal a butterfly you had found in the front of the restaurant. It immediately flew out of your hands and landed on Narancia’s nose making you both giggle.
Narancia couldn't help but be shocked. He wasn't expecting you to be so… sweet. “y/n, what’s gotten into you?” He pulled up a chair and you immediately sat down, taking a slice of cake from the table you were all sitting at.
“What do you mean?”
What did he mean? Not even he knew the answer. To be honest, he never really knew what you were up to, so how could you change? Maybe it was your terrifying demeanor, someone who could knock out an enemy stand user without even using your stand. Everyone loved you, but kept their distance. Maybe Narancia was starting to regret that.
“S-Sorry, y/n… I…” He rubbed the back of his neck, his face going bright red.
“Narancia,” you slid your hand over to his, gently holding it. Who knew your touch could be that gentle. “Don't worry about it.” Your voice was so soft and… comforting.
He nodded and grabbed your hand with a smile. “Sorry we’ve never talked before now.”
You shook your head. “It's okay. Do you wanna… go to the pet store with me?”
“The pet store?”
“I heard you like cats.”
#narancia#narancia ghirga#ghirga narancia#narancia x reader#nirancia ghirga x reader#ghirga narancia x reader#jjba#jojos bizarre adventure#jjba x reader#jojos bizarre adventure x reader#golden wind#jjba part 5#vento aureo#jjba vento aureo#request#writing#fanfic#fanfiction#my writing#<3
190 notes
·
View notes
Text
Perfect morning
JJ Maybank x Y/n Y/l/n (fluff hehe)
Y/n slowly started to make her way out of the door to make breakfast. She decided to make pancakes. She turned the music down low so she wouldn’t wake her boyfriend, JJ. Y/n starts humming lowly to the Bruno mars music shes playing on her phone when she felt two muscular arms wrap around her waist. “Hey babe.” “Hey J.” “Come back to bed please.” He pleaded, planting kisses anywhere he could without disrupting her cooking. “Babe I’m literally starving, if I don’t eat I’ll die.” Y/n stayed up late last night. Like, 3am late, watching TikTok. “Whatever.” JJ planted one more kiss on her cheek before walking back to bed. Y/n flipped the last pancake and placed it on the plate. She had made 5. “Breakfast is ready!” Y/n yelled loud enough so JJ could hear from the bedroom. She placed the plate full of pancakes on the table and strolled back to the kitchen to grab plates and silverware. When she had everything, she walked back to the dining table, only to see JJ had already eaten 3 of the pancakes! “Woah there, I said I needed to eat or I was gonna die. Go back to bed, I’m eating the rest.” She spoke, unimpressed. “Ok, I’m sorry. Tell me when you’re done please.” He spoke softly and sadly, which made her heart break. “Ok I’m sorry hun, you can come back just please don’t eat the rest, I’m so hungry.” She said calmly. He turned around and his face lit up like a kid in a candy store. JJ b-lined right to where y/n was sitting and started kissing her everywhere. Needless to say, Y/n’s morning was perfect.
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
Whumptober Day 30 - "Creature Comforts" (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)
A wholesome one for today's @whumptober fic
~~~~~~~
Prompt Used: Borrowed Cloathing
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 5
Characters: Team Bucciarati
~~~~~~~
Read on Ao3
Read on FF.net
~~~~~~~
1: Abbacchio
Bruno Bucciarati had seen a lot of desperate men in his line of work, but few who looked as depressing as Leone Abbacchio, standing in the foyer of his apartment, soaked to the skin and dripping like a stray cat.
"You can shower if you'd like—there might still be hot water this time of night," Bruno told him, tucking the umbrella beside the door. "I'll find you something dry to wear."
The man shook himself and nodded, taking a hesitant step toward the bathroom door as Bucciarati pointed it out.
One he had provided him with a towel and showed him how the shower worked, Bruno hurried to his room and tried to find something for their guest to wear that might actually fit—Fugo definitely wouldn't have anything.
Bruno sighed, rummaging through his drawers, pulling out a pair of sweat pants that were slightly long on him and a plain t-shirt.
It was then he found the lump in the back of his drawer, fingers tangling in soft knitted cables. He hesitated slightly, but pulled the sweater out, holding it up. It was still definitely too big for Bruno, always had been.
Part of him wanted to put it back in the drawer and keep it for himself, but his father had also instilled in him the importance of helping those in need. So, Bruno would pass it on to someone more in need than him.
When he heard the water turn off in the bathroom, he knocked on the door. "I'm leaving some clothes out here for you. You can come to the kitchen when you're done and I'll get you something to eat."
He set the stack of clothing down and headed to the kitchen to start making some coffee. Even he was chilled after being out that night and he'd remembered the umbrella.
It was a few more minutes before Abbacchio showed up with wet hair and the too-short sweatpants. The sweater however—a dark blue wool with chunky cabling down the front and an open ribbed collar—fit him just about right. If not slightly long in the sleeves.
"Can I get you some coffee?" Bruno asked.
Abbacchio winced, still standing there as if unsure of what to do. "I—thanks, sure," he mumbled. "Thanks for the clothes too. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."
"It's not a problem," Bruno assured him as he went to fill a cup. "Cream or sugar?"
Abbacchio shook his head. Bruno set the cup on the table, urging him to sit down. Abbacchio took a hesitant step before he finally took a seat, tugging at the sweater. "This is really nice, I'll get it back to you once I can get back to my apartment tomorrow."
Bruno hesitated, but finally waved his hand. "Keep it. It was always too big on me anyway, and I'm sure you could use some warmer clothes? Besides, wool keeps you warm even when its wet So if you forget an umbrella again…"
Abbacchio looked up at him with some confusion for a long moment before he pulled the cup of coffee closer and took a sip. "Okay then. Thanks. I appreciate it."
Bruno smiled back and decided he was glad that the sweater would finally get some use.
2. Fugo
It had been a long stakeout in the cold. Stealth had prohibited them from turning the heater on in the car, and Abbacchio felt pretty terrible seeing just how much Fugo was shivering by the time they finished, the drive home with the heater on full blast hadn't even been enough to thaw either of them out.
Not to mention that their heater wasn't functioning fantastically in the apartment either, so it wasn't much warmer there.
"I'll make some tea, you should go get something warm on," Abbacchio told the kid worriedly. Fugo was so skinny that Abbacchio was afraid he might catch cold—though he would never say that to Fugo's face unless he wanted his nose broken.
He went to throw on a sweatshirt and thick socks before he started boiling some water.
Fugo showed up in a few minutes, still shivering, in a long-sleeved shirt with a thin cardigan over it and a pair of sweat pants.
Abbacchio eyed him briefly, but didn't want to embarrass the kid by asking him if he was warm enough. He simply took out two mugs and some tea bags and poured the water over them when it started to boil.
"Want to work on the report together?" Abbacchio asked him.
"Sure," Fugo replied, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He went to get paper and pen and Abbacchio sat down with his notebook where he had written down observations and snatches of conversation that night.
The tea worked to warm Abbacchio's core and he got to work compiling info with Fugo for their report.
He reached for a pen at the same time Fugo reached for his tea and Abbacchio's hand brushed his, feeling like ice.
"Jesus, kid," he hissed, pulling his hand away sharply. "You're actually freezing!"
Fugo glowered, hunching his shoulders as he pulled his hands back and clasped them around his mug, still shaking every once in a while. "It is freezing in here, you know."
"Don't you have anything warmer to wear?" Abbacchio asked genuinely.
"Nothing comfortable," Fugo huffed. "Just my overcoat."
Abbacchio frowned and stood up. "Hold on, I'll be back."
He went to rummage around in his closet, trying to find something warm for Fugo to wear. That was when he spotted the dark blue sweater. He'd almost forgotten about it—the one Bucciarati had given him the first night he'd dragged him back to this apartment. That would be warm enough.
Abbacchio brought it back out and handed it over to Fugo. "Here, try this."
Fugo took the sweater, looking somewhat embarrassed, but he tugged it on and pushed the sleeves up over his hands. Abbacchio watched as his shivering finally stopped all together and Fugo let out a soft sigh of relief. "Thanks. That is better."
"No problem," Abbacchio replied and nodded to the sweater. "You can keep that too, it was just something Bucciarati gave me. You'll need it if the heater doesn't get fixed soon."
Fugo offered a very small smile, huddling into the sweater as they continued with their work.
3. Narancia
"I'm…so sorry."
"Just shut up," Fugo snapped, feeling mud squelch in his shoes—they were probably ruined by now. But at least the mud had been relegated to his lower half. Narancia was practically covered in it. He didn't even realize you could find that much mud within the city limits but any calamity seemed possible with their new recruit around.
He fumbled his keys out of his pocket and opened the apartment up, cringing at the thought of all the mud they were about to track inside. The car was already a disaster.
"Just don't touch anything you don't have to," Fugo muttered.
Narancia tip-toed delicately into the apartment after ditching his shoes by the door.
"Probably the best thing is to dump the muddy clothes into the bathtub so we can rinse them out before putting them into the washing machine," Fugo said.
"Uh, yeah okay," Narancia replied. "But, um, problem—I don't have anything else to wear. I left my wash in the washing machine and I only have my pajamas pants.
Fugo sighed tiredly. "Just…throw your stuff into the tub and I'll loan you something to wear."
Narancia perked up and Fugo hurried to dump his clothes in the bathroom, washing briefly before grabbing a towel to wrap around himself to go find something clean to wear.
He dressed quickly, hearing Narancia swearing as he struggled with his mud-covered clothes then turned with a sigh to his dresser, digging around for something Narancia could wear.
A bundle of dark wool caught his eye and he pulled the sweater out, remembering how Abbacchio had given it to him when he had been freezing that one night. It had kept him warm through the winter, but he could do with passing it on now, especially since Narancia really didn't have that many clothes.
He grabbed a pair of his sweatpants as well and set the neatly folded pile outside the bathroom door.
"Clothes are outside," he said before going to make a call to Bucciarati to tell him the mission was finished.
He was just grabbing the laundry basket in prep to take the clothes down to the washers when Narancia reappeared, practically swimming in the sweater, sleeves slipping down over his hands. But he was grinning, waving the floppy sleeves around.
"Dude this is so cozy! Thanks for loaning it to me."
"Oh, you can keep it actually," Fugo replied. "Abbacchio gave it to me so…it's not really mine."
"Really? Thanks man!" Narancia hurried off as Fugo yelled at his back.
"Narancia get back here! You have to go finish your own laundry—I'm not going to do it for you!"
Narancia hurried back and grabbed the basket from Fugo. "Yeah, yeah, I'll meet you down there."
Fugo shook his head and went to gather the muddy stuff before he realized Narancia had run off with the laundry basket.
4. Mista
Narancia wasn't entirely sure what to think of the new guy yet. He'd been nice enough if not a little out of place with all of them, and Narancia didn't exactly understand why he hated the number 4 so much but he wasn't one to judge.
Still, Guido Mista had a habit of moping around when he wasn't given a task. Narancia could understand that. He'd been the same after getting out of prison. It was hard to adjust back to normal living when you'd had your days so regimented for a long time.
Narancia was currently relegated to the apartment due to a minor injury and that day it was just him and Mista there. The new recruit puttered around in the kitchen getting coffee for a while in the morning before he sat on the old couch in the living room, staring at the wall.
It was…kind of driving Narancia nuts. He didn't understand how someone could sit still like that doing nothing. At least Fugo was usually reading, he could understand that; even if reading didn't keep Narancia's attention for long, it was still doing something.
He didn't want to be annoying, but he poked his head into the living room.
"Hey, um, can I do anything for you?"
Mista looked up. "Nah. I'm good."
Narancia fidgeted. "Aren't you like…bored?"
Mista shrugged. "I don't know. It's just nice to be out of prison." He stood up. "I guess I'd like to take a shower though."
Narancia nodded and went to make lunch as he heard the shower running. Mista returned when he was halfway through eating in just his pajama bottoms and a towel slung over his shoulders.
"Hey, um…I still need to go shopping for some new clothes. Could I borrow some change so I can do a wash?"
"Oh sure," Narancia said quickly and pointed over to a jar on the counter. "Bucciarati keeps that for laundry and stuff."
"Thanks." Mista said and hurried out of the apartment.
Narancia thought about what he had said, and got up to head to his room. He grabbed a box of VHS tapes from under his bed and rummaged in his drawer until he found the oversized sweater he was looking for.
When Mista returned, Narancia tossed him the sweater.
"Here! You can have this for now," he said.
Mista held the sweater up, surprised. "Oh, hey, thanks man. I really appreciate it."
He slipped it on, tugging it down. "This is really nice. You sure you want me to have this?"
Narancia nodded. "It kinda gets passed around between us. You can use it for as long as you want. But only if you answer a question."
Mista cocked an eyebrow as Narancia presented the box he had been holding under his arm. "Do you like movies?"
Mista's face lit up. "I love movies! Hey, you got some great stuff in here!"
"Then let's watch something! Then you don't have to just sit around doing nothing all day," Narancia said. "Pick whatever you want, I'll grab some snacks."
They spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies and chatting and Narancia thought that he and the new guy were probably going to get along really well.
5. Giorno
Mista roamed the safehouse after everyone had gone to sleep, making sure everyone was okay. He checked in on Narancia last, but the kid was sleeping soundly, knocked out from pain pills and exhausted from his still-healing body. He'd been able to leave their makeshift infirmary yesterday though so he was doing a lot better.
Speaking of…
Mista headed down the stairs to the guest room they had made into their designated infirmary while their teammates were recovering. Bucciarati and Abbacchio were still usually unconscious and hooked up to IVs aside from a few times they had woken.
Giorno was sitting beside Bucciarati's bed as Mista figured he would be. The blond had been watching tirelessly since they had gotten to the house three days ago and had barely left the room.
He looked up briefly as Mista poked his head in.
"Hey, can I get you anything?"
Giorno shook his head, reaching up to rub his face. "No. I'm okay."
Mista nodded slowly, taking in Giorno's exhausted frame. "You really should sleep. They'll be okay for the night. They're stable, right?"
"Yeah, I just…" Giorno sighed, before he finally stood up. "Maybe you're right. I'll catch a couple hours on the couch."
Mista frowned as Giorno passed him, noticing that he was still wearing the same lavender suit he had been wearing the whole mission. It had the look of being washed, water thinned bloodstains visible around a couple tears, but Mista realized he'd never seen Giorno put on anything else.
"Hey, um…you want me to wash and fix that suit?" Mista asked. "I think there's a sewing kit somewhere. At least until you can get a new one?"
Giorno looked down at the suit. "I, um…I don't really have anything else to wear."
"Oh." Mista blinked and then realized Giorno hadn't brought so much as a backpack with him. "Hey, I'm sorry man, I should have asked earlier."
Giorno shrugged. "It's not really a big deal. I'll get something soon."
"No way, you need to be comfortable. Stay here, I'll be right back."
Mista hurried up to his room and dug through his duffle bag until he found—ah, there it was.
He took the bundled sweater and a pair of sweatpants down to Giorno, dropping them into his arms.
"Keep these. I've got more changes of clothes."
Giorno smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Mista. I really appreciate it."
Mista gave him a salute and a grin. "Anytime. How about I make you a cup of tea? I was just gonna get one myself."
"Sure."
Mista headed to the kitchen and by the time he got to the living room Giorno was curled on the couch, bundled into the big sweater, fast asleep.
Mista chuckled and set Giorno's mug down on the coffee table before throwing a blanket over him.
"Sleep well, GioGio."
6. Trish
Giorno was up late reading one night when he heard the back patio door open and shut. It was right below his bedroom and he had his window open. He figured someone might just be getting some fresh air, but then he heard the soft, unmistakable sounds of someone crying and frowned, getting up to go see what might be wrong.
He pulled on the heavy sweater Mista had given him and padded downstairs and toward the back of the house.
Through the glass door he could see Trish huddled on the steps leading into the garden, shoulders shaking. Giorno hesitated a second, not sure if he would be intruding or not, but he ultimately decided that Trish shouldn't have to be alone if she was upset and if it turned out she really wanted him to leave, he would go.
He stepped outside, the sound of the door opening causing Trish to turn around, hurriedly wiping her eyes.
"Oh, hey," she said quietly.
Giorno silently went to sit next to her. "Hey. Are you okay?" he asked.
Trish looked away, wrapping her arms around herself. "I…I guess."
"If you don't mind me saying so, you don't really look okay," Giorno responded. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Trish took a shuddering breath and scrubbed a hand against her wet eyes. "It's just…Now that everything's settled down it's kind of hitting me, you know? That I'm not going home—that I don't even have a home anymore."
"I know it's a lot," Giorno said quietly. "I didn't…really have anything to leave, but I can understand how you must feel, being forced to leave everything."
Trish sniffed. "And I miss my mom. I didn't even really have the time to mourn her, so…I guess it's all hitting now, three months later."
She curled around herself, shaking slightly, breath hitching.
Giorno didn't know if she was cold or not, but the weight of the sweater was comforting to him so he tugged it off and looped it over Trish's head.
She looked up in surprise, before a small smile turned up one corner of her lips as she sniffed. "Thanks." She tucked her arms into the sleeves, letting them fall past her hands as she dabbed her eyes on the sweater.
"I'm sorry about your mother," Giorno told her quietly. "But you're wrong, you know."
Trish sniffed again. "About what?" she asked sounding slightly offended.
"That you don't have a home," Giorno replied, nodding back to the house. "This is your home. It's all of our home, and you never need to go anywhere else unless you want to."
Trish looked at him for a long moment, eyes wavering, before she simply leaned forward and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
"Giorno that's…that's such a sweet thing to say," she said shakily.
Giorno smiled, hugging her back, letting her cry for a few more minutes before she pulled away and wiped at her eyes again.
"Thank you, that…I feel better now," she said.
"I'm glad," Giorno replied. "I'm always here to talk if you need."
"I appreciate it," Trish said as she stood. "Thanks for letting me borrow the sweater too. It's…really comforting."
Giorno waved his hand as he also stood. "Keep it for now. Mista gave it to me when we first got here, but you should use it now."
Trish smiled with a grateful blush and waved to him as they got inside. "Good night, Giorno. And thanks again."
"Good night, Trish."
7. Bucciarati
Trish was having a hard time sleeping that night and decided to run down to the library to grab something to read.
She had thought everyone had already gone to bed, so she was surprised to find Bucciarati sitting in there in the middle of the floor in his pajamas, a box of photos open and spread in front of him.
He startled as she walked in and Trish stopped.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were up."
A look passed over his face and Bucciarati cleared his throat and said, "It's okay. Can't sleep?"
Trish shook her head, feeling a little like she was intruding as she cautiously stepped into the room. "Not really. You either?"
Bruno gave her a small, sad smile. "Just…looking through some old memories."
Curious, Trish came over and knelt beside him. "May I?"
Bruno waved a hand and Trish picked up a picture of a young boy holding a large fish up proudly. His black hair and blue eyes told Trish that it was obviously the man beside her.
"This was you?" she asked with a smile. "You were adorable!"
Bruno let out a light laugh. "Thank you. It was… a long time ago. I…haven't looked at these for a while but…"
There was a weight to his words and Trish watched him carefully, finally realizing that his eyes were slightly red, the lashes damp as if he had been crying.
"Bucciarati? Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
He cleared his throat again. "I'll be okay, Trish. I…it's been four years today since he died. I just thought…I would take a moment to remember him."
"Oh, Bucciarati, I didn't know," Trish said softly, reaching out to take his hand, squeezing.
"I usually keep it to myself," Bruno replied simply.
Trish was silent, wondering if he wanted to be alone, but, she thought about how she felt when she remembered her mom. How alone it felt. And it was too sad to think of going to bed when Bucciarati was sitting here alone with the pictures of his past.
"Would it…be okay if I stayed here to look at the pictures with you?" Trish asked hesitantly. "Unless you'd rather be alone."
"I wouldn't actually," Bucciarati replied, voice slightly raw.
Trish felt a little relieved, but stood. "Okay, I'll be right back, I promise."
She hurried away to make some hot chocolate, and as an afterthought, ran to get the sweater Giorno had loaned her a while back when had had found her crying. She always put it on when she was feeling bad now and thought that maybe it would comfort Bucciarati too.
She brought the items back to the library and Bucciarati looked up in surprise.
"I made hot chocolate—thought you could use some," she told him with a small smile, setting down the mugs before holding out the sweater. "And this. It's so warm and cozy it…"
She trailed off at the look on Bruno's face when he saw the sweater, eyes wide, mouth parted as if in awe.
"Bucciarati?"
He reached out to take it from her, holding it carefully in his hands, fingers curling into the chunky knitting.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"Um…well, Giorno gave it to me, he said Mista gave it to him before that."
Bruno laughed lightly, eyes wet. "And I gave it to Abbacchio a long time ago." He turned to Trish with a small smile. "It was my father's. I had…actually forgotten about it but it seems to have made its way through the team somehow."
"And back to you," Trish replied. "Where it should be."
Bruno slowly tugged the sweater on over his t-shirt, running his fingers over the hem, eyes full of nostalgia. "Funny how things have a way of coming full circle when it means the most." He turned back to her, eyes wet. "Thank you, Trish."
Trish couldn't help herself and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly in the comfy sweater. "I'm glad it came back to you when you needed it most," she told him.
"It did. But anyone is welcome to borrow it at any time," Bruno said. "Perhaps it's best that it belongs to all of us." He smiled "I think that's what my father would have wanted."
Trish hugged him more firmly and genuinely felt at home.
~~~~~~~
Check out my Whumptober Masterpost HERE for more stories!
If you want to follow me on other social media or ask about fic or art commissions, find my info on My Carrd
#whumptober2023#no.30#borrowed clothing#jojo's bizarre adventure#fanfic#team bucciarati#found family#hurt/comfort#trauma bonding#jjba part 5#golden wind#everyone lives au
24 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
czesiulek
Bez tytułu
caroline-draws-stuff
Caroline's drawings and whatnot
kirby-the-gorb
gorb (good orb)
catsofyore
Cats of Yore