#bruno oneshot

[itjazzbicch]

Beautiful Liar

Pairing:  Bruno Bucciarati x Fem Reader 

Summary: Trying to deny her true feelings about Bucciarati, Bucciarati decides to call the reader on her bluff after she avoids everyone, especially him, after he becomes capo...

Warnings:  Swearing, SMUT (18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI! oral f receiving, unprotected sex)

First time writing for JoJo's and Bucciarati, as he is my favorite JoJo's character! I hope I did well and you all enjoy!

Word Count: 2.1k 

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF

I couldn’t stand getting all dolled up just to be somewhere I didn’t feel like being.

Of course, Bucciarati became Capo, our crew was celebrating and at least I had a nice view. Italy was such a beautiful place, night sky filled of stars, city lights in the distance from this rooftop bar.

Sitting alone at the bar, a glass of wine in hand, I let my mind wonder, gazing at the view till I heard a soft voice:

“What are you doing sitting all alone?”

Bucciarati.

“What? Am I bothering you?” Finding him in the corner of my eye, he was never a fan of my attitude, leaning against the bar:

“Can’t even have some fun, can you?”

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Bucciarati. It was because I liked him. I couldn’t open up and face my own feelings. Any word and tone towards him came out as envy. Thankfully, I did get some amusement from it.

“Can a ragazza just enjoy a glass of wine?” Taking a sip, it amazed me how he dealt with me, still being kind:

“Nothing wrong with that. I just don’t think it’s fair that everyone else is having fun and you’re all alone with that scowl on your face.”

“I am just fine,” I smiled sarcastically at him, but he was persistent that I get out of that seat:

“Don’t be like that. How about a dance?”

“I’m not a dancer,” I lied, turning my head, but still listening as he assumed:

“Let me guess, you’re in one of your moods because I’m officially capo.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” I snickered softly, still not looking at him, even when he said:

“It wouldn’t surprise me. You’ve always envied me and why, may I ask?”

“Envy you?” This time I made sure I locked eyes, his blue eyes glimmering with his smile:

“You heard me.”

“I could care less that you are capo, now,” I wasn’t letting him win this little argument, going to leave it at that, but seizing when I felt his arm wrap around my hip, getting close enough to whisper:

“Then what is it, amore?”

I was never the type to be left speechless, getting lost in a void, feeling his warmth against me, even stronger in his hand that was on my hip, his scent filling me with a lust I’ve never experienced.

“I see now,” He always took the opportunity to laugh at me when it was presented, knowing exactly how I was feeling, “You are the type to run away from the truth.”

“And just what is that truth, hm?” I couldn’t keep sitting there looking dumb, making the mistake of looking into those blue eyes that sent me deeper into that void:

“Isn’t it obvious? Besides, Mista have told me more times than I can count.”

“That damn asshole,” I growled silently under my breath, trying to contain composure, speaking up this time, “And you believe that childish man?”

“There you, go running from the truth again,” Laughing at me again, he started to test me himself, voice growing to a deep whisper into my ear, “It doesn’t matter anyways. I already know the truth, amore.”

The way he called me amore made my thighs squeeze together, the heat in my cheeks from my wine growing, naturally leaning into him.

He was almost hypnotic and it put me into a slight panic. Should I take the opportunity in this moment? Or do what exactly what he said, run from the truth?

“What do you know, Bucciarati?” I scoffed, something inside of me wouldn’t let him break me that easily, but I was pushed right to the edge.

“You are such a beautiful liar,” The tension just kept rising with every word he spoke, chills down my spine and that’s when something in me changed.

I was a mafioso! Some little crush wasn’t going to turn me into someone timid. Glancing to the guys, they were all distracted and so?

With a smack of my lips, I gulped down the rest of my wine, taking his hand and leaving my seat, guiding him to the elevator.

“Y/N?” Curious, but still following me, I let him know exactly what I was doing.

“You offered a dance. So,” I had the most confident smirk on my face that made his eyes light up while twirling into him inside of the elevator, making sure the door shut before I kissed, “Let’s dance.”

It became so clear how much tension the both of us had built up inside, shattering with the clash of our lips, every touch and move exceeding anything I ever fantasized about, pushing my chest against his, hand full of his suit jacket when his hand slid up my thigh, pulling our hips together to feel his hardening bulge.

Every time the elevator beeped, I grew more impatient, nearly dragging him out of the elevator when we finally got to the floor of my room.

I didn’t want to stop for a single second, tongues dancing all the way to the edge of my bed, ready to strip till he palmed my lower back, stroking my cheek:

“Slow down, amore. You’re so impatient.”

“Can you blame me?” I finally breathed in, breaking out in goosebumps at his fingertips sliding the strap of my dress off my shoulder:

“I understand, but there’s no need to move so quickly. Your capo just wants the time to adore you beauty.”

“Sí, capo,” I hummed softly at the kiss he left along my neck, unzipping my dress, eyes falling down to the floor with it, taking his good time to see me in just my heels and panties.

For a change, I followed his lead, moonlight peaking through the windows illuminating those gorgeous blue eyes when he took me by the chin, a kiss guiding me back onto the bed.

My heart was beating like normal, but so hard against my chest with his hand sliding down my neck and all over my breasts, nearly moaning already at his fingers rolling my nipple, licking along my ear:

“With all of this beauty, I’m taking my time.”

His words surely tamed my impatience. Just that alone prepared me to be in bed with him for some time.

Closing my eyes softly and submerging into a new world, letting out the soft moans that were building up as his kisses lead down my neck, finding my breasts and making sure to give each their fair share of attention, from soft bites to hard sucks on my nipples that made me squirm a little.

Every nerve was tingling more and more the further down he went, lace panties between his teeth and yanking them away, eyes locked on his physique as his suit jacket was thrown off, spreading my legs wide and upward, watching his tongue slide across his upper lip:

“I want to savor every single taste. Maybe this will take all that bad, sassy mood away.”

“B-Bruno,” One single, broad lick along my clit had me whining, swirling around it having my legs shake, throwing my head back into the pillows when he started sucking.

He formed a tighter grip on my thighs as I began to shake more, taking handfuls of the sheets at a swift lick downward, tongue pushing in and flicking at my walls, then taking me with a mouthful, the pressure at my clit making my legs fight his grip, starting to close his head in.

“R-Right there!” I let my body do as it wanted, beginning to grind against his face, arching at the groan that came from deep in his chest, whining as his strength pushed my legs back down to the mattress, keeping them pinned as he simply devoured me.

Needing no words, only staring throwing his bangs, knowing the blissful state I was in, making sure that I didn’t have even a second to catch a breath, instantly having me come undone, a smile visible even while buried between my legs, mouth wide open against me and licking up the slick from my orgasm.

“See all the good things you can get when your patient, hm?”

Of course, he had to take the time to poke at me, leaving a few kisses along my thighs, but my eyes were focused on what I couldn’t see, only seeing his hands go below his waist.

“Gonna make me wait more?” Not that I was even worried, taking deep breaths and silencing as he kneeled onto the bed, me being the one to admire his body.

Those sexy tattoos, abs so tone and defined, not to mention the impressiveness of his cock, all of the air I took in taken away from it.

“Why do you ask? Is there something else you want?”

I really wasn’t in the mood for the teasing now, especially with him between my legs, slapping his cock against my skin softly.

“You know exactly what I want,” My eyes shot off an intense glare, but I wasn’t getting what I wanted so easily.

“Oh, that?” He smirked, running his tip through my folds, slapping my clit and having my lip trapped between my teeth, “Is that what you want, amore?”

“Don’t be like that, Bruno,” I pouted, closing my eyes and taking in the pleasure that it did give off, hiding the moans from his tip circling my entrance, rubbing my folds softly.

“I Can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me,” I could feel his smile again as he placed kisses at my neck and cheek, finally giving him what he wanted, voice so sweet as I told him:

“I want you, Bruno. I want you inside of me already. Please.”

“Good girl,” Nibbling on my ear and easing his cock into me at the same time made me gasp so hard, his girth a lot to take, walls spasming around him already.

“Merda!” Biting my lip again, I looked to see that I haven’t even taken half of him, soft thrusts helping me adjust.

“Shh, I have you,” I loved that he knew how to tend to me so well, guiding my arms around his neck, a hand running through his hair, whispering to him:

“I just never had someone like you.”

“And you’ll never have someone like me again,” His confidence wasn’t just for show, hooking my legs over the button of his inner elbows, pushing forward and with a quick thrust, feeding me all of his cock.

I never moaned in such a filthy way, panting at the quick thrusts he gave, hearing our wet skin every other thrust as he bottomed me out.

Those moans only grew more filthy and loud, pushing forward so our foreheads could meet, nose nuzzling so I could hear his coo:

“Only your capo.”

“Only you, Bruno!” All the mental blocks I had built were broken down to crumbles, finally letting go of every thought I’ve ever had about him, “I only want you, capo!”

“I always knew,” He chuckled softly, lifting his head some and somehow, I knew to find his eyes, teary from the searing burn of pleasure, but held our gaze, “Gonna let me feel you cuming all over me, amore?”

“Y-Yess!” I cried out, head suddenly snapping back, walls pulling him even deeper any time he pulled back a little, a ram of his hips smacking right into my sweet spot, keeping pressure against my clit and cervix, “I’m cuming!”

His forehead fell to mine with a groan rumbling in his chest, thrusts not stopping, but a bit languid as we both felt the death grip I had on his cock, entire body squirming, nails scratching at his back as my hips jerked upward, feeling the squelch of slick making a mess all over our thighs.

“Brava, ragazza,” He mumbled with a soft smile, kissing along with rolls of his hips, “So tight and wet, all for me.”

“You’re just so damn good,” I huffed, hugging his head and moaning at the throbs of his cock, damning him, “Cazzo, Bruno.”

He could only chuckle at that, releasing my legs and pulling me into a warm embrace, “See what you could’ve had sooner if you weren’t such a liar?”

“The beautiful liar that you mentioned earlier?” I shot back, meeting his gaze to see a pure smile this time, shining my own confidence, “There will be no lying about how I feel. You’re mine, capo.”

His smile showed that he proud that I finally owned up to my feelings, being my confident self again, even if I still had some sass, kissing softly, “Now that’s my, ragazza.”  

[inkpot909]

Walking in Space

↳ Guido Mista x Reader. The reader’s gender is not defined/is gender neutral.

Summary: Eager to take advantage of a quiet household, you retreat to the garage to have a joint or two. To your surprise, Mista is there. Taking you aback even further, he requests that you smoke together.

Warning(s): Canon-typical Swearing. Light NSFW. Making out; Mista is a little grabby. Some grinding. Drug usage. If characters smoking marijuana will make you uncomfortable, or put you in a bad place, please do not read.

It isn’t often that Bucciarati’s house settles down early into a night. It’s not just his residence, but the home of his team as well.

Since before moving in, the chaotic environment was made perfectly clear to you. Young adults living together in a confined space hardly ever offers much peace and quiet.

A day-long mission assigned to more than half of the group’s members ensured tonight would turn out differently than what was the norm. Your expectation was that people would be turning in sooner rather than later, one that came to be true.

Fugo seemingly cancelled his lesson with Narancia for the night, making a beeline for his bedroom the moment he walked through the front door. Equally as tired, Narancia didn’t even feel like celebrating the occasion. Hell, one couldn’t even tell if he noticed. Abbacchio lazily passed out on the couch, having plopped himself there not two minutes after returning home. And Bucciarati gave you a half-assed summary of the mission’s events before excusing himself from the living room.

Peace and quiet… you thought with a pleased hum. Walking downstairs to the main floor, your feet moved at a slow pace yet still shuffled along with purpose. There’s no need to rush your pace, after all, the ultimate goal is to relax.

With Bucciarati presumably asleep, and the two youngest in the house clocking out for the night as well, you can’t think of a better time to have a smoke in the garage.

“If you’re going to do it at all; it’s going to be in the garage only,” you recalled Bucciarati telling you sternly.

Not long after you first moved in, you sat him down to talk about your smoking habit. You were open and careful, striving to hear his thoughts on the matter. You could tell by the tightness of his jaw that he didn’t much like you smoking in the first place, but bit his tongue. He appreciated that you came to him on your own accord, and it was your transparency that ultimately earned you his consent to smoke under his own roof.

He made his rules very clear: Keep yourself safe, and keep it away from the two minors in the group at all costs. It was assumed that Fugo was smart enough to make an informed decision on the matter, but mentioning such things was irrelevant. The penalty for breaking his rules weren’t explicitly specified; they didn’t need to be.

A smile finds it’s way onto your face at the memory. Bucciarati’s trust in you is deeply valued, not just as his subordinate, but as his friend. And you weren’t about to break that trust anytime soon.

Still, you felt better smoking whenever he was asleep or out of the house. It just seemed more respectful on your part.

Making your way to the garage door, you swing it open only to find the lights inside already switched on.

“This damn thing-“

Out of everything you’d expect to see, you weren’t necessarily anticipating Mista hunched over Narancia’s music player with a frustrated look on his face. He’s mashing the buttons on top with vigor, although absolutely no noise is erupting from the device.

You feel like a high schooler by just how internally giddy you become at the mere sight of the gunslinger. Embarrassing? Maybe. Could you deny the feeling if you tried? Probably not.

The curses he mutters underneath his breath cease to continue, his head lifting up so he can meet the eyes of whoever walked in on him. To your own personal glee, his gaze softens.

To him, seeing you like this is a welcomed surprise. Although the two of you had the house to yourselves most of the day, you hadn’t spent much time together. Just the mere possibility of it sends his heart leaping into the atmosphere.

“What’s a pretty place like you doing in a girl like this?” he asks, winking twice.

Smile persisting, you shake your head at his goofy line. Greeting you with a cheesy pickup line was not an uncommon occurrence for Mista, but subverting expectations earns him a chuckle.

He beams proudly as if it’s all he needs out of his day. It really is the simple things with Guido. That much is clear, even to you.

“Hoping to have a joint or two,” you tell him honestly before glancing down at the player. Raising a brow, you meet his gaze once again. “Did you-“

“No.” Mista quickly cuts you off, clearing his throat and standing up straight. Removing his hands from the music player, he lifts them in the air as if to surrender. “I swear I found it like this.”

You shrug, “Narancia hardly takes care of that hunk of junk. Trust me, I’m not really about to put the blame on you. Although Narancia might try to if he finds out you’ve been messing with it.”

Huffing out a relieved laugh, Mista replies, “Good thing you won’t, ‘cause otherwise I’d have to tell on you for smoking.”

Walking to the right-hand side of the garage, you respond to him offhandly, “Mista, I know you know that Bruno knows. Sometimes I wonder if he really cares all that much.”

He folds his arms, studying your movements across the room. “Oh, he does. It’s just that you’re an adult; it’s not in his principles to try and stop you.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose unless it’s a problem.”

“Sure,” you agree, approaching one of many small shelves in the garage. A tiny metal box is tucked away from sight, behind supplies that vary in purpose. You reach for the container, fingertips lightly skidding across it’s smooth surface. Pulling it off the shelf completely, you turn back to him and add, “But Narancia isn’t, y’know.”

“Umm… okay. Your point?”

You shrug, shifting the conversation back towards the silent player. “My point is, if he tries to blame you for breaking his radio, then just destroy a lego set of his or something.”

Mista snorted in response, the sound slowly melting into a hearty laugh after fully digesting what you said.

“Anyways, I haven’t indulged myself in a while,” you gesture towards the box in your hands, “And it’s rarely quiet in the house around this hour. If you don’t wanna have to deal with the smell, take the broken radio someplace else. I hate to kick you out so rudely but… I suppose you understand, at least?”

Even as you speak, you hope he’ll choose to stay with you. Mista’s funny enough sober. He’s cute enough to be quite flustering as well, something you hope you can handle better in a stoned state of mind.

“And what?” he asked, smiling fake-mockingly, “Leave you alone while you get high? What kind of friend does that? No, I think I’ll stick around and see what you’re like.”

Friend… you swallow.

“You sure, Guido?”

He hummed, tapping his chin while eyeing the black box. “In all actuality, Y/n…”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, wait-“

“I’m thinking that, maybe-“

“Mista, I-I don’t know if-“

He puts one hand up, gently silencing you. Taking a couple steps closer, he goes on earnestly, “Only if you’re willing to share, of course… but I’d kinda like to smoke with you. I never have tried it before and I’m admittedly curious. Hell, I’ll pay you back for what I take if that’s-“

“No!” you insist, making him hesitate. Biting your lower lip you stop yourself. He nods gently though, urging you to speak your mind. Caving easily, you continue, “It’s not… about the money. I’d like to. I mean- it’d be fun, right? I’d have fun with you…” your head spins momentarily, recognizing (if not briefly) that your words are going nowhere. “I-It’s… it’s just that… I don’t think Bruno would be too happy with me is all. I don’t wanna be disrespectful. I said before that he doesn’t care, but jokes aside, he was apprehensive about letting me.”

“And you’re not being disrespectful,” he tells you, setting a hand on your shoulder. It’s a small gesture, yet still somehow enough to get your heart racing. “It’s a decision I’m making at the end of the day. Furthermore, it was my idea. If Bruno’s mad, I’ll do anything I can to insist my own independence. It’s not like you’re pushing it on me.” Smiling, he removes his hand from your shoulder. “That being said, it’s your weed. So whatever you decide.”

You hum, mulling over his words. In all honesty, his lack of hesitation over his own agency is quite respectable. Not only that, but his assurance that he would do anything to keep you from potentially facing repercussions warms your heart.

Recalling the first time you ever smoked, hope fuels your thoughts. It was late one night, at a little get together with three of your closest friends. They had made a point of ensuring your comfort; in ensuring it was something you truly wanted. The night was one you’d never forget. Listening to music well into the early morning, you doubted you would have felt safer your first time with anyone else. All at once, Mista’s words flood your brain, reminding you of a different life before Passione.

Although you’d never consider yourself defined by smoking, there’s something intimate about someone’s first time smoking marijuana. It undeniably takes a certain level of trust. And to think Mista wouldn’t think twice about the presumed trust he has in you… oh, how your heart leaps with joy.

Taking in a deep breath, you slowly nod and try to not let his brightening eyes effect your tone of voice. “Alright… I would love to share a joint or two with you Mista. Just…” you pause, “You feel safe, right? Comfortable? That’s very important to me, you see…”

He takes a step towards you. “Of course… as if I’d wanna do this with anyone else. Here, I’ll even let you use the chair I grabbed. Uh, y’know, as a sign of good faith.”

Chuckling, you sit yourself down with a nod. Setting the box down on your lap, your thumb flips the front latch upwards. The moment the top is opened, marijuana’s distinct stench fills the garage. Mista stands diagonally behind your chair, curiously peaking at the inside of the box. Your hands nearly begin shaking as you move, sensing his gaze.

Inside are a couple bags of bud lined up next to each other, sitting beside a tiny grinder. Another ziplock bag contains joints you’ve already rolled yourself ahead of time. Lastly, two lighters sit upright patiently.

“You buy from Passione?” he asks, giving you a playful nudge.

“Technically, I guess. From a guy named Campi. He pays the organization protection costs and is given permission to sell in the area. But to say he’s part of the gang would be a stretch.”

“Bottom of the food chain?”

“At the very bottom; probably not even an afterthought,” you confirm, “But he’s a sweet and genuine man. A single father. Making some extra money on the side to help support his kids, y’know?”

Mista nods, and the both of you leave it at that. You grab the bag of joints, opening it with a satisfying pop. With one hand, you reach in and snag a single joint. With your other, you grab one of the lighters.

“We’ll start with sharing just the one,” you decide, craning your neck backwards. Your head bumps against the chair’s backrest, and Mista chuckles at the face you make. “A-Anyways…” you say with a smile, “It’s probably best if you start with a hit or two. Please… I can’t stress this enough- let me know how you’re feeling.”

“Alright,” he nods, walking away from you to the other side of the garage in order to snag himself a different chair. “Whatever you think’s best.”

Mista returns to your side a moment later, setting his chosen chair down. He sits down next to you, and you give him a smile before lowering your head.

Although you flick on the lighter and hold it up to the joint with clear practice, your hands still quake. You don’t have to look beside you to know Mista’s eyes are on you yet again.

“You alright?” he asks.

You mentally curse yourself but bury your embarrassment. “Yeah… umm, just excited. It’s been a while since I’ve had company when smoking.”

Bringing the joint to your lips, your chest rises while you inhale smoke emitting from it. Holding in your breath to keep the weed in your system, you slowly exhale smoke from within your lungs.

“Really?” Mista questions, trying not to shamelessly stare at the smoke passing from your lips. “How long do you think it’s been?”

“Well… since moving here, I suppose,” You reply, handing him the joint. “Bruno doesn’t want me doing it outside the house; it would worry him.”

“Bucciarati can be such a curious one. He seriously thinks too much like a mother,” Mista snorts, examining the joint carefully. He waits a moment longer before taking his first hit, a little shorter than your own.

He attempts to mirror your actions and hold in the smoke, but erupts into a coughing fit. The smoke escapes him in bursts, until he’s left covering his mouth with his arm while finishing his fit.

“You alright?” you ask nervously.

“Y-Yeah-“ he manages, smiling with watering eyes. He hands you the joint, letting out a couple more coughs. “Tasted like shit; smell isn’t too bad though.”

You giggle, taking your second hit. “Can’t deny that. You’ll probably want to wash your clothes first thing tomorrow. Unless you really want Bruno finding out.”

The two of you share a laugh, slowly but steadily feeling the joint’s effects.

• • •

After your second joint and Mista fifth tiny hit, the garage was full of laughter.

Your hands no longer shook with nerves, relaxed and dazed eyes focused on Mista as he voices another of his out-of-pocket questions. His body is sprawled out casually on his chair, eyes bloodshot red.

“I think dogs would be the kindest,” he continues on. “Man’s best friend… y’know what I mean?”

“Possibly. I don’t know what animals would be the nicest if they could talk- but I do think bugs would be quite spiteful.”

He nods with vigor, “They’d all absolutely hate us. But at least spiders would be more easy to spot in the home if they’re talking up a storm.”

“Ugh… imagining that is just creepy,” you shiver, “I’d feel more uncomfortable about killing them then.”

“I’ll still smush ‘em for you,” he promises, winking clumsily.

You giggle, covering your mouth. “I wouldn’t doubt it…” Calming down, you cross one leg over the other and prod him, “So… what do you think, Guido?”

“Of what?” Mista tilts his head to the side.

“Of being high,” you specify. “I’ve checked in on whether or not you’re comfortable- if you feel queasy. But it’s been an hour and a half already… so I got to know your thoughts overall.”

He hums, shutting his eyes thoughtfully. “Hmm… honestly, I thought it’d be more similar to being drunk.”

“Is… is it okay?”

“Well…” a smug grin spreads across his face, “I can see why you do this from time to time. It’s fun.”

You breath a sigh of relief.

He sets his elbow down on his chair’s armrest. He leans closer to you, eyes unmoving from your own. Resting his chin in the palm of his hands, you do your best to capture his image in your brain despite your impaired state. The giddy smile on his face warms the inside of your chest with ease.

All the while his mind is racing just at the sight of you. He’s always found you breathtaking, but tonight has brought you together unlike anything before. It’s not something he could think of describing on his own, but he would agree with your opinion that the first time getting high can feel personal. And in the dim lighting of the garage, he’s overcome with a odd sense of confidence.

“That being said, I don’t think I’d have this much fun without you with me…” he says, voice quieter now.

“Guido… thank you. A first smoke is important because of the people you’re with. With good company-“

“You misunderstand,” he insists before trailing off, “I wouldn’t…”

“You wouldn’t what?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, leaning back in his chair.

Frowning, you ash the remainder of your joint and make sure it’s completely out. Setting your box aside and on the floor, you turn back to him. “Come on… you can tell me…”

“Well…” he takes in a deep breath, “I think I’d have fun regardless, you know what I’m saying? You’re what makes this fun. I like being with you- erm, hanging out with you. Spending time. Y-You know what I mean.”

He turns his head away, clearing his throat. Internally, he lectures himself. In his head, he’s meant to be smooth around you. But he spoke without thinking, a common occurrence throughout his time of being high thus far. The way you always giggle a his silly one-liners, whenever he calls you a tongue and cheek pet name… even with all that, it’s not like him to be so painfully obvious.

“I-I like spending time with you too,” you tell him, oblivious to his inner distress. You’re leaning towards him now, both hands fastened on your chair’s arm rests.

“Really?” he asks, as if it was some great mystery. Regardless, you humor him by keeping still and your expression. He leans towards you too, leaving just a foot between your faces.

“Of course… smoking with you has been a dream come true,” you swallow, “Or something…”

“Or something…” he echoes, “I wonder… would, umm, would you still like to hang out with me if I said you’re cute.”

“I’m not sure; you’d have to say it first,” you test, mostly teasing.

“You’re beautiful,” he doesn’t hesitate to tell you, voice earnest and gentle.

Cheeks heating up, your eyes widen and heart rate increases bit by bit. This is happening… oh my god, this is really happening, your mind races.

“Hmm…” you pretend casualness, “Yes… I do still enjoy your company.”

“Then…” he starts, standing up from his chair. Reaching for your hand, he pulls you up from your spot with ease. No matter how much you eye him up in his exposing crop-top, his strength never ceases to catch you off guard.

But what gets your head truly spinning, is how he swiftly pulls you into his embrace. One of his hands stays glued to yours and the other is wrapped around you, resting on your lower back. “Would you still like me if we stayed this close?”

“G-Guido…” you stutter, hardly processing his words. Not trusting your own, you simply nod.

“Y/n…” he sighs, eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips. “I-I know I’m high…”

“I’m high too…” you confirm.

“But I really-“

“-want this.” you both say in tandem.

He tilts his head to the side, ghosting his lips over your own. You think to speak his name, but he doesn’t offer you the chance. His lips press against yours, leading you into a delicate kiss.

Mista’s breath fans your face, controlled and poised. Despite your racing heart, your own breathing is disciplined as well.

A minute or two passes before you pull away. In your influenced state, the kiss blissfully felt like it lasted much longer.

“Y/n…” he mutters your name again, moving his hand away from yours in order to wrap both his arms around you. Your own sneak their way around his neck.

“Please, kiss me again,” you plead.

He shutters, enchanted by your tone of voice. Who would he be to deny such an earnest request?

Once again your lips meet, this time with greater vigor. His head tilts sideways further, deepening the kiss. You gasp into the motion, leaving an opening he takes advantage of. Slipping his tongue into your mouth, both his and yours dance around one another desperately.

His lips travel from your mouth to your lower jaw, traveling along it and eventually moving down to your neck. He peppers light kisses along your skin. That is, until your hand reaches up his neck, beneath his hat, and tugging at his hair.

Mista grunts in response, biting down and then sucking greedily at the space just below the curve of your jaw.

“I’ve wanted this for so long…” he mumbles, voice ragged.

“Me too…” you confess breathlessly.

“Mmm…” he hums, tightening his grip around your waste. Ever so slightly, he dips you at the hip, subtly pressing his own against yours.

Leaning your head backwards, your fingers dig into his scalp. Motivated further, he leaves another bite just below his first. His tongue laps against the mark, kissing you as if it were his last chance.

Mista’s hand slowly inches downward, giving you ample time to push him away or halt his movement. Realizing you put up no protest, he continues downward to grip your bum hungrily.

You gasp and instinctively buck your hips into his, “Guido!”

He lets out a shaky sigh, returning the motion almost experimentally. Lifting his head from your neck, no time is wasted before kissing your lips once more. Tongues press together lightly, sighs and gentle groans sprinkled between kisses.

His hand on your ass reaches down to your thigh, hoisting your leg upwards and wrapping it around his waist. Now with more access, the two of you grind your hips together at a steady pace. Feeling his ever increasing prominent bulge push up against you is enough to cause you to moan.

He chuckles at your response, pulling his head away so you can both get ahold of your breathing. He rests his forehead against your own, looking at you with a lustful gaze. Something deeper is found in the twinkle of his eyes, expressing sincere and personal desire.

“Amore mio… I-“

His eyes drift away, traveling to the right of your person. Mista’s velvety expression quickly contorts into a frustrated one.

Before you can think to ask him what’s wrong, he grips you tight and whirls you to his side. Pressing you against him still, he pulls a hand from your ass to instead reach down into the front of his pants.

To your shock, he pulls out his pistol. He yells out incoherently, shooting two bullets into Narancia’s music player.

“Guido!” you exclaim, blinking rapidly. You cling onto him, but your face is kept away from him out of confusion. “What the hell was that for?”

“Because the damn thing doesn’t work!”

Opening your mouth, you soon close it slowly. Your grip on him loosens, letting out a giggle. It morphs into a hearty laugh, stomach straining in pain at the sheer force of it.

Glancing at you, he wonders out loud, “What’s so funny?”

It only encourages more of your laughter, wiping a single tear from the corner of your eye. “Oh, Mista!” you snort, “There’s no doubt about it; you’re definitely high!”

Blowing smoke emitting from his gun, he shoves it back into his pants with ease. Confident and certain, he offers you a sultry glance. “That was hot, though, wasn’t it?”

You merely giggle more, dropping your head onto his shoulder. Regardless, you reply honestly, “A little… I’ll admit I like that you keep your gun in your pants…”

His smirk widens, biting his lower lip momentarily. “Well, if that’s the case…” Mista whispers, voice husky. He blows slowly in your ear, making you halt entirely. Planting a single kiss on your earlobe, he continues smoothly, “Perhaps you’d like to reach for it yourself…”

[gyrospizzamozzarella]

HC‼️which flavor of jolly rancher i think the bucciarati gang would prefer!

mista

mista radiates blue raspberry flavored energy so much it’s insane. i feel like he was one of those kids that always walked around with their entire mouth and chin covered in sticky blue gunk. think ipad kid. that’s mista.

abbacchio

emo mother mf gets green apple🙏 his sour attitude matches perfectly with it.

trish

WATERMELON. it is such a sweet & sour flavor and i feel like it just embodies trish so well.

narancia

i mean…do i really need to explain? his name is literally ORANGE in italian.

bucciarati

“a single mom who works two jobs, who loves her kids and she never stops”-some country singer idk…yeehaw? anyways the point of that was that bruno is the mom of the group, therefore he gets grape. grape flavor is for old people. i live by that. (thank you for coming to my ted talk.)

giorno

as i said in the diamond is unbreakable jolly ranchers post, cherry is a mature flavor and it just fits giorno and his overall aesthetic.

fugo

STRAWBERRYYYY. once again i don’t think i really need to explain this one.

THANK YOU THATS ALL<3

[dragcnbreak]

my brain perceiving pictures of rish and matt together: ah yes. kamran and bruno on a date

[esmedelacroix]

❅☃❅Hiii I would like to request something for the christmas-fluffdown

I have been thinking about x reader story with a ice skating scenario with any jjba character from part 5

That's all thanks for taking the time to read this ❅☃❅

hey non non! im actually rewatching part 5 right now so this is perfect! hope you like ;)

17 days til' Christmas

ice skating date with boyfriend!bruno bucciarati ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

----------------------------------------------------------------------

You met your boyfriend Bruno Bucciarati when you were on a vacation trip with your best friends. Going to Italy with your girlfriends, you expected a fleeting summer romance. That's not what happened with Bruno.

He swept you off your feet and his advances blew you away. You had met him at a little hidden restaurant. "I think we are ready to pay for our food now," you said to the waiter.

You were at the restaurant with one of your friends. The other three of your friends had gone shopping that evening and you and your friend Stella were far too tired.

"Oh, your bill is already paid for," the waiter replied.

Your face contorted to confusion as you eyed Stella. She shook her head and shrugged.

"Well there has to be a mistake, we haven't paid yet," you explained taking out your wallet.

"No no no, signora[miss], that man over there paid for you and your friend's meal,'' the waiter reassured, pointing over at a table where a man in a white suit with a dalmation-esque print. His outfit was fashionable and almost chic, exposing his tattooed chest.

You were never fond of long hair let alone a bob on men until you had seen Bruno for the first time. He looked calm and collected as he sipped a glass of expensive-looking wine.

His aura was almost alluring like he was pulling you towards him. You got up and walked up to his table. "Um excuse me, sir, I wanted to thank you for paying for my friend and I's meal," you started.

"Thank you for coming to my restaurant. I have never seen such a beautiful woman set foot in here," he said. Your eyes widened in shock. He's the owner of the restaurant?! You thought to yourself.

Could he really be talking about me? You questioned.

"Are you talking about me or my friend?" you asked nervously.

He gave you a strange look. A look that almost screamed how I could be talking about anyone but you right now? When you glow naturally and your eyes are as profound as they are? Like they could say a million words, how could it be anyone else?

"Well of course I'm talking about you Bella[beautiful], please have a seat," he offered motioning towards the chair next to him.

"As much as I would love to, I would hate to leave my friend Stella all alone," you started turning around to see an Italian man sitting in your seat flirting up a storm with Stella.

"Never mind then," you said sheepishly as you sat.

That night one of the greatest loves you had ever experienced bloomed. You danced on the street with Bruno late at night when all the buskers were playing their late-night slow jams.

The rest was history. After your trip, you parted ways with Buccirati and you were doing long distance and thought you would never see him again until you found out that your job was offering an abroad working opportunity in Italy where you would get to live there for a whole year.

Once that year ended you and Bruno went back to long distance until he surprised you at JFK airport. "Bruno! What are you doing here?" you asked as you hugged him tight.

"Well I thought I'd visit my girlfriend of two years for Christmas in her home city," Bruno answered as he kissed you on the forehead.

"Awww, I love you, darling," you said, hugging him even tighter, breathing in his comforting and familiar scent.

Bruno had texted you saying that the gift that he got you for Christmas was arriving at JFK that day. You never would've guessed that the gift was him.

. . .

That week was perfect. Bruno met your family for the first time and of course, charmed them all. You never stopped talking about Bruno to your family the year you came back from Italy. They too thought it would be a short fling and that long distance never worked, but here he was standing before your family greeting them and joining them in the Christmas Eve festivities.

You were just about to show Bruno his stalking that you altered last minute when you saw your father pull him aside to talk in his study. Oh no, why does he have to be like this? You asked yourself, shaking your head.

Your father had this habit of talking to anyone you were dating one-on-one just to get to know them better. He meant well but he often scared them away.

That wasn't the case with Bruno. They both walked out of his office laughing together and making jokes. After speaking with Bruno his whole mood lifted. As much as your family loved to have you and Bruno, they got you two out of the house to go spend some alone time together. The two of you kept walking until you arrived at the ice skating rink at Rockefeller.

The Rockefeller tree this year was a beautiful sight. "I love this place," you said as Bruno took your hand as the two of you began to glide together on the ice.

"Bruno..." you started trying to find the right words.

He turned to look at you, squeezing your hand so you would feel more comfortable speaking.

"Why did you come here? I don't want to sound rude but this is pretty random," you continued.

He couldn't help but chuckle at your question. "Alright, you caught me. I am here for a specific reason but I can't tell you yet. Is that okay? Can you wait a bit for me?" he asked as he stuffed your hand in his pocket. It was starting to get windy and colder and he could see you were shivering.

"Okay, but if it's something bad I want to know now," you said sternly.

"It's quite the opposite," Bruno said, smiling to himself.

The two of you spent what felt like an eternity. The two of you finally were able to push through the crowds and you were right in front of the Rockefeller Christmas tree. You went out of your way to take a selfie with Bruno to send to your mother. As you were typing away at your phone texting your mom about this date that Bruno had taken you on you started to hear people around you gasp and ooh and aw.

You looked up from your phone and looked around to see what was going on but when you turned around and looked down you saw Bruno on one knee with a little box with the most beautiful ring in it.

Everything started to make sense when your family came out of nowhere and took pictures and clapped when all you could do was cry and nod your head.

Your parents came to hug you after he put the ring on your finger and endless pictures were taken. You got proposed to in your favorite place in New York, during your favorite time of the year, to the love of your life.

You had a feeling that he and your dad were keeping something from you but you never would have guessed it was a proposal.

Happiness was overflowing as your family congratulated the two of you and after a while, all you wanted was to be alone with him. So you did the first thing that came to mind and you took his hand quickly skating away from the others.

Laughter followed as you finally found a place to hide with Bruno. "Bruno, I don't even know what to say, I just, you've made me the happiest woman in all of New York. I don't even have the words," you muttered sheepishly.

"Then just kiss me," he suggested with a warm smile.

You immediately pressed your lips against his and for the first time in this cold weather, you felt a kind. of warmth that could completely fend off all of the cold air.

As the snowflakes began to adorn your nose, hair, and eyelashes all you felt was love and happiness along with great hope for your future with Bruno.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist:

@aripet22

[beneathashadytree]

HCs about the Bucci gang with a S/O who’s not a gangster and instead just a normal civilian who’s clumsy and messes things up a lot like bad cooking. Despite that, they try their absolute best everyday to make up their mistakes and even tries being a good and understanding lover to them.

CLUMSY LOVE - BUCCI GANG X READER

Warnings : a few curse words I think, mentions of injuries and bruises, this isn’t proof-read, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : lots of fluff <3

Word count : 1.1K words

Additional notes : This was so soft, thank you so much for requesting! I love writing for the entire gang, and I truly believe that having a normal civilian as their s/o would be a breath of fresh air. Hope you enjoy this!💗

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp.

Masterlist

Bruno is more than delighted by the sense of normalcy that settles in his life ever since meeting his lover

After all the shit he has to deal with on a daily basis, he’s glad to come home to find some respite in his lover’s arms after they’ve gotten home themself

Oddly enough, he finds their clumsiness quite endearing

More often than not he’s quick to act and gently cradles their head before they slam into a protruding part of the wall, or pulls them in by the waist to prevent them from falling over after tripping on something

Though they do feel dejected by the fact that most of their cooking endeavors end as failures, Bruno never hesitates to kiss them softly and usher them to relax as he instead takes them out for lunch

He’s got more than enough money to afford that, and he’d hate to see them so down after another failed attempt

He already feels relieved knowing that they haven’t stained their hands red with blood as he has, and he’d rather protect their guilt-free conscience forever

Abbacchio generally gets a little irritated, but not at them; for them

His beloved would sometimes be determined to cook dinner for them on date night, and would probably injure themself one way or another using the knife

He’d get a little frustrated at them going to all these lengths and getting hurt when he could’ve just spoiled them and taken them out at the finest restaurant in Napoli

Every time he returns from a mission all forlorn, he relishes in the time they get back home and let him embrace them, protectiveness washing over him as he’s struck with just how dangerous life is being with him

Them listening to him so intently and with so much care and affection nearly has him tearing up and swallowing past the thickness in his throat

It’ll take him some time to accept that despite how different their life is from his, they loved him just the same and were willing to stick by him no matter what

Mista’s a trainwreck himself; aside from when it comes to being the brilliant sharpshooter he is, he’s quite clumsy himself

If his lover were to fall over something on the floor, chances are he’s the one that left it there—and also the one who tripped on it just seconds earlier

Whenever he comes back heavily wounded and in need of bandaging up, they always try their best to dress him properly, and somehow always fail

Through all the pain he manages to chuckle, finding it adorable how sheepish they looked after concentrating on their work so hard and somehow still ending up with loose bandages

Neither of them are any good in the kitchen, with their clumsiness and his basic-ass skills, and the stove is more likely to end up in flames, so he prefers to dine out with them if he can

Still, he barely fights back a blush every time they take care of him so tenderly; he’s not used to being someone’s center of attention like that beyond a relationship built on lust and foolery, and it’ll take him a bit to revel in their quiet understanding and unconditional love

Giorno happens to excel at housework, seeing as how he’d grown to take care of himself as best as he could, so he was more than willing to cook for them both

Their insistence was adorable, and he knew that they offer it out of the goodness of their heart, but he would much rather nudge them away from setting their villa on fire

He’s the best sort of partner for a clumsy person, because as graceful as he might seem, he flounders pretty often as well

Any injuries are quickly dealt with with Gold Experience, returning as good as new (and maybe even with a tentative kiss to their forehead)

To him, it’s a blessing just to have someone so understanding of the duties and responsibilities that fall on his shoulders as Don

Though being with him was risky, his immense love for them was more than enough of a drive for him to guarantee their safety

Fugo could cook pretty decently, and he took immaculate care of any space he lived in, so he’d never give them a chance to fuss over anything that might potentially end in a clumsy mess

He’d be a little exasperated, seeing them grinning sheepishly at him while covered in bruises, but he’d still berate them fondly as he took care of each injury

When it comes to himself, though, he pays little to no mind to how hurt he is, so having them fret over him overwhelms him a bit—in a good way; a way that has butterflies swarming his tummy and an embarrassed blush on his face

The fact that they handle him at his worst and whenever he’s drowning in sadness and fury isn’t something that slips his notice

He truly believes that they give him more than he ever believed he was worth, and he’d do anything to pay them back likewise

It’s far from easy to be associated with someone so deeply entwined in the mafia, and though it would kill him to have them have even a single scratch because of him, he couldn’t help but wish to keep his lover beside him and protect their innocence in this depraved world of his

Narancia straight up laughs whenever his lover clumsily knocks stuff over or bangs into surfaces, though it’s always without malice

It’s just another endearing trait of theirs, and he can’t help chuckling as he pulls them back up and tends to any cuts or bruises they have

He gets injured often too, so he’s pretty much an expert at dealing with that stuff by now—and he’s especially flattered to do so if they’ve been dealt these wounds while trying to cook for him

He’s an easy-to-please guy; a few snacks would’ve sufficed! He’ll be open to going an a run to a fast food joint or a casual restaurant if they’d like

Outside of the mafia, he’s really had no support to lean back on, so their presence in his life reminds him that they’re his guardian angel that he just so happens to love and be loved by

If they ever feared for either of their safety, they never voiced it; instead, they openly expressed their endless care and affection for him in the way they were unfailingly understanding and attentive to him—and he genuinely believes that for that they’re braver than he’ll ever be

Taglist: @mrsgiovanna @blondeboyfriend @boorishbrambling

[xxxsweetdreamzxxx]

Stormy Night

Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

warnings/tags: fanfic, fluff, protective Bruno 🥹, night terrors

summary: a night terror leaves you subconsciously begging for comfort

word count: 1.7k

I'm back babyyyyyyy :D

Bruno walked down the hall, guided towards the bathroom door by the moonlight. Just a few minutes prior, he had awoken to a parched throat. It was too bothersome to ignore, so Bucciarati had slid out of his bed and began moving toward the nearest faucet to get a glass of water. But as he reached his hand out to turn the bathroom doorknob, he heard a low whimper to his left. 

He froze, hand still outstretched, all senses now on high alert in case of danger. He turned around and stared back down the long hallway. Everyone’s doors were closed - they should be sleeping soundly. Then he heard it again, slightly louder. Now that he listened closer, it sounded like it was coming from behind the door right next to the bathroom's entrance. Yours. 

You liked to keep your bedroom door cracked. It allowed air to circulate better through the room, keeping it a few degrees cooler while you slept. But the biggest reason you always left it about an inch or two open was so you could hear any commotion if something were to happen elsewhere in the Villa. You lived a dangerous life in the home of a mafioso, and you couldn’t help but be a bit paranoid. If someone were to enter the house, you wanted to know about it. 

It was through this crack that Bruno heard the whimpers, causing him to begin inching towards your door. Noticing the gap, he slipped his fingers through it and slowly swung the door open, cringing as it creaked slightly. To his relief, all he saw was you in your bed, the moonlight shining down on you from your window. No one else was in there; nothing looked amiss. 

But then you suddenly lurched violently in your sleep, curling up into a tiny ball and tangling yourself in your sheets. 

“No…” You whined, eyebrows closely knitted together with worry. 

Realization struck Bruno as you twisted in another direction. You were having a nightmare. The thought pained his heart. He cared for you more than he was willing to admit, having grown fond of you in the little less than a year that you’d known each other. He rushed to your bedside in a heartbeat.

“Hey, y/n.” He whispered, not wanting to startle you. 

You continued to contort yourself into awkward positions, too far into a deep sleep to hear him. He didn’t want to invade your personal space, but he could only take a certain amount of seeing you this way. He reached out to grip your shoulder lightly, shaking you gently. 

“Y/n, wake up!” His voice was panicked now.

You stirred slightly, turning over to face him. But your eyelids were still squeezed firmly shut. 

You let out a small sigh. “Stay.” You murmured, sounding broken inside.

For a second, Bruno thought you were awake and talking to him. But you continued to thrash about, rolling closer to the other side of the bed as you outstretched your arm and laid it on your mattress with a soft thud. 

Not knowing what else to do, Bruno took your outstretched hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’m here, y/n. Nothing will happen to you as long as I’m here.”

Your expression softened at his touch, and it seemed like you calmed down a bit. As he began to pull away, thinking your night terror had passed, you suddenly gripped his hand tighter. 

“No, don’t leave me alone.” You said softly, mumbling something else inaudible. 

He gulped at the way his heart fluttered. Were you awake now, asking him to stay? He couldn’t exactly do that respectfully - your bed was only a twin. He studied your face a moment longer, concluding that no, you were still sound asleep. Your nightmare seemed to have subsided, but you still held his hand tighter than ever. 

Coming to a decision, he leaned down and carefully scooped you up from your bed, holding you in his arms. You squirmed slightly before resting your head on his chest. His heart pounding, he smiled lovingly down at you - in this state of serenity, you were adorable. He took you through your still-open door and halfway down the hall to his room. Entering, he walked you to one side of his queen bed and gently laid you down, pulling the blankets over you. He then moved to the other side, slipping under the sheets and leaving space between himself and you. 

When he laid his head on his pillow, about to close his eyes, you muttered something that made him instantly look your way.

“Bruno…” You mumbled, eyes still firmly shut. 

“Yes?” He replied before realizing you hadn’t awoken. His heart swelled - did that mean he was in your dream?

“Scared… don’t wanna lose you.” You murmured, only speaking in broken sentences now. 

His heart finally at its limit, he shifted over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. The tiny voice telling him he shouldn’t be doing this while you were unconscious was drowned out by his desire to comfort you. After brushing your messy hair away from your face, he placed a delicate kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

You burrowed closer to him, burying your head in his chest again. Finally at ease, you no longer made any sound, and Bruno soon fell asleep. 

.•°•. ♡ .•°•. ♡ .•°•. ♡ .•°•.

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking at the bright rays of sunlight from his balcony window. You jolted in surprise when you saw Bruno sleeping soundly next to you. His arms were firmly wrapped around your stomach, and his chin-length black hair fell gracefully to frame his face. Realizing you were in his bed, your mind raced to recall the events of last night as you started to panic. You could have sworn you had fallen asleep in your own bed - at least you both still had your clothes on.  

The last thing you remembered was saying goodnight to the gang before heading upstairs to your room, so how had this happened? You wanted to get answers from him, but didn’t want to ruin the moment. He looked angelic - you were stunned at how gorgeous he looked even at this hour. Truthfully you’d had a crush on Bruno Bucciarati since you’d met, but you were too shy to make it known - you thought he was way out of your league. 

You still weren’t sure whether you should try and pull away or stay when he stirred. He stretched slightly before his ocean eyes fluttered open and met yours. His olive skin flushed redder as he realized he’d been holding you tight. He began to let go when you stopped him.

“No, wait.” You begged.

“I’m sorry-” He began.

“Don’t be. I am curious why I’m not in my own bed, though.” 

He smiled sheepishly. “I couldn’t leave you alone after you asked me not to; you had a bad dream.”

It was your turn to blush, the dream coming back to you. “What… did you hear?”

“Something about not wanting to be left alone. Amore, you’ll never have to worry about that while I’m around, I promise.” 

You looked away, reddening at his words. “But what if you’re not?”

“Is that what you saw in your dream?” He inquired. His perceptiveness never ceased to amaze you.

You nodded, closing your eyes, attempting to stop them from tearing up. They flew back open as Bruno placed his hand against your cheek, rubbing it with his thumb. Nothing else was said, but his gaze told you that no matter what, he’d stop at nothing to never be parted from you. You knew he couldn’t confirm that would never happen - your futures were too uncertain. But the look you shared told one another that you both cared, more than words could ever express. Somehow, you were grateful for the awful dream that had brought you closer together. 

Before you could think straight, you found yourself closing the small gap left between you to meet in a slow, soft kiss. You kissed him passionately - a feeling returned just as strongly as he shifted you onto your back so he could lean over you. When you parted several moments later - his left hand flattened against your upper back - you were interrupted by the growling of your stomach. He laughed, releasing his grip on you. 

“Let’s get some breakfast; it’s pretty late.” He suggested.

Embarrassed, you giggled with him. “Good idea.”

.•°•. ♡ .•°•. ♡ .•°•. ♡ .•°•.

When you and Bruno walked down the stairs together in your pajamas, you found your companions already raiding the pantry and fridge. They turned at your approach, their expressions shifting to varying versions of surprise. Everyone knew you and Bruno liked each other - it was all too obvious to anyone viewing it from the outside. But they'd almost all eventually concluded that nothing would come of it after months of watching you orbit around each other, never colliding.

Mista had been holding a cereal box away from Narancia, who jumped after the taller gunman around the kitchen. When you entered, Mista came to a sudden halt - Narancia barely able to skid to a stop before running into him and glancing over curiously to see what had distracted Mista. The duo then gave each other a look as they broke out into huge grins, instantly assuming something had occurred that really hadn’t. 

Leone sat alone at a round table to the side, his eyes shifting skyward to meet yours as you entered the kitchen with Bruno standing protectively behind you. The ex-cop scowled, but behind his streaming cup of tea, he hid a secret smirk. En route to the table, Giorno remained passive - save for one eyebrow raised as he side-eyed you quizzically. He let out a small huff as he sneakily handed a wad of cash to Leone once he sat down - it appeared the older man had won a bet. Trish smiled at the two of you in greeting by the coffee maker, oblivious to any implications. 

Bruno sighed before placing a hand on your lower back to guide you into the kitchen, keeping you away from the gang members who had a million questions and teases. It was going to be a long day. 

[figcookie01]

some gucci government workers

[icerisotto]

[ : MASTERLIST : ]

❛ guide. ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

☆ = fluff.

✦ = smut.

♡ = angst.

✶ = crack.

♱ = content warning.

❀ = longfic.

✿ = oneshot.

✹ = shortfic.

✧ = scenario.

❥ ' la squadra di esecuzione. ﹒ ﹢

⌦ la squadra headcanons and scenarios. — multiship. (☆✦♡✶♱✧)

⌦ la squadra with a silent teammate. — no ship. (☆♡✧)

⌦ giorno libero. — poly la squadra di esecuzione minus pesci (✦✿).

⌦ marmelatta di fragole. — background risotto﹢ ghiaccio﹢ prosciutto (✦♡♱❀).

⌦ goffo. — background poly la squadra di esecuzione minus pesci (☆✶♱✿).

⌦ luminare. — background risotto﹢ ghiaccio﹢ prosciutto and formaggio (☆♡✶✿).

⌦ spirito. — background risotto﹢ ghiaccio﹢ prosciutto, sorbet﹢ gelato and mentioned la squadra di esecuzione (✦♡♱✹).

⌦ veleno. — risotto﹢ ghiaccio﹢ prosciutto (♡♱✹).

⌦ freddezza. — ghiaccio﹢ prosciutto (✦♡♱✿).

⌦ sorveglianza. — ghiaccio﹢ melone (✦✿).

⌦ guinea pig. — poly la squadra di esecuzione minus pesci (✦✶✿).

⌦ slumber party. — ghiaccio﹢ secco, background la squadra di esecuzione and cioccolata (✦✶✿).

⌦ kiss and make up. — ghiaccio﹢ prosciutto and background la squadra di esecuzione (✦✶♱✿).

⌦ the hat stays on. — ghiaccio﹢ risotto and background la squadra di esecuzione (✦♱✿).

❥ ' squadra guardie del corpo. ﹒ ﹢

⌦ marmelatta di fragole. — mista﹢ bucciarati﹢ abbacchio (✦♡♱❀).

⌦ smelly cowboy trilogy. — mista﹢ bucciarati﹢ abbacchio (☆✦♱✿).

⌦ goffo. — background mista﹢ bucciarati﹢ abbacchio (☆✶♱✿).

⌦ squalo affamato. — mista﹢ bucciarati (☆✦♡♱✿).

⌦ luminare. — mista﹢ bucciarati (☆♡✶✿).

⌦ spirito. — mista﹢ bucciarati﹢ abbacchio and squadra guardie del corpo (✦♡♱✹).

⌦ soldato. — mista﹢ bucciarati﹢ abbacchio (☆✿).

⌦ chimerico. — mista﹢ bucciarati (♡♱✿).

⌦ spuntino. — mista﹢ bucciarati﹢ abbacchio (☆✦♡✿).

⌦ penitenza. — mista﹢ bucciarati﹢ abbacchio (☆✦♱✿).

❥ ' l'unità speciale. ﹒ ﹢

⌦ slumber party. — ghiaccio﹢ secco, background cioccolata (✦✶✿).

⌦ doctor's prescription. — cioccolata﹢ secco (✦♱✿).

[lapseinrecs]

In The Whites Of His Eyes 

By Val_Creative @val-creative

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 806 words

Summary: Some of the townsfolk's children lash out against Bruno. Julieta and Pepa defend him. 

My thoughts: Absolutely bonkers. I kept thinking holy cow… Bruno looks like Pedro, covered in blood, I bet Alma had nightmares for weeks after this. Still, comfort your son. The triplets are good siblings to each other.

[mila-uchiha]

jjba masterlist ✧˖*°࿐

jjba masterlist!!! enjoy :) requests are currently open for naruto/jjba

🌜- SFW 🍡- NSFW

Headcanons:

🌜 how they kiss you, giorno, mista, bucciarati, abbacchio, naracia 🍡 nsfw alphabet, jotaro

One Shots:

🌜 will you sleep with me?, bucciarati x reader 🍡 will you sleep with me?, bucciarati x reader 🍡 you're beautiful, bucciarati x reader 🍡 we're just friends, jotaro x reader 🍡 taking your virginity, diavolo x reader 🍡 "you're so needy", dio x reader

[acewithapaintbrush]

ENCANTO BIG BANG

Here it finally is! My story for the Encanto Big Bang Event. This was my first big bang and it was so much fun with so many wonderful people in this community. Check the tag encantobigbang to check out all these other amazing stories and art

My artist was the wonderful @littenstinymittens and as soon as the art is up, I'll link it here!

Edit: HERE IT IS!!!! https://at.tumblr.com/littenstinymittens/stumbles-in-crashing-into-multiple-things-as-i/pq4wt2bil9hh

[danddymaro]

Kisses From Bruno

This is How Kisses from Bruno go // somewhat nsfw.

Wordcount: 590

Kisses From Bruno

His lips are not only plush but soft as they descend onto yours, and even after all of the yearning between the past week that has made you fantasize of a single smooch with prior memories used as fuel, it's almost like it's all been wiped out from your memory the second he touches you. 

The entire experience is almost indescribable.

Somehow, you feel as though the first that descends upon you that day is the first of a lifetime.

It's always just as breathtaking, just as special, and never falling short of blissful. 

Every kiss brings forth a sweet flavor your mind automatically resisters as his, and it's something dear, something you can't place but is close to a mixture of vanilla and sugar tickling your taste buds, urging you for more spoils.

One of his forearms lays beside your head, used as support while the hand at his other side takes a tour down his own body before it falls onto his manhood. 

His thumb touches the base first before his other fingers land seconds after, curled over the hardness that had been previously strained by the costly, black-spotted white trousers now forgotten somewhere between the bedroom door and the mattress.

He continues to kiss you while he strokes himself, the longing he's possessed slowly sedated by your very presence, the warmth that your every breath fills the home with being the same one he's missed terribly while he was away.

The  head of his cock teasingly brushes your folds, smoothly sliding over your slick so easily that part of you wants to shrink in shame because it was all from a kiss of his.

A single press had you ready, intoxicated by the sweet savor of your dear Bruno.

he hums, the sweet, low whirr warming your insides like a warm drink during the winter seasons, and your heart delicately flutters at the soft sound he makes just as he finally sinks within.

Involuntarily, you clench at the full length, and it's something Bucciarati responds to with a deep, baritone moan, and he's nearly winded. 

The tension that knits between his dark brows melts along with the stress his mind had been plagued with from the previous days away, and he could only envision it as a mist that evaporates from him the second he finally fully holds you.

He doesn't quite understand what it is that creates the reaction from you, what it is that he does that brings forth such a sensual flutter around him every single time, but he loves it.

He loves it so much that the luscious lips that press against your own slide off to the side and land right in between her ear and jaw. 

And he praises you, in between the soft pants that escape those beautiful lips there are sensuous words of praise that make your face steam hot, but also make your heart bounce happily.

He loves you, and he's missed you, terribly.

- And there's nowhere else he'd rather go.

"Tesoro..." he whispers softly, and there is so much tenderness in that single word that you feel the gravity of all of his adoration. 

The address has another meaning, and it translates to ‘I love you.’

Between the rapid beats of your loudly pounding heart you can hear him say it again, and like a lovesick fool, drunk on the divine sound of his sensual voice hotly spoken in your ear, you almost melt into a pool beneath him.

More kisses follow within the lovemaking, and they all taste sugary, addicting.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

There's Nothing Like Doing Nothing With You

Bucky's eyes jolt at the annoying, anxiety-inducing sound of your phone ringing. With a frantic hand, he carefully reaches over you to grab your phone and quickly answers before its incessant ringing wakes you. 

"What?" he croaks in a hushed tone. 

"Good morning to you too," Sam chuckles. 

He cracks open a bleary eye to look at the screen. 4:03 AM. 

"It's 4 AM. I'm not nice until at least 7 AM," he rasps, reluctantly tearing off the comforter on top of him and peeling himself out of the warm, welcoming bed. 

"That's why I didn't call you. At least I didn't think I called you?"

"You didn't," Bucky grumbles, padding out of your bedroom to finish talking to Sam without waking you. "I just answered."

"You answered?"

"Phone was right there. I didn't want to wake her."

"So you just grabbed her phone?"

"It was right there. It woke me up, so I answered."

"Why was her phone right next to you?"

"It was on the nightstand," Bucky sleepily mutters, so tired that he's willingly answering Sam's questions with minimal resistance. "Shared bedroom, Sam. Phone calls tend to wake the both of us. Is there a reason you're calling or did you want to interrogate us about where our phones are?"

"In my mind, I like to pretend that you sleep in different beds. Different rooms even."

Bucky chuckles wryly, "Well, that's definitely not true."

"Ew."

"Sam, I'm so close to hanging up on you. What do you want?"

"Oh, right. Mission got postponed. She's got the day off."

"Alright, I'll pass the message on."

"Thanks."

Bucky hangs up the phone in a tired huff, unlocking it to turn off all your alarms for your mission this morning. He quietly creaks the door back open, lazily padding back to bed. He slowly peels backs his hastily thrown covers and crawls back into bed. He lays down for a moment, trying to lull himself back to sleep. That's when he feels you, still sleeping, turn over to curl yourself back into him. 

He debates waking you to let you know that you have the day off, but he looks down at you tucked into his side, peacefully sleeping and decides against it. 

He wraps an arm around you, reach out for both phones to silence them. Soon after that, he's coaxed back into a peaceful slumber. 

You wake to the morning beaming down on your face, Bucky's arm still thrown around you and his light snoring filling the room. If the warm sun filtering through the sheers was any indication, it was already a late start to the morning. And then you jolt upright.

You knew you had a mission obscenely early this morning. A mission that started way before the crack of dawn. 

"What? What happened?" he says, abruptly sitting up and hastily scanning the room for any signs of a threat.

"Sorry," you frantically whisper, stumbling out of bed to search for your missing phone. "I think I slept through my alarms. I'm so late. Dang it, Sam's never going to let this one go."

"Oh, he called," he rasps, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "You're off the hook today. Mission canceled or something. I was only half listening."

"Really?" you sigh in relief.

"Yeah, now come back to bed."

You look to your nightstand to search for your missing phone. Then to the other side of the room, where it sits on Bucky's nightstand. "What time is it?"

Without looking, he reaches out to the small table to feel for either phone. He finally takes hold of one, clicking the small button to turn on the display. "Oh, shit. It's 11 already."

"We slept until 11? Don't you have an assignment or something?"

"Nope."

"Huh," you nod. 

"So...we both have the day off?" he dubiously questions.

It was always a little bit of a miracle when both of your schedules perfectly aligned and you had an entire day to spend with each other. Usually there was always something. Missions. Other assignments. Emergencies. Paperwork. Overzealous friends. It was always something. So it was more than a little surprising that there was nothing.

You shrug. "I guess so."

"So...what do we do?"

"I don't know. When was the last time we both had a day off at the exact same time?"

"67 days ago. Not that I was counting or anything," he chuckles.

"That sounds about right...Well, what if we just did nothing?"

"Nothing?"

"Why not? We never get the day to just sit here. Bum on the couch. Watch movies."

"That sounds perfect," Bucky admits, more than slightly relieved that you don't want to have an adventure-filled day. It's not that he wouldn't have fun, but the old man in him really just wants to do nothing except sit and indulge in his favorite hobbies. 

"Then, it's settled," you decisively nod.

"Wait," he abruptly interjects, turning to grab both phones to shut them off before anyone else can ruin this serendipitous day. "Can't let them ruin this for us."

With a late start to your do nothing day, you change out of your slept in pajamas to some new, clean pajamas to lounge around in. You languidly walk out of your bedroom to find Bucky in front of the open fridge, his face furrowed as he sniffs at an old takeout container. "Yeah, I don't think this is good anymore."

"Probably not," you chuckle. "When did we even get that?"

He shrugs, chucking the container in the garbage. "Dunno know. I'll just go pick something up."

"Wait - we have technology!"

He snaps his fingers, pointing a finger in agreement. "You're right."

And in the city that never sleeps, it's not long before you've both got your favorite takeout from the little restaurant on the corner in your laps as you scroll through the seemingly endless options on the TV. 

"Have we watched this?" you ask Bucky.

"Don't think so."

"You wanna to watch it?" you halfheartedly ask. 

"You want to just watch Friends again?" he offers.

He'd given up on pretending he didn't find the show funny or that he wasn't watching alongside you when he so clearly was. It was pretty funny to you, that one day he came home and pouted for almost an hour because you continued watching without him. You argued that he said he didn't even like the show. Still he huffed and sat alone on the couch until you pinky promised not to continue any shows without him. 

"Sure," you hum, settling into the couch and resting your head on his shoulder. 

The first part of your day is spent laughing at the antics of the sitcom characters, debating which character each person in your group would be. The only conclusive, unanimous decision you two can come to is that Sam is a Joey.

After a nice marathon of Friends, you both decide to alternate picking and choosing movies.

"Alright, we'll flip for who goes first," he decides, pulling out a coin from his wallet. 

"Deal."

"Call it," he says, flipping the coin in the air.

"Heads," you call as he catches it, quickly covering the result with his other hand.

"And...it's tails," he smugly smirks.

"Best two out of three," you offer.

"Fine," he shrugs, playfully rolling his eyes.

And he wins again. 

So huff in annoyance, but rest your head on his lap as he puts on some documentary that you have no intention of watching. You fall asleep tracing little stars in his hand.

You find yourself slowly waking up at the end of the documentary with absolutely no idea what you'd just watched. It's obvious Bucky doesn't recognize you've awoken because you feel him reaching for the remote again. 

"Ah," you tut, taking the remote from his hand. "It's my turn."

"You were literally sleeping."

"And now I'm awake," you smugly smirk, sitting up off Bucky's lap. "And it's my turn."

"Fine," he huffs. "Knock yourself out."

"Uh?" you indignantly scoff. 

"Figure of speech," he explains. 

"Oh," you nod.

With the remote in your hand, you triumphantly choose a movie you've definitely watched before. One that, in spite of Bucky's huffing and sarcastic comments, has caused some tears to spring in the corner of his eyes. 

He sighs, recognizing the movie from the opening scene. You pause it, standing up off the couch to gather snacks for the rest of you movie marathon. 

"You want anything?" you call from the kitchen.

"I'm good."

"I'm not giving you any of my popcorn," you warn.

"Okay," he calls back.

"I'm serious!"

"Okay," he agrees once again. 

You sigh, shaking your head but still putting another bag of popcorn in the microwave for Bucky because you know once the bowl sits in front of him, he can't stop himself from grabbing handfuls when he thinks you aren't looking. 

After a few more minutes of preparation, you walk back into the living room to a sight you can't help but smile at. 

"What?" he defensively asks, his basket of knitting supplies suddenly sitting at his feet. 

"Nothing!" you shrug, the bowl of warm popcorn in your hand.

"We've watched this movie before, it doesn't need my full attention," he grumbles as you take your seat next to him. 

"The Notebook always needs your full attention," you playfully argue.

"We already know what happens," he grumbles, picking up the blanket he'd been religiously working on his off-days. "You better not have told anyone. Especially Steve and Sam."

"I told you I wouldn't," you chortle.

"I'm serious, you better not tell them."

"I won't."

"Swear."

You raise both your hands up in innocence. "I swear!"

"Good."

"But what about-" you start.

"No one," he interjects, aggressively looping his next stitch.

"I promise."

He doubtfully nods, not quite believing that you can keep this secret to yourself. You laugh again as you press play and rest your head against Bucky. He rolls his eyes, but with a warm smile, he kisses the top of your head.

And though you're both in pajamas and there's nothing particularly romantic about your shared apartment or the mess of junk food on the coffee table, you two somehow end up swaying in the middle of the room at the end of the night. Listening to the quiet hum of the music crackling on the record player. The room only lit by the dim glow of your twinkle lights.

Bucky sighs in contentment, after all, there was nothing like doing nothing with you. 

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Grumpy Sunshine Series Masterlist

[cryoshia]

i don't want you like a best friend

~ a brumala oneshot ~

-

-

an alternate version of ms marvel deleted scene #3: "just friends".

-

-

➵ READ NOW

[ashenburst]

Could've Moved Mountains

The epilogue of my Cioccolata x Reader oneshot that I realized I had never posted here! 7k words. The focus is first and foremost on you, poor reader. Before reading, here is a warning: this story plays with some heavier themes alluding to depression.

Your verdict was clear. The next chapter of your life would be opened with a closing sentence.

After a long drive, you finally reached your destination. Chained, you were guided outside the vehicle by two policemen. Before you rose the grandiose door of your eternal residence. It did not stand out; shy was its malice, neglected by the public. Just a set of raw hinges and two dirtied panels.

This was your gateway to the afterlife, and the afterlife was prison, the place where the muck of mankind was hoarded. As foul as it was, the residence couldn't have possibly hoped to host a character like you. Nothing was at its disposal to satisfy your basic human values. With not one possibility to keep you intact, decay awaited you, finely tuned like the decomposing of a long withered flower.

You'd been rotting from the inside, declining with every lackluster act of vigor you'd portray. Death was universal, repetitive, devastatingly mediocre. You accepted it so many times before, it felt more like a necessary state of living. Even now, it caved in, numbed you vividly.

Your senses landed in some state of anxious languor. You had never felt anything quite like it before. It was much like a dreamscape, presented through hazy ramblings of a dying mind. Through them, a stimulus was registered, so rough, so haphazardly unpleasant.

"You! Right there!"

And due to your infamy, you knew you were the one called out. You turned around, seeking whoever was it that wanted to agitate you once again.

It was a woman, in her forties, you'd estimate. She seemed like the usual sort you'd spot on the streets, not too pretty, but gravitating towards beauty with her accessories and makeup. She could've been pleasant for the eye, for all you knew. It was just that wrath contorted her face.

The policemen halted in their movements. Holding you in place, they allowed you to face this stranger. This, you estimated, was highly unprofessional, and that sort of behavior was no oddity. It was because of their lethargy that she got to speak.

"(Y/N) (L/N), I despise you from the bottom of my soul. You have ruined so many lives, lives of children, of wives, husbands, brothers and sisters, and my life," she exclaimed hurriedly, and yet, unbeknownst to her, she was wrong. She neared you, and you could see the wrinkles excessive fury had caused her.

She inhaled deeply. You observed as she fiddled with her purse. Then, without a warning, she swang it and hit you with it in one swift movement. You couldn't react until it was too late. All you could do was yelp and close your eyes, and indulge in the impact. Commotion resonated around you, utterly unbearable against the pulsating ache inside your skull. Down you bowed your head, diligently tame in this chaos.

Reopening your eye offered some insight into this hassle. Other policemen rushed to restrain the woman. For once, you were grateful they were doing their job. But why, why were you subjected to violence?

She was not taken away. The cops only held her further from you. In what ought to be satisfactory justice, they allowed her to persist before you, and deliver whatever a mourning soul had to state.

The explanation was finally offered. "You don't know me, but you must know my husband, Vito Gaglione. You killed him!"

Pits of dread swallowed what was left of your confusion.

His days were over. Many of yours wouldn't arrive either. You'd been long aware: it mattered not. If bashing a corpse would aid the woman, make her feel any better, then you'd let her do it. And offer her, although insignificant, although so deeply heartfelt...

"I'm sorry."

A weightless apology. The woman tossed it aside with a curse and resumed her barrage. It was so fiendishly forceful; her emotions were too heavy for her voice, and it cracked, it was high time it cracked. With coughs and croaked insults, she scolded even more.

You sensed the wetness of her spit on your cheek, and you flinched. Her hatred dribbled down your soul, deepening its wide chasms. Did she know, could she even assume what harrowed the abysses of your vibrating chest? Sprouting from inner oblivion, came a bitter thought, correspondingly as dark: you were willing to play the role of a murderer, to make a stranger feel better. How utterly ridiculous.

Because, what if she found out you weren't guilty? That the true monster was forever on the loose, that you were his victim as well? More devastation, more strain on many fickle hearts. No – you knew better than to ruin it all. You'd give her cheap satisfaction. She needed to have her fit. It was only healthy.

The policemen made sure you embraced all of it. The two that held you, did not move. A couple of meters away, the woman was restrained too. She managed to reach you in ways not physical, but certainly impactful. Vocal were her wallops, and yet they shook your very essence, rendered you wicked, and for it, defenseless. The cops knew that. That's why they let it be.

"I pray that someday, you'll feel the same pain me and my family went through. I pray that your ice, no, stone heart melts, only so you could know what it felt like," she cursed rightfully.

You held your handcuffed hands close to you. Prison would be snug.

"Can you even feel? Are you even human? Does this even reach you?"

Your many mistakes accounted for it, you thought, agony slashing your heart. Your vision became blurry due to the sudden woe.

But your mind was clear. The very affliction was your pointer.

"No," you whispered. The response came out naturally; it was what she needed to hear.

With a victorious stance, she distanced herself from you. The policemen let her go.

"Monsters like you belong in prison." She clutched the fabric above her heart. "You won't ever harm anyone else. You won't get the satisfaction. Ever again."

You could discern some solemn tone in her statement. You could not see it, but your imagination made sure to visualize it: she must've started crying.

Your flimsy facade crumbled in an instant. For weeks, your nerves had been molested like never before. No matter the ravaged psyche, your body continued functioning, albeit faulty here and there – and your next action was but an inherent reflex.

Thus, the empathetic reaction to pain equaled pain: trembling lips, familiar warmth in your face. A tinge in your nose. You blinked and just like that, your tears ran amok.

And you were devastated. With furrowed eyebrows, eyes screwed shut, your momentary relief turned hostile. Salt had already reached the tip of your tongue – indeed, the tears were all over. Down the cheeks, down the chin, elegantly collapsing alongside your tender demise. You regretted shedding them. Monsters ought not to cry; weakness turned them irresistibly humane.

Your next breath was hitched. That was not how things were supposed to be. You were supposed to be the murderer. And in some other, even more idealized setting, the woman was supposed to be home, with her family gathered. Her husband, alive. And everything should've been reversed, so very different –

You bit your lip. Nothing could be changed. Nothing could be done. Before your spiraling got haywire, you had managed to bring back some sense. The present was very focused on you, and your focus on it was loose. So, you looked at her.

The woman was staring at your melting visage. Mute. She mustn't know you weren't the culprit. She mustn't have a single speck of doubt inside her, that it wasn't a monster who killed her husband. It would be easier to comprehend... and easier for you to manage it.

But it was so damn hard...! It crippled you, the fact you could not do anything, not speak a single word to help. You were worthless, you were scum – and you were treated accordingly.

One policeman had evidently decided it was enough of this one-sided conversation, so he pushed you to move. "Alright, this shit is over, off we go."

You muttered yet another apology before being dragged away. The harsh tug of the policemen excluded any opportunity for you to do anything. Make amends – any amends. And, and the woman did not say her goodbye...! Wasn't there supposed to be a final farewell? Was she going to leave unsatisfied? Conflicted, confused? Due to your tears –

And you wept, for you could not help her. For it wasn't over. For none of it was over.

You were lucky that the policemen held you. Otherwise, you would've fallen on your knees and begged the woman to strike you. Would the revenge offer her as much satisfaction as the fact you would be locked up? Oh, it would certainly make you feel relieved -

You were shaking profusely. No, no, this couldn't possibly end that way. She had to get her justice...! She had to –

You even turned around, to look at the woman one last time. Some man, dressed in pure white (how strikingly symbolical), had come to, possibly, comfort her – as he should. Be it a son, a friend, or even a stranger, an angel was what she deserved. You may have lost it all, but she had someone to guard her.

This was the good end you were hoping for. A heavy exhale escaped your wet lips. As ever, you weren't hasty to move on.

Inside the building, you listened to the echoes of your disgusting sobs. All of them, nasty to the ear. You were looking forward to the moment you'd be left alone, unprovoked, unbothered –

"Oi, calm down."

And unnoticed. The policeman gripped your arm, making you wince. You could feel your throat tighten; no sob would break out, you wouldn't embarrass yourself anymore. You took deep breaths through your nose in hopes of getting quiet. You had attracted many odd looks – and you ignored all of them. It's not every day a prisoner turns all tearful before being imprisoned.

After walking through mundane hallways, passing the administration, you were asked to leave all your belongings inside a crate of sorts. You were given clothes to wear as a prisoner – colorless drapes to match the vapid atmosphere.

Seeing yourself in that suit, you knew you were fully introduced to your end. This was your final transformation. To complete it, a ceremony was performed: you were guided down the hall into your very own dirty little chamber, where you would be left to rot. This was your funeral. A disgrace meant for a disgrace.

Locked and left alone, you didn't pay much attention to your confinement. All you needed was a place to sit, and you had a chair and a bed to do that. You resorted to the chair. It seemed cleaner.

Sprawled over the table before you, you finalized your life. It was a peaceful ending. You had to be grateful, for you would get to rest before passing away. Not many could boast about that.

Blinks slow and weak, you stared ahead, knowing nothing would be seen. It just so happened that your eyes had your hands before them, to focus approximately on them. How silly, to think you once believed you could do anything and everything with them. But your present dictated a tale completely opposite, which you learned not to care about.

You thought of it oftentimes. Your indifference was akin to that of a suicidal person, except yours sprouted from emotions starkly different: the requited love of life. Its finest decadence.

For deaf ears to hear, you sighed. This was an interesting way to kill it.

You were drained, emotionally, physically. It was no wonder that your mind slowly emptied itself, leaving nothing but a heartthrob to fuel it. Consequently, your vision lost its strength, and all turned distant. Even the blackish grime of the cell's interior.

Oh, but the darkness was abusive. It tormented your tired eyes, disfiguring itself into unstable murk. The wall before you held subtle picturesque on its dirty canvas. The one your lingering consciousness painted; colors were sickly, gradations close to none, and lighting – abhorrently absent.

Morphing in and out of meaningless shapes, the painting was merely a result of your exhaustion. You were sane enough to know that. Drowsy enough for your vision to fail.

A notion pecked at your skull. Stuck in the back of your mind, it was but a startling possibility, nothing you wouldn't handle: Secco could easily manifest through the wall. What then? What then, once your reflexes are harshly tugged at? Once this repugnant dog latches onto you?

With the same elated apathy, you came to a conclusion you wouldn't fight back. You had long overstepped the threshold of nihility. Greeting the numbness like an old friend, you recognized haven for your lacerated, poorly maimed heart. Found out, phlegm was a proper place to stay.

You were simply out of luck. Fate had graced you with many wonders, then left you bare-handed at the time you needed her hold. The damage was done, and the damage done could not be repaired; wailing would be nothing but a waste of vocal cords.

No pessimism lifted your thoughts. No bitterness heaved them; likewise, no animosity was harbored. You were drained of strong sentiments at the very dawn of your predicament. Even bodily exhaustion prevented them.

The realization that your thoughts revolved around thoughts, themselves, was... fascinating, to say the least. There it came – a chuckle, faint, much like a cascading huff. Thus came a tinge in your chest, and you clenched your teeth because of the pain.

No matter where you redirected your train of thoughts, you would suffer. You were in an unorthodox state, and yet, your reactions were all orthodox. You were unable to adapt to this final stage of your life. Much like prey that would lay still before its predator, you became sedated as you lived through your death.

Everything was over. You'd lost, you could rest. You found your thoughts turning incoherent, and with closed eyes, you indulged in the peace given. Murmurs of the outside world reached you through the window. It was the only lullaby you'd ever hear from that point. The temperature was just right; a breeze would reach you every now and then, stroking you gentler than so many recent touches.

You had all you needed. Being alone, unprovoked, unbothered, unnoticed – you could finally forget and be forgotten.

Through that resolution, you were comforted. Your consciousness managed to drift off to a dreamless sleep.

. . .

The napping came to a sudden halt. An abrupt flinch followed, and so, the privacy of your solitude was broken. The door to the hallway had been opened with a creak, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin.

An unfamiliar scent filled your nostrils. You opened one of your eyes, and spotted a tray with food and a cup of water, placed on the floor by your side. Too bad you didn't intend to eat it.

Watching through the slits of heavy lids, you awaited the arrival of the guard, sure to greet him with an ominous stare. You hadn't bothered to move from the table – you still lay sprawled across it, your butt barely finding leverage on the chair.

After announcing his arrival with stern tapping of boots, the guard finally stepped in front of your cell. You could hear him mingle with the keys; their jingle and its echo scraped against your sensitive ears. Your brows knitted together, displaying discontent so.

The cell door was opened with yet another unpleasant creak. Next came the guard's words: "On your feet, girl. You've been released."

You reopened your eyes. Nonsense. Questions were already swarming inside your head – you opened your mouth, but didn't know what to say. This was ridiculous. You just let out a yawn, lifted yourself from the table, and sat up, staring straight into the wall before you.

Whoever chose to play this nasty prank on you must've found it extremely amusing.

"Hey, you heard me?" The guard wasn't too understanding of your weird surprise.

You looked at him, your grim expression unfaltering. "I'm sorry, the joke isn't funny."

His brows furrowed. "Why would someone joke about this?"

You weren't skeptical about this. You didn't even try to believe it. "Who bailed me, then?"

"The hell I know. Come on now."

"Hmm. Fine." You stood up, lifting your hands upwards as a surrendering gesture. You hadn't been walking or eating almost all day, so getting back on your feet resulted in slight vertigo.

And then, everything was reversed. You got all of your belongings back, dressed up, walked outside of prison and attained the title of a free individual. Just like before, you were alone, except now – you had no idea what to do.

With no true vehemence in your thoughts, you stood there, watching the sunset. Going home didn't seem too pleasant, although you did originally plan to return, because your parents insisted on that. Your friends, some of them were okay, but... your home would only bring you pain. This entire process caused many of your "friends" to lie about you to the media. Some of them actually believed the news. Even your parents were swayed, just slightly swayed – and it was enough for you to know that your relationship would never be the same.

You didn't want to come back there and face it all. You were too exhausted. You wouldn't handle it.

On the other hand, depending on yourself was oddly comforting. Having little to no ties. But what to do with that freedom...?

You wondered if they already eliminated your stuff from your hotel room. Maybe you would scavenge something and see if it's worth selling. What to do afterwards, however? Your face was all over the news, and with your criminal record, you could hardly get a job anywhere –

"Cold-blooded murderers usually don't cry when faced with the consequences of their killings. You must admit, that was peculiar."

Before you came a man you'd never consider an ordinary bystander. He was wearing a suit all white, decorated with zippers here and there – and in its middle was a heart-shaped hole, revealing a tattooed, toned chest. Above, a face stern, brimmed with a bob cut of dark hair, and on it, two golden hairpins, shimmering as remnants of light hit them. The sunset only emphasized his sleek beauty, and yet, you were not fazed by it.

Appearance as such almost made you think you were dreaming, or at least hallucinating. It took you a while to propel your focus and clear your thoughts enough to realize that this indeed was happening.

Important was the fact that he observed your breakdown. You bit your lip, then gave your bitter response. "There's always a first."

By his expression, you concluded he did not believe you. With a brisk raise of his brow, he offered you his take on that matter. "And this isn't one."

You tilted your head. "How can you be so sure?" All he did was shrug.

"So, you bailed me on a whim," you added without thinking.

"Now that's a bold guess. How can you be so sure?" His lips curled in what seemed like a sly smile – when paired with his steady gaze, you were right to feel this man knew more than he let on.

"Well... nobody else could've done it." You rubbed your eyes. Everything about this seemed so surreal, and your drowsiness did not help one bit with comprehending it. "I mean, it was just a guess."

"Yet you guessed right."

"Wait... so you –" It seemed as if you'd discovered the truth only now, and yet, it didn't change much on your internal plan. Coolly, as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred, you said what ought to be said. "Thank you. I owe you everything, signore."

"And you are very welcome." He gestured towards you with his right hand. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions. Everything will be explained – care to join me?"

The question appeared more difficult once you'd given it some thought. Although he seemed to possess no ill intentions, you knew he had his reasons behind bailing you. If waged logically, you were willing to owe him – for he was the who granted you this new life.

You turned around, sparing one last glance at the prison door behind you. Be your intuition right or wrong, you had no option but to go ahead. "Si. Thank you once again, signore...?"

"No need. Bruno Buccellati." He offered a hand for you to shake it. Staring down at it, you saw offers of lawyers and journalists alike, and null was the sympathy behind those formalities. Nevertheless, you shook it, equally devoid of any expectations.

There wasn't much you could uncover by fixating onto his azure eyes. Buccellati was a serious man whose inner peace gave great composure to his antics. That was the feeling you had gotten, yet chose not to trust. Calm or not, a man may be vile. Psychopathy lay in that exact idle state.

So it came as no surprise that you retracted your hand as soon as you could. Carefully, you eyed him, his austere face and the few, if any changes it made. You could feel your jaw clench as your perturbation grew.

"Scusi, Buccellati, how did you... even manage to do it? I'm certain prominent influence and, of course, money is needed to release a convict like me," you asked him at last, one of the many questions you withheld.

He gestured for you to start walking, which you did. "Indeed. I am a member of Passione, the famiglia that oversees the city."

Your heart skipped a beat. Streets before you faded out of focus, just for an instant, where dizziness stole away your balance – and you almost fell. Stumbling a little, which Buccellati noticed, you managed to continue walking as if nothing happened. This mafioso next to you asked you if you were alright, and you nodded, your gaze avoidant of him.

"You are familiar with Passione," he noted.

Shock gripped at your throat. It had turned tight, like a clogged, neglected, pipe. A simple hiss of a "si" was all that you wheezed.

Buccellati heard it, so he began his reply. However, he was interrupted shortly afterwards. An old lady on the other side of the street greeted him, waved at him, even seemed happy to have seen him – an event that occupied your thoughts.

Once his attention was no longer stray, he continued with your discussion. "Know that I mean no harm, signorina. All sorts of people are gathered under the famiglia's wing, and as it's always been the case, we do not get to choose who else shares our blood."

A statement that gave you no relief. With a nod, you acknowledged it, and asked, "But why take me in then?"

"Your case has caught my eye. Many things did not add up, starting from your background, coming to your described behavior, and lastly, the very logic behind your alleged murders."

"Fortune wasn't really on my side." Neither was Cioccolata, you thought sarcastically.

"Sadly, yes, and I found out why. When I dug deeper, I found out a member of our famiglia framed you for his murders."

The fact he knew about your innocence was shocking – and rather relieving. For once, you found another person who was sure that you'd done nothing, who didn't doubt you in the slightest. "But, there's more to it, no?"

"Naturally. I've read that you used to be a prodigal student. Your other qualities seem to be that of a virtious person as well – I got to witness that myself. Going the furthest of distances to appease the lady wasn't the product of your moral tiredness. It was a product of its vivacity, and incredible emotional intelligence. After everything you've been through, I must say it's a remarkable trait. But no matter your strength on that field, I'm certain you wouldn't last in prison for longer than a couple of days."

Your eyes widened. Sheer surprise sped up your blinking. The compliment was almost ironical, and his analysis spectacular. You found the gravity of his words to be noteworthy – this mafioso, Bruno Buccellati, must've been an extraordinary person as well. Yet you were certain all of these explanations had a catch. That being, that your freedom, although just, would not come without a price.

"Which meant I had valid reasons to bail you. However, given the circumstances, I can't have done it easily," he continued.

"Thank you, and I hope it didn't cause you much trouble." You attempted reciprocating his kind tone.

"No, of course not. Having faced this problem, I sought a possible solution and its cost. At best, it happens to be your devotion to the famiglia, in order to pay this debt."

Your heart sank. "I should become a member as well?"

"Yes." He nodded, peering at you. "Do you consider yourself capable of doing that?"

Did he spot your change in emotions, or was he merely asking about your competence? "Hm. You're asking about the dirty work?" He nodded, luckily.

You thought of all the possible things you would be doing, all of them very wrong and very illegal. You had never wanted to see yourself in this situation, and although you could do and handle these things – they would simply feel wrong. You couldn't bear living such in such an ambivalent state, especially if your sole purpose was to just... be bad. Unless you had something else to do. Which reminded you of the mafioso who had accused you of murder.

"If it's an order, I suppose I'll have to do it. I'll handle it, but... the man who put me into jail... he has a job, although he is one of you." Locking your gaze with Buccellati's, you harnessed a hard look. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that mean I'll also be able to develop a life of my own, outside the mafia?"

"You seem to have an opportunistic approach. I like that," he informed. Every time he mentioned a fact about you, you could feel you were being rediscovered for who you truly were. After so much time, you were no longer being dehumanized – and although you tried to suppress it, it felt so damn good. "And yes, aside from the services you'll have to offer and aside undeniable loyalty, you'll be able to cultivate your private life. So long it doesn't affect the famiglia, naturally. Disobedience, betrayal, are both severely punishable."

So, you could have hobbies, you could expand your interests – and just, work on yourself. Live normally aside from that job. That didn't seem too bad. "I understand. If that's so, then I'm positive I'll do well in the mafia."

"Despite the fact you might have a family and friends out there, thinking and worrying about you?"

You sighed. Coming back to them, although tempting, should be considered impossible. You were certain you wouldn't bear it – the very idea terrified you. You took some time to figure a response for Buccellati, for this truly was a delicate matter. And as you tried to devise it, you rationalized your membership in the mafia – and it seemed fine.

"Signore, I've come a long way. So did they. The process of this trial has severed some bonds I had in my homeland. As for my family... my parents have lost their minds too. The only thing I can do, right now, is to tell them I'm alright and explain what kind of life I'll be leading from now on. They'll know I'm fine, and that should be enough. There's nothing else I could do." You paused, having realized something. "How much money will I earn as a member of the Passione?"

"Enough to afford yourself a comfortable life."

There was more good in this situation after all – you'll be able to send money to your family, the very money you were supposed to earn as a hardworking student. Although you did not want to face them, you knew of their hardships, for once, they were yours as well. You were willing to help. It was the least you could do. "Molto bene."

Buccellati certainly realized what your intentions were, for he too seemed to have grown satisfied. "You've accepted all of this quite easily," he then pointed out.

That was what you'd wished to explain. "How else, signore? I don't have a choice. I've already been through hell and back, so this, although not ideal, is far better. I can't ask for more."

You were uncertain, however, if Buccellati found your mindset to be weird. He'd seen you cry because of a stranger, and now you were letting go of your dear ones so easily? And you weren't, pathetically enough, you weren't.

"I do not know you, signorina. So, if you still have ties that you wouldn't want to be severed, a life you'd like to come back to, people who you miss... feel free to tell me."

Those were the things you yearned to avoid; they would constantly remind you of your demise.

On the other side, you found change appealing. The volatile notion of a new life, of a new beginning, where you would be the one to solely define your path – it was far too good. To just leave everything behind. Take what you needed, then storm off into the great unknown.

Looking over to Buccellati, you uncovered sunset behind him, racing down one of the domestic streets of Napoli. Warm colors were all over, burning the Italian architecture, weaving a scenery oh so sentimental. Once you gazed upwards, you could see the outskirts of purple and black above you. You could draw a line that separated day and night, and yet.... dusk would always remain similar to dawn.

You enjoyed change as much as you feared it. Yet that of the skies, you found it to be inspiring so many times, even now, for it reached out to you. Showed you the beauty of the end and its resemblance to the beginning. This very instant, evening loomed over you. Wounds of your soul were open for the falling sun to scorch them – indeed, you were horribly injured. Moments away from crying at the very hint of nostalgia.

"I simply can't let myself miss them, signore. I'm hopeful we'll see each other one day, on good terms. Until then... I'm alive and free, and the possibilities are so wildly endless. That's enough of a consolation for me."

Buccellati's eyes widened. "There is hope for you, signorina," he said, and for the first time in this entire conversation, you heard the surprise in his deep voice.

You were quick to deny it.

"There isn't. Not at home."

The trembling of your voice meant that you had to stop.

You had to close your eyes and breathe deeply. The possibilities were endless back home as well. You would be considered a controversy, a nuisance, a patient, a poor ostracized soul, a liar, a psychopath... what not. That ordeal was overwhelming, far too hostile for your exhausted self. If even your parents and some friends, who loved you so much, managed to doubt you – then why come home at all?

With a grave look meant for Buccellati's deep blue eyes only, you realized you would never be able to look your parents in their eye like this. How to announce that you've escaped prison, if the verdict was clear? That the mafia released you?

"I wouldn't stand to return to such an environment. I know I won't be able to adapt. So, signore, please," you spoke with a desperately firm voice, "have no doubt that I'll do anything to belong somewhere, if anywhere." Your lips trembled, so you sank your teeth into them. You were so quick to break down, due to such minor things...!

Suffocating took on from that point onwards, and you swallowed. It would be horrendous if you began crying now – so you screamed at yourself, inside of your tired mind, to just stay calm, not to cry.

Suddenly, amidst that fierce inner battle, Buccellati took hold of your hand, clasping the both of his around your cold one. Tearful, you looked down, and at once, you were imbued with shock. This man cared.

You looked back at him, only to spot his reassuring smile through the blur. "I do not doubt in your resolve, (Y/N). You will belong." The grip was strong. And your vision cleared.

You bit your lip. It was so long since you'd last seen a friendly face that Buccellati's presence seemed like an exaggerated fantasy. "Good to hear. Grazie," you almost whispered.

He nodded. "Once again, you're welcome."

There was good, and Buccellati proved it to you. Through his hint of care, you finally realized – things weren't so bleak. You had to focus on the positives of this situation. You would start from the beginning, surely, and a low one, but at least you had it.

Wasn't your entire chase after a scholarship, after someplace better to live, focused on your dream, just a reflection of that... escapism? To start over, on your own?

The mafioso let go of your hand. "If your resolve is such, then I'll lead you into the famiglia with no regrets."

"No regrets here either," you told him. "I can't think about those things anymore. Per favore, let's continue talking about the entire... plan, or whatever."

You didn't have to explain any further. He took a piece of paper seemingly out of nowhere – maybe it was hiding in one of his zippers – and handed it over to you. Your gaze skimmed over it – some address was written in rather neat handwriting. Shockingly, it reminded you of that of your best friend's. Meaning, the writing was neat for a male, you corrected your thoughts after switching your focus back to Buccellati.

"Tomorrow morning, at ten, you'll visit a man named Polpo on this address. He is the capo who will conduct an interview and assess if you are worthy of becoming one of us."

That was unusually professional. But this was the mafia, some sort of entrance would have to exist. "If I may ask – what does an interview for the mafia even look like?"

"Just the usual sort. You'll speak to him, and he'll evaluate your abilities."

There was no way you'd fail this interview. You were indebted anyway. Therefore, you realized, the purpose of this interview would most likely be to just... assess what you were capable of. In this state, you were uncertain if you had any qualities the mafia would consider worthwhile.

So, the best thing you could do was just be yourself, for the first time after so long. That was the safest option, and the most pleasant option – though you feared you'd forgotten who you truly were.

"Alright. Thank you," you murmured. You'd just try to give it your best, and that would be all.

"Pardon me if the question is too intrusive, but, do you have a place to spend the night?"

You were a bit surprised because this indeed was an intrusive question, no matter what his intentions were. "Yeah, I've rented a hotel room." But... you'd soon be on the streets, because you would run out of money. Hopefully, the mafia paycheck would come in soon.

"Bene. Then, would you be willing to join me for dinner at a local restaurant? It's an excellent one. My treat."

You couldn't believe his kindness. Due to your very culture and a plethora of other reasons – some of them including distrust – you turned down his offer. "I can't accept, signore, you've already done so much for me. Although I'm grateful beyond measure, I simply can't accept."

Yet he insisted. "Please. It would be a pleasure – don't think of it as a burden."

"I'm sure you understand why I'm hesitating, and I'm sorry if I sound rude. But I really don't think I'm in the mood... or that I have the energy for dinner. It's getting late and I'll probably just want to sleep at some point. Not to mention I just... don't feel comfortable." Your clothes could pass, but you didn't wear any makeup and you were sure your hair wasn't in its best edition. Besides, the stress took a toll on you. It manifested itself as eye bags and skin a bit worse than usual.

He nodded. The mafioso kept his peaceful face as he spoke – oh, he was so accepting, you almost felt bad for denying. "I do understand. Which is why I won't force you to come." He stepped aside. "The decision is entirely up to you. If you'd like to be left alone or simply don't trust me, feel free to go. You have my complete understanding."

You shrugged, unsure what to do. With an awkward expression, you told him your reply. "If that's so, then, I should once again apologize... and thank you. I appreciate your offer nevertheless, but I think I'll get going."

"If that would be all, signorina, I should also ask you – do you have any questions?"

You shook your head. "None."

"Then, shall I consider this a farewell?"

"Sadly, yes, signore."

"In that case... arrivederci. Until next time."

"Arrivederci, signore."

And so, you bid your farewells. That was how you met Buccellati: under a formal tone, with unrestrained hearts.

You gave him a nod before walking away, face blank, for you were unsure what emotion to display. You were aided vastly, yet – could you truly settle down with the amoral lifestyle?

And just how amoral was it? If a man, like Buccellati, could maintain empathy as a mafioso... if he even had it. How much of his care was an act? Anyone could've done that which he did – just, take your hand, say a couple of nice words, and voila, you would feel better.

But your intuition, although abused, spoke otherwise. You were indebted anyway. He didn't have to console you, and yet, he showed that he cared. And the old lady who greeted him...!

Perhaps his soul was that of an angel. Angel... the realization rendered you flabbergasted. Oh, Buccellati...

You crossed your arms, staring at your savior's departure. Perhaps things weren't as grim, just this once, just during this fragment of your life – but you couldn't form a smile quite yet. It was meant for some better times.

Wherever did those better times lay? In front of you, or behind you? Or absolutely nowhere? You still didn't know. Much like scented flowers, all that had once brought joy, now wilted, turned sorrowful to the eye, repulsive to the nose. But you could scrap those, start anew. Thanks to Buccellati.

You kicked a pebble off the road. The feeling was nice.

That was when you made out that Buccellati's name was mentioned by some bystanders. Then someone almost yelled, much louder than before, "Did you see that?! That chick was talking with Buccellati!"

You immediately turned to look at the source of that statement. Wide eyes, you searched, afraid that someone might've targeted you – and your heart was once again in your throat, and once again, you were gasping for breath.

Across the street stood two men, both slim in build and with an uncanny dressing style. One of them, wearing mostly blue and red, had been pointing at you with his finger until he noticed you were staring at him. That was when he put his hand down and turned towards his friend. You heard he was cursing, but... enthusiastically?

You swallowed. Should you move on? Or react somehow? Paralyzed mentally, you looked at Buccellati and noticed that he too was standing still, his arms crossed. Did that mean disapproval on his side? Were those his enemies, rivals?

The man dressed in a monotone dark suit decided to walk away. The other one followed him. And so, your trance was broken out of – thank goodness they didn't care. You inhaled deeply and continued your way. You had only met two mobsters so far, and somehow, you attracted this much attention...? What kind of attention?

You turned around. At the brim of the sunset, you spotted that Buccellati and those two men came together, even engaged in a conversation. You hummed, relieved. No wonder they were colleagues, all of them dressed so oddly. Even Cioccolata wasn't dressed too normally.

So, would you have to... do that as well? But you didn't have such weird clothes at your disposal. And you didn't have enough money to buy something fitting. All that you owned was currently in that little hotel room...

You halted your steps. Did you truly want to go there? You'd have a whole night to overthink yourself – and that would be very much useless. On the other hand, if you chose to go with Buccellati, maybe that would offer new opportunities, whatever they were.

Once again, you whipped your head around. Just across the shadows, you could see them walking away. You wouldn't join them just yet.

Not now. You clenched your fists. You weren't able to do much, not in this fatigued, out-and-out demoralized state of yours. But fate was back in your grasp. For now, that was enough. Just enough to keep you going.