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rhaenyratargeryn · 3 years

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EXIT WOUNDS (CYBERPUNK 2077) Ch. 2

Pairing: Takemura Goro x (female) V Rating: Mature Summary: When his plans for revenge fail, V and Takemura are left right where they once started. A dying thief and a disgraced soldier, with as much in common as they lack and an improbable bond that holds them to one another. Notes: Post-Canon, Nomad ending. Spoilers for post-game! Read on AO3 Read Ch. 1

The first awareness was that of light. Warm and bright behind his lids. The second awareness was ache. Persistent, painful and sharpened to a razor’s edge at every small movement.

Takemura begrudgingly accepted consciousness, finding the will somewhere inside him to open his eyes and look towards where the offending ray of sunshine was being allowed in.

The tent flap was being held open, just a sliver, and a pair of soft brown eyes, large and doe like in the middle of a tan-skinned face stared at him with interest. She had full round cheeks, youthfulness in every aspect of her cherub like features. The child froze as their eyes met, but slowly she smiled, a dimple in each corner of her mouth.

It was the height of spring, when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom and their petals scattered over the still pond in the gardens of the estate. Small pink ships, sailing endlessly on the vast sea.

Takemura was twenty-nine, three years dedicated already as an elite Arasaka soldier and known for his discipline, his dutifulness and his loyalty. When he did not pace the nearby halls, or stand at attention near Saburo-sama’s side, he was allowed to sit kneeled on a small mat on the wooden floor. His hand would remain on one hip, poised over his katana and another over his gun, his eyes sharp and his cyberware readings keenly attuned to every person who may move within the family halls.

It should have been a point of great shame for him then, that the tiny stumble of socked feet did not catch his attention until he found before him a small girl, her cherub cheeks puffed with a smile. She held up a drawing, or rather, scribbles upon paper in varying shades of black and red and tanned peach, all forming together to make a familiar silhouette.

“Taka-san, I drew you!”

In his duty, Takemeru was not to engage with others. He was meant to be as the room, as furniture or a tool left out. A knife on a table. What he was not meant to do, was speak to Saburo-sama’s three year old daughter. She was Saburo-sama’s joy, his greatest treasure, a child he doted on and who went everywhere at her father’s side.

Takemura looked to him now, for guidance, he told himself, but the look he gave Saburo-sama was more aligned with pleading.

“My daughter has presented you with a gift, Takameru. Be polite.” his master said without another glance, turning his attention back to his tablet.

Hanako waited patiently, expectantly. Takemeru found it difficult to even bring the words forth, his tongue sluggish and thick from so long hardly speaking much at all.

“Thank you, Hanako-sama. It is… lovely.”

She beamed, her smile drawing wider until a tiny dimple dotted high on her cheek. With insistence, she held it out for him and with equal amounts of hesitation, Takemeru took his hand from his blade and slipped the paper from her hands.

A voice called out a name, the sound hazy and muted on Takemeru’s ears. The girl turned, answering the call without looking back, leaving only the sway of dropped tent flap to ever prove she was there at all.

Takemeru let his eyes drift back closed, trying to recall the lines, the colors of the drawing. He had kept it, folded and safe beneath his armored vest for several days… but where did it go? What had he done with it after? It had been eighteen years since the blossoms and yet the few months he had spent alone, masterless and exiled, felt so much longer.

The tent opened again and Takemura groaned when the light flashed into his pupils.

“Morning.” a voice spoke, the man who had sewn up his shoulder and his side coming to sit near the cot Takemura was still shackled too. The man, too his wisdom, kept a good distance between them still.

“Is the pain bad? We scrounged up some MaxDoc to help take the edge off if you’re needin’ some.”

Takemura did not reply.

“Also need to change your IV. Sometimes the old ways are the best ways when it comes to saline and good ole H2O…. unless you’re feeling up to drinking some water?”

Water. The very word drew Takemura’s attention to how dry his throat was, how paperlike his tongue felt against the roof of his mouth. Water. His body pleaded to his mind. Water.

Takemura nodded, short and curt.

“Great. Hold on— “

Takemura watched the man as he moved around the tent, doing a good job still of keeping out of arm's reach. As his eyes traced his movements, he noted a change to the room.

There was a second cot set up at his other side.

In the second cot, was V.

Takemura felt a snarl build up near his teeth, a look of disgust and outrage ready to mar his features… until his eyes caught up with his emotions.

V looked terrible. Worse than terrible. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor to it, greyish and clammy. Her breaths were short and slow, as if her own lungs were too tired to make more of an effort. Some strange band was attached around her head, monitors fixed to her temples as a nearby computer beeped and monitored large spikes and numbers that made no sense to Takemura.

The doctor caught him staring as he returned with a cup of water. Takemura sat up as best he could manage, unsurprised when the doctor called in another to stand guard with a gun in their hand while he held the cup for Takemura to drink from. He was not to be unrestrained it would seem, though his prey lay but a scant few feet away.

“Another seizure. Hit her hard. Been out as long as you now, but… well. We’ll see what happens.”

Takemura frowned, “‘What happens’?”

He cursed himself for speaking, but the words were out before he could catch himself.

“If she wakes up. Every time it seems she has one it takes longer and longer… one day I figure she just won’t.”

V had succeeded in removing the relic, had rid herself of her demon and in doing so had thought to free herself from impending doom… and it had all been for nothing. Saburo was dead. Hanako was dead… and V was still going to die.

Takemura refused food when offered and drank only a little, the pain of his wounds a welcome distraction for the turmoil in his chest.

He never would have thought nomads would have such tech available to them, but in the large tent there was enough equipment and cases to fill a small clinic. This man is what Takemura could only imagine was their version of a ripperdoc, but he didn’t have to worry about the man trying to invoke his sympathies towards V for long. A young woman entered the tent and the ripperdoc gave her a respectful nod.

“She good, Tom?” the woman asked and Tom nodded, “Okay. Take a breather.”

She shrugged toward the tent entrance. Tom frowned, but he didn’t argue, getting up and exiting the tent and offering Takemura a quick view of the guards outside. They were still present. Not a good tactical advantage.

The woman set her fists on her hips, eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him with dark brown eyes. She has no visible cyberware to speak of, but it was common for Nomads to reject enhancement, at least in his limited experience.

Takemura, despite his feelings, spoke politely enough.

“I am Takemura Goro. If V has not already informed you.”

The woman looked a bit taken back by his easy words, but after a moment that surprise resumed an expression of suspicion.

“She did. Now you wanna tell me how you found us? And who else knows where we are?”

Takemura frowned, “It is considered extremely rude not to introduce oneself. Even to enemies.”

The woman’s face flushed red down to her neck and her teeth set against the inside of her cheek. She had a short-temper, but also a position of authority and respect given how the ripperdoc had so easily relented to her requests. She was a leader, but a potentially weak one, Takemura set that information aside for later.

“You attack my people and you wanna school me on manners, Corpo?”

“...You have someone I want.” Takemura stated, a simple reasoning for why the young Nomads he encountered were threatened.

“Too god damn bad. Now who else knows where we are?”

Takemura fell silent again, a sigh held back in his throat. V stirred slightly on the cot nearby, drawing both of their attention to the other woman as she flinched and jerked slightly in sleep. The monitors sped for only a moment and then slowed again, whatever neurological event passing quickly.

The Nomad woman’s expression had broken apart quickly from one of stubbornness and annoyance to worry… colored with affection and familial concern. She cared for V. She cared for V very strongly. That would complicate any attempts of persuasion or negotiation, but then again, Takemura had not considered those to be strong tactics to begin with.

The woman looked down at her boots and then, curtly spoke, “I’m Panam Palmer.”

“It is good to meet you, Palmer-san.” Takemeru said, but his words were filled with polite detachment that would make it quite evident even to Panam that they were simply a platitude.

“How did you find us?”

“Simple reconnaissance. I visited towns. Spoke to people. It was difficult for several weeks, but then…” Takemura paused.

“Then?”

“You and your people became lazy.”

Panam sucked in her cheek again, but controlled her emotions.

“Are there others coming?”

“No.”

“Wow… I mean, wow. Didn’t expect you to just offer that one up.”

“I have no reason to lie. My purpose is simple. You and your people are responsible for the death of one I held in utmost regard and respect. I am duty bound to end the life of the one who commanded it.”

Silence followed the end of his words, the steady beeping of the monitor filling the room. Suddenly then, Panam scoffed out a laugh and Takemura jerked his head up to glare at the young woman, forgetting himself.

“Jesus christ… you Corpo’s are really crazy, you know that? You’re ‘duty bound’? By who? You aren’t Arasaka. You aren’t anything. You come here and try to kill my sister because of some deluded belief you owe a buncha criminals and psychopaths? Who don’t want you?”

With each word her volume increased, the look of revulsion so prominent on her features that even if she had chosen not to mince her words, her distaste would have been clear. Negotiation it would seem, was not a viable option.

Takemura felt her words, but only in that they stoked a growing tension edging through his limbs and fueled a gnawing want to snap this crude woman’s neck. He let his anger stream out from his chest and into his hands, clenching them a bit tighter to try and relieve some of the pressure his growing anger exuded.

“This is what is gonna happen,” Panam began, her voice having grown colder, “We’re gonna dump you out on the sand with a quart of motor oil and a pistol and take bets on whether you shoot yourself before or after the thirst makes you crazy enough to drink it.”

The image was certainly— vivid. The sadism of such a statement catching Takemura slightly off guard.

“Wow. ” said a voice instantly recognized by both of them as V’s , “I mean, that is one stone cold line. I think I’ll steal that.”

---

“Shit, V— you need me to get Tom?” Panam had all but forgotten about Takemura, moving around to V’s cot to try and prevent the other woman from getting up.

“No.”

Yes. An indignant Johnny-Silverhand-induced auditory hallucination said quietly in the back of her mind. Maybe one day she’d get lucky and forget what the guy sounded like, then her head-voice would go back to just being her voice.

More importantly, she was nauseated as all fucking get out and Panam’s hand on her arm was doing a great job of making V feel a bit more grounded. She heard a faint click, the sound of someone chidingly clicking their tongue against their teeth and looked up to see Takemura had turned from them both, staring pointedly at nothing. But it was nothing away from V.

“No execution by desert, aight?” V said, lulling her head back towards Panam.

“Sure. Fine. Execution by bullet works just as well.” Panam said, shooting Takemura a dirty look that went unnoticed.

“Talkabout it later.” V said, only slightly slurring her words as she pulled the band off her head and peeled the monitors off a moment later. The computer made an alarming noise and V had a funny feeling it was becoming quickly overcrowded and overly loud for the former Arasaka bodyguard.

“Got an idea to make everyone happy.”

Takemura’s interest had been piqued. V caught him casting a look out of the corner of his eye at her.

---

What the fuck, V. Panam's voice still rang in her head, rolling around in her ears and in her skull and fueling an oncoming headache. For once, the voice didn't sound like Johnny though and maybe that was a good sign.

Of course Panam would hate the plan. But in the end, it wasn’t her choice. It wasn’t her life and although it had gone over about as well as V expected, for now, things were set. When she came back inside the tent, Tom had provided Takemura with an old t-shirt, the design on the front so faded it was barely more than a static of print.

His hair was down, which shrouded the grey near his temples and made him look somehow… younger. Less stiff. The look in his eyes though had not changed. Steel resolve and hardened granite. He had built a wall between them and V could hardly blame him for it… in the end, she hadn’t kept her end of the deal. But then again, she was still right where she was at the start. Sick, dying and Arasaka’s most wanted. So he could hardly say he kept up his either.

“Option one,” she began, “I’m dying. So honestly, killin’ me at this juncture would be a relief from what I got coming for me. It’s gonna be slow. It’s gonna be awful. I’m offering you front row seats to watchin’ my body slowly eat itself alive.”

Takemura’s eyes narrowed.

“I know what you’re thinkin’. ‘But you’re lookin’ for a cure’. We are. Which brings me to option two. We let you stick around while we look. If we find one and I get fixed up? You get your pistols at dawn or whatever. Get the satisfaction of knowing you got to kill me when I’m not already dead. Hell, not gonna lie. You killin' me after all this bullshit and then after I save my life too? That would be... well, I’ll give you a genuine fight for my life. If that’s what you want.”

V shrugged, “And you’ve already heard option three.”

“These options require me staying with this caravan for an unknown amount of time.”

“Six months, actually. Or five rather. So yeah. Five month wait..”

“How do I know they will not kill me before either of these things happen?”

V grinned.

“I asked them nicely.”

“Why?”

Her smile faltered.

“Why not pick option three for yourself?” Takemura said, offering the most practical and simple solution. The one she was sure right now, if they were in reverse situations, he would take.

It was a good damn question too. And V was certain she had a good damn answer half a second ago, but now with Takemura staring at her, grey eyes shrewd and with just a flicker of uncertainty… shit, seeing him at all… it made the words sound so ridiculous.

“I told you I didn’t mean for what happened to happen. I owe you, for a lot and this is the only way it’ll… sit right. For us both, I think. You don’t seem the type that would get much satisfaction outta killing me how I am now.”

V laughed, a nervous bubble of sound as she turned her eyes away and picked at a frayed thread on the knee of her pants.

“Also...guess cause we were friends once I feel like I should give you some closure. Not somethin’ I’ve gotten much in life, but welp. Here is my chance to give some.”

“...You wish to die with some honor restored.” Takemura’s voice for once held no trace of disgust, no edge of hatred. His voice was quiet, resigned. Understanding. It was not a tone V had ever thought to hear again from the man.

“Yeah, sure... if you’ll let me.”

Neither of them met each other's eyes. Two people, staring holes into opposite sides of a tent, as if refusing to acknowledge one another would somehow make them feel less.

“It is two options, not three.”

V looked up at the remark.

“Option one is, remain to witness your death or be the cause of it should you recover. Option two is motor oil and pistol.”

V held back a smile just barely. How could someone remain this pedantic even when discussing such a morbid topic?

“I accept option one.” Takemura met her eyes, only briefly, “I am patient man. I can wait.”

“Plus it gives you time to actually heal and then say fuck it and off me in my sleep or something.”

Takemura wrinkled his nose, “I could ‘off’ you now if you’d like.”

He pulled up his arm, revealing that at some time during all this chatting and debating he had gotten out of one of the cuffs.

Takemura casually used his other hand to put his thumb back in its socket, finding it impossible to miss how V did a full body shudder at the sound.

“Hard pass.” she said, still cringing.

“I will honor my word,” Takemura said, easily making work of the other handcuff and tossing it aside. He flexed his fingers, bringing them up to begin pulling his hair out of his face. V, for some reason, felt compelled to avert her gaze. It felt weirdly intimate, like she was watching him undress. Takemura brushed his fingertips over his wrist, frowning to himself before letting his hair go, falling back around his shoulders.

“You need a scrunchie?” V asked, unable to stop the small smile from forming at the corner of her mouth. What could she say? Johnny had tried to kill her once and she forgave him. Her standards were never exactly high. And a part of her, a small hopeful part of her thought maybe there was still time to make something right before she died.

Wrong city for happy endings. Her inner voice chided in Johnny's flat tone. But they weren't in Night City anymore.

#cp 2077 #cp 2077 v #cp2077 fanfic #cp 2077 takemura x v #takemura x v #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 fanfiction #cp2077 fanfiction

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andddromeda · 5 years

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amore a mezzanotte [ part 1 ]

genre: fluff??? some angst bc i ended up projecting a lil at the end?? characters: bucciarati & reader ft. team bucciarati and my irl friends bc why not word count: 3242 summary: a week in summery italy felt like the best thing to do after your first year in university to unwind from the stress of finals and university life in general. what you didn’t expect was to feel so enraptured by one of your tour guides. a/n: i always seem to spawn story ideas from my daydreams lmaooo thats probably why im projecting so hard on all of my fic ;;; also ive just had this in my docs for a really long time (after editing i just like left it alone for like weeks) that i thought that i might as well just post it now so yeah!! (pls forgive any grammar or spelling errors, i got too lazy to really fix anything anymore)

Bustling excitement filled the plane as the pilot had brought it to a rolling stop, people swam into the aisle for a chance to get off before anyone else, babies cried at the sudden commotion, a fiasco that took about fifteen minutes before you could even stand into the aisle to exit. Eventually coming off the plane, you were greeted by the blinding sunlight and the burning heat so characteristic of Rome in the summertime. The humid Roman heat left you tacky, your skin unable to breathe under the thin layer of sweat that was beginning to form. The twenty hour trip you and your friends endured was torturous, leaving your joints stiff and your friends begging for a cold water bottle to chug down. Your fatigued body burned under the sun as you and the friends you travelled with stepped out of the plane and onto the tarmac. But as you stepped onto the walkway that led into the airport, your heart filled with an immense appetite to see the things Italy had to offer, dispelling the fatigue you felt through the two layovers and the long flights. Despite your aching and jetlagged body, and theirs, you rushed to pull your friends along, impatient to get to the luggage carousel and out into the city, wishing settle into the hotel as quickly as possible and to savor the climate and sights before sun down.

Summer was the needed break from a hectic first year at university, and it gave you and the friends you made a chance to have a kind of fun together that never gave itself the chance during the school year. You were all so excited to spend a week in Italy together that staying in cheap hotels didn’t even matter; finding a cheap bundle for a tour guide and hotels kept your wallets sighing with relief, and one of your friends having already visited the summer before meant that at least someone knew where they were going so there was no need to splurge on overpriced tours. Just being in Italy, having your feet planted on the ground after a long, shakey 20-hour flight, you felt the most relief you’ve ever felt in the past nine months despite the jetlag.

Leaving the walkway and entering the greater airport area made your heart swell up even more, excitement pounding at your ribcage, shaking your entire body. You couldn’t pull on your friends any harder as they tripped over their own feet trying to match your pace, shouting for you to slow down and that the city wasn’t going to go anywhere without you. Even after retrieving your luggage, you were bouncing to where your tour guide group was supposed to meet the four of you, your anticipation building with every minute that your friends dawdled. Through the automatic sliding doors were crowds of people holding signs printed in various languages, no doubt the names of the people they were meant to pick up that day. Your eyes darted around the crowd scanning for your name printed in big bold letters, and a group of six men stuck out from the rest as they weren’t dressed in the black suit and tie like many of the chauffeurs were. In the middle of them was a raven-haired man holding the sign with your name printed large.

His expression was serious and his azure eyes were piercing, spottable in the chaos of people, yet you couldn’t help but stop in the middle of it all and take a moment to stare at how clear his eyes were-- like the familiar Lake Tahoe only an hour away from campus year round as it reflected the sparkly blue skies. This time your heart swelled with something other than anticipation; you could feel a heat burn your cheeks, and you convinced yourself that it was just the summer air and some early signs of heat exhaustion. Your eyes couldn’t help but run across the rest of the man’s stoic face, taking in every chiseled feature-- his lips stretched thin, his clenched jaw relaxing, his sharp cheekbones and jawline. Even that god awful bob that his hair was cut into looked good framing his face. It wasn’t until your friends had caught up to you that you realized that you were just gawking at a stranger in the middle of a sea of people. But in just a moment, your friends also spotted the tour group and the man holding the piece of paper with your name on it and began to stare just as you did, even only a little.

You began to walk towards the tour group, as that appetite to see Rome gripped you again, and called for your friends to follow. As you grew closer, you were able to take a better look at the six that were supposed to tour you around Italy for the next week. They were clad in oddly fashionable wear-- one even in a holey green suit-- and were fit and tall. You would be lying if you said you weren’t intimidated by them even just a little, so much so that, at the sight of a lavender-haired man’s glare, you shrunk back slightly when you went to wave to the group. Now in front of them, they towered over you, wondering how your 5’2” friend would feel standing next to these giants. When the man you were admiring just moments before noticed your wave, his expression softened and a sweet smile formed across his face. Butterflies grew in your stomach, keeping any words from coming up. With such a gentle smile, you couldn’t help but think that he had just become even more attractive, and no doubt your friends behind you thought the same.

“Are you Signorina ( Y/N )?” His voice was velvety, sweet, and sharp at the same time, what swam around in your stomach becoming a raging mess of nervousness, attraction, and-- it occurred to you days later-- desire. You could feel that want to explore Italy intensify, only if this man were the one showing you around. You nodded in response to him, just as your friends caught up to you, because you feared that if you said anything, what you felt right then would’ve been obvious to the rest of his group at just a squeak out of your mouth. In your state, you hadn’t even noticed that he spoke perfect English.

“And this is the rest of your group then?” He gestured to your friends behind you, and this time, as they also heard his voice, couldn’t help but react similarly to you: one of them inhaling sharply, you heard an audible “Ooh” followed by a chuckle, and the last you heard give out a comment about how his voice matched his face. You cleared your throat of any lingering butterflies, and to silence your friends, and turned to introduce them.

Your tall, blonde friend Anna, who had made the comment that the raven-haired man no doubt heard, introduced herself first with a bubbly outburst and wide grin, and she wasted no time making a groan-worthy pun that no doubt made everyone, especially the lavender-haired man, roll their eyes. Second was your 5’2” brunette friend Alex, whose sharp inhale you recognized as hers, and introduced herself with a flash of a smile and a quick wave. Your friend Megan, petite and with silver-tipped hair, who was the one to audibly ogle, introduced herself last with a flip of her hair and a cute grin.

Lastly, you introduced yourself. “And I’m ( Y/N ). It’s nice to meet you all!” You gave them a nervous smile, still not over your butterflies, and thanked them in advance for taking them around Italy.

“No worries, it’s our pleasure,” the raven-haired man said as he too turned to face his group to introduce them individually.

You learned that the man in the green, holey suit was named Pannacotta Fugo, that you could just call him by his last name, and that the short girl-ish boy next to him was named Narancia Ghirga, wearing a similar grin that Anna had on her face when she introduced herself. The man who shot you a glare earlier was named Leone Abbacchio, who demanded that you call him by his last name only, and that he meant no harm, that he was just wary of strangers, that it was no problem as long as you didn’t go out of your way to annoy him (followed by chuckles throughout the group). The man with the odd hat (cap?) was named Guido Mista, who said he preferred to also be called by his last name though didn’t mind either way, raising an interested eyebrow at Megan. And the blonde was named Giorno Giovanna, who only smiled and waved. An interesting bunch, you thought, as the leader, you assumed, introduced himself last.

“And I’m Bruno Bucciarati, and you can address me however feels comfortable. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.” His smile never wavered through his introductions. Your eyes began to curiously scan the faces of Bucciarati’s friends, and you noticed that they were all fairly attractive, wondering how you four got so lucky. You figured that Megan would want a moment with Giorno and Fugo particularly, as they seemed her type, that Anna would love hanging out with Mista and Narancia, as they seemed like the rowdy bunch she could get along with, and that Alex would love Abbacchio, as she had a huge hard on for angsty types.

Even you can just acknowledge a person’s physical attractiveness, but as you looked back to Bucciarati, you couldn’t help but feel something else for him. As if you wanted his eyes on you and you alone. You tried to blink away the thought immediately after thinking it, feeling almost indecent that you would even consider the idea that this god of a man would want anything from you but your money. You turned away from him to hide the flush across your cheeks and towards your friends, suggesting that you all head to the hotel if everyone was ready. To your ignorance, they all noticed you staring at Bucciarati again and the look of embarrassment painted pink on your face and kept in mind that they could have a little fun and use this to tease you later on. Anna had the slyest grin across her face-- you knew as signature of her brainstorming a sneaky plan to reveal who knows when-- as she patted you on the back, and agreed that you should all head to the hotel before one of them passed out from exhaustion, heat, or both. The other two agreed to go to the hotel to rest a bit and freshen up, and you addressed Bucciarati, though not bringing yourself to look him in the eyes.

“In the bundle we paid for, it said that transportation would be provided,” you stated, looking around for a van or any other type of vehicle or just anywhere but directly at him.

“Yes, we’ll act as chauffeurs as well as tour guides,” he began to explain. “However, travelling in a large vehicle isn’t very convenient in Italy so we’ve prepared two cars with five seats each.” Looking to the rest of your group, he continued, “I assume that you would want to be in the same car together, so in one car will be my men and in the other will be you four and myself.” At the declaration that Bruno Bucciarati would be the one to accompany you and your friends in the same car, your heart almost lept out of your chest. Excitement crept up your arms but nervousness floated in your stomach-- who would sit where? Should you call shotgun? Would one of your other friends claim the seat next to Bucciarati for a chance at the cute Italian man? Swarming thoughts occupied you as he guided the four of you to the car and even up until you all had your bags packed into the trunks of the two cars. It wasn’t until the slam of the trunk door had you finally coming to your senses, glancing to your three friends.

“Who wants to sit in the back?” You asked them as they debated amongst themselves.

“Well since Megan’s small, she can be in between Alex and I,” Anna announced before anyone could say anything and everyone else agreed to that, knowing of your little crush on your driver and wanting more material to use to tease you later that night. You caught the sight of a sly grin on her face, finally realizing that the three of them clearly knew, and your lips curled into a sheepish smile, a little embarrassed that your little secret was found out. You agreed as well and climbed into the passenger’s seat.

The drive to the hotel that came in the bundle you paid for was about fifteen minutes after you gave Bucciarati the address, but it felt like the longest fifteen minutes you’ve had to endure in your life. In between the awkward start ups at conversation and the quiet giggles from whispered jokes in the back, you stole glances at Bucciarati when you knew he couldn’t see, even in his peripheral. Being this close to him allowed for you to see every minor detail in his face. The slight wrinkles under his eyes showed the tiredness of having to work since a young age, the faint lines across his forehead showed the stress despite how he looked only twenty years old or so. His eyes looked so clear earlier, but the distanced look in his eyes told you that his mind was somewhere else at that moment. His lips were once again pressed thin and his jaw was clenched. He looked like a man who had the world carried on his shoulders, like a man who was the only one who could. You recalled how serious he seemed when you met him. You credited it to professionalism, but the rest of his team didn’t match it. It made you wonder if it really was hospitality or if this serious look on his face indicated something else. Not that it really mattered to wonder about these things. You had a tendency to overthink just about anything, clearly even a stranger’s expression.

He would occasionally catch your glance, and at those moments, you’d turn to look out the window in embarrassment, cheek in the palm of your hand to feign disinterest. You really should’ve just been looking outside at the city, you knew, but each opportunity to look at Bucciarati felt like a gift, as if he was the real view Italy had to offer, as if that was what you had paid to come to this country to see. Each time he’d notice you staring, you would hear him huff in amusement, going back to concentrating on the road not too long after. And the cycle would repeat, much to the pleasure of your friends in the back watching everything: glance for a minute, turn to the window to hide a blush, followed by silent giggles from behind. You were glad your friends found it entertaining, but fifteen minutes couldn’t pass by more quickly even if the beating of your heart and the shake in your legs wanted this to last forever. After your last look at Bucciarati, your eyes laid on a hedge arch outside the car window which led into a courtyard littered with tables under awnings, one of which read “Hotel”.

When your driver announced your arrival, your friends didn’t hesitate to pop out of the car, scrambling for their bags so they could quickly check in and relax. In the excitement, they completely forgot that there was another car they had to wait for and made their way into the lobby to have a look around. You followed but stayed to wait for everyone else, thanking Bucciarati as he also stepped out of the car. He gave you a smile that made your heart skip one if not two beats, saying that the other car should be there soon so you could retrieve your luggage. He walked around the car and stood beside you on the cobblestone sidewalk to wait as well. You two were separated by only a few centimeters when he came to rest next to you; you could almost feel the fabric of his white suit against the exposed skin of your shoulder, and you could faintly smell the cologne he was wearing in the slight breeze that passed by. In your closeness, you could hear your heart thrumming in your ears, you could feel your palms grow damp, you could feel the redness in your face that you blamed the Italian summer for. But before you could collapse, from heat stroke or something else, Giorno pulled up and parked behind Bucciarati’s car as you quietly thanked God, rushing to the trunk to pull your things out. You said nothing to Bucciarati or his team as you raced to reunite with your friends so that the four of you could get checked in as soon as possible.

You only booked one room for the four of you, as you could all share the two beds and one couch that the room came with. When the receptionist gave you the room number and the two keys it came with, you heard Bucciarati announce to the four of you that him and his group would also be staying in the same hotel for your convenience. You nodded and gave him your room number on the fourth floor when he told you that they were staying on the fifth. And just as quickly as you had at the airport, you grabbed ahold of your friends and pushed them to the elevator and on your way to the fourth floor, absolutely ready for a hot shower to melt away your jetlag and calm the fluttering in your stomach. This time, they weren’t as resistant, actually excited to get into the room to flop onto the beds and relax their tense muscles. But before you four got into the elevator, Megan asked for a moment, rushing up to Bucciarati.

“Could I get your phone number?” You heard her say, mentioning how she paid for international calling, and your heart sunk to your stomach, churning in the bubbling acid below, fizzling away any butterflies you had left. “Just so we can tell you when we’re ready to head out again.” And he agreed, typing in his number into her phone as you just quietly begged to get to the room already. You saw his lips move as he talked to her, but your mind was elsewhere-- how you didn’t have a chance since everyone loved Megan everywhere you went, how it was stupid of you to think that you even had a chance, how you shouldn’t have hoped for anything because this was a trip for you and your friends to enjoy together, how you had always had that tiny wish in your heart for a romcom-style fantasy where you fell in love with a foreign country, how you were foolish for wanting that. You watched as she walked back, and you turned to press the button to call the lift, all the while just hoping that a shower could keep you from feeling any worse.

#bruno buccellati #bruno bucciarati #vento aureo #jjba #reader insert #buccellati x reader #bucciarati x reader #idk what else to tag it so uh yeah #i /was/ gonna write a second part but i kinda lost inspo for it soooo uhhhhhhh #idk i might pick this back up later probs in the summer when im not swamped with really late midterms and finals coming up

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