#jjbaxreader

[biggestxsimps]

Amnesia

Jonathan Joestar x Male Reader

A/N: Sorry for the lack of posts recently, we've both been busy. I hope you guys enjoy this fic, I'll be posting a Hawks headcanons soon as per requested.

Jonathan Joestar and Y/N found solace in each other's arms, with a bond that burned bright like a celestial flame, illuminating their lives with warmth and tenderness. Their love stood strong, a steadfast pillar that lifted their spirits and fueled their resilience in the face of life's challenges. However, fate, a fickle and unpredictable force, had a heart-wrenching twist in store for them.

Tragedy descended upon their lives with a forceful blow, leaving devastation in its wake. Jonathan was caught in the grip of an accident, an event that not only shattered his physical well-being but also tore him away from the memories he held dear. In the sterile confines of the hospital room, Y/N stood present, his heart burdened with an overwhelming sense of distress.

The air in the room was heavy with the weight of uncertainty as Y/N watched over Jonathan, his eyes filled with anguish and worry. Every beep of the machines and hushed whispers of medical professionals deepened his sense of helplessness. He longed to hold on to the memories they had created together, cherishing the moments that now seemed like fragile wisps slipping through their fingers.

The room echoed with Y/N's whispered words, his voice trembling with a mix of desperation and unconditional love.

"Jonathan... Please, my love, hear my voice. It’s me, your beloved. Please, remember..."

Jonathan's eyes, once filled with tender affection, now reflected confusion and distance. Y/N's heart ached, knowing that the connection they had forged was drifting away, replaced by a void resembling a fragmented puzzle yet to be reassembled.

“Y/N was it…? I’m sorry. I can’t seem to remember anything between me and you..” he spoke, his voice soft and quiet, nothing being able to jog his memory.

Y/N watched his partner, absolutely heartbroken, giving a small nod in response as he reached over, grabbing his hand gently and rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “That’s alright Jojo, it isn’t your fault..” he whispered, smiling slightly. Silent tears cascaded down his cheeks like small raindrops, reflecting the depth of his sorrow. With each sob that escaped his trembling lips, echoed the longing in his heart, aching for the return of the precious memories they had once shared.

Jonathan watched, unsure of what to do. He reached a hand up, wiping the tears from Y/N’s face. “Please don’t cry. We’ll figure this out. I promise.” He reassured him, offering a small smile, enjoying the warm touch of Y/N.

Jonathan's comforting touch brought a flicker of comfort to Y/N's heart. It was in that fleeting moment that the warmth and tenderness they once shared surged through their veins. Y/N clung to Jonathan's words, finding strength in his unwavering promise and the glimmer of hope they held.

Time passed, transforming mere days into weeks, and weeks into months. Y/N stood resolute, a constant source of strength and support, even in the midst of Jonathan's fragmented recollections. Their love acted as a guiding light, leading them through the journey of restoration, one step at a time.

Their fingers intertwined, creating a physical connection. They shared tales of shared adventures, whispered secrets, and the sweetness of stolen kisses. With patience and tenderness, Y/N painted vibrant pictures of the past, weaving a tapestry of memories for Jonathan to hold onto tightly, like a lifeline in the vast sea of forgotten moments.

As the sun began to set on yet another day of their arduous journey, Y/N sat by Jonathan's side, their fingers interlaced, and gazed out at the horizon, painted with hues of golden-pink. The air grew heavy with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation as they embraced the silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Jonathan...do you feel it? The warmth of the setting sun, the gentle whispers of the wind…”

Jonathan turned his head to meet Y/N's gaze, a flicker of recognition illuminating his eyes, like a distant star carving through the night sky.

“Yes...I feel it, Y/N. I may not remember everything, but this spot rings a bell..I love you…”

Y/N felt his heart soar with a mingling of hope and tenderness at Jonathan's words. He leaned in closer, their lips barely brushing against each other, as if on the precipice of an infinite promise.

Jonathan's thumb gently caressed Y/N's cheek, wiping away a single teardrop that escaped, a testament to the bittersweet symphony of their journey.

"Y/N, I may have forgotten the details, the intricate threads that once wove our lives together. But I will never forget the way you make me feel, the unwavering love that emanates from your very being. As we continue on this path.” 

Masterlist

- Written by Owner 2

[nobuchboskyw]

Yandere! Guido Mista x Reader

Author’s note: I’ve been meaning to write a yan Mista piece for a while, so here I go 

PS: I’ve read all of your requests and I love them all! I promise I’m working on them too including that La Squadra request a special lovely someone asked for ;)

You and Mista had been friends since high school. You met one day when he accidentally hit you in the head with a ball in sports and in apologising profusely, you somehow became fast friends. For the next year or two after you met, you were an inseparable duo. The entire school knew you and Mista were thick as thieves. Not one day did you spend without him that wasn’t full of laughs and giggles, until your stomach hurt and tears blurred your vision.

You weren’t sure where your friendship (or relationship, as Mista would insist) ended and his obsession begun. One thing you knew for sure though, it was though Mista would not give up.

Were you friends? It was strange. You guys continued to hang out at school everyday, but he was way flirtier than usual. You brushed it off, thinking that he was just flirty with everyone. “Y/n, give me a kiss if I pass my next test.”

“Hey, can I come over tonight to do some homework? Please? Come on, I know you haven’t got anything planned tonight.”

“That guy is such a fucking sleaze, want me to bash him for you?”

“I think your dad/mom/caregiver hates me. Is it because I keep turning up at the door every day after school? Y/n?”

“Ha, do you think you’d ever go out with me? Please?”

Your answer was always no. Your friends teased you, saying you should just reject the poor smitten boy so he could move on, and that you really only liked the attention he showered you in on a daily basis.

 Rejecting him never seemed to work though. No matter how many cards and letters he’d stuff into your lockers with badly written poetry, no matter how many pink candy hearts and chocolates he left on your desk, you’d just return them the next day or give them away. 

“Y/n, did you see what I left on your desk yesterday? No? Why aren’t you talking to me?”

You’d lay in bed miserably every night wishing that he could just leave you alone. Why can’t he just like someone else? Why couldn’t you guys just be good old friends anymore?

As if upon cue, you heard your window rattle. You sat bolt upright in your bed, eyes darting to your bedroom window. Familiar hands forced the window open as Mista clambered clumsily into your bedroom, wearing a grin so huge you could see it even in the complete darkness of the room illuminated by only a little moonlight.

“Mista? What are you doing?” “I can’t handle the thought of you not knowing how much I love you.” He whimpered, taking your hands and attempting a kiss on your forehead. Disgusted, you shove him away.

“Mista, I just want to be friends.” You pleaded. 

“Why can’t we be more than friends?” He gazed at you imploringly, wide eyes like a puppy.

Your heart wrenched at his expression.

Massaging your forehead, you pointed at the open window. “You need to go.”

Mista managed a shaky nod, and turned away before you could see tears starting up in his deep honey-coloured eyes.

“Right. Cool.” 

The next morning at school it was like the previous night had never even happened. He was everywhere you turned, running after you, begging you to let him carry your books for you, even going to the trouble of visiting your favourite sandwich shop to pick up your usual order and leaving it in your locker.

You were mortified. The entire school now thought you were a couple because of how he’d been babbling to everyone, and it was getting tiresome having to explain to every person you met that no, you were not dating him.

Shit.

Mista’s face pops up in the hallway and his entire being lights up at the sight of you. 

“Y/n! There you are! Don’t run please, I’ve got something for you!”

You sprint to the bathrooms to hide, cupping your hands over your eyes to block out the noises of him begging you to come out. Eventually, it stops.

But no. He just couldn’t handle rejection. The crackling of the overhead speakers signals an announcement as the students in your period 5 class straighten up. 

“Y/n! It’s me Guido Mista, would you please be my girlfriend/boyfriend/s/o?” This was just too much. You hid your head in your arms and hoped it would all be over.

A few days later, you turned on the television to find that Mista had been arrested for bashing a group of men on the street. Shocked, you prayed he’d be okay for the year he’d be in jail, but were secretly relieved. This way, he’d have you leave you alone, wouldn’t he?

_______________________________________________________________

Years later, you were taking your usual route home from work. Your high school days were way behind you now, and Mista was simply an unpleasant memory. A guy from work (who you secretly had the hugest crush on) was walking you home. It had taken months for you to work up the courage to talk to him, and when he finally responded to your approach in a enthusiastic manner, you couldn’t be happier. Everything had been going your way recently, you’d even got that one job offer you’d been wanting for ages! But there were strange things going on. Sometimes you’d come home from work to find a battered rose on your doorstep, or a bunch of flowers that looked like they’d been selected carefully and ripped out of someone’s front yard, roots and dirt and all. 

Your mind wanders. Didn’t you tell someone once that you liked flowers? You couldn’t remember who.

It got weirder. Remember that cute ass guy you liked from your workplace? After you went on a fantastic date with him and the next day breathlessly you asked if you could maybe just maybe go out with him again, he turned to face you with a disgusting black eye and a bashed up face. 

He looked at you with an expression of fear and disgust before making a beeline for the door. One of your co-workers told you he resigned the same day. Heart broken as you dragged yourself down your usual route home, you saw a head pop up from a rosebush around the corner. Something in your stomach felt unsettled. Picking up your pace, you started making the unsettling observation of the same curly brown hair covered by a red and blue hat popping up around every block.

Racking your brains, you tried to remember who it could possibly be.

Then it struck you as a hand clapped over your mouth, rough and warm and still smelling like he did all those years ago.

“Please don’t scream. It’s going to make this so much harder.” You hear the click of a gun as the cold metal presses into the side of your waist. 

“I was wondering if we could go out tonight? I know a really good Italian place.” He bubbles, like you aren’t being held at gunpoint.

And like any sane person would in your position, you nodded and forced a grin, stars in Mista’s eyes when he saw your forced consent. He didn’t care. Yes means yes right? And yes means love, right? You love him. You love him!

[jojolymes]

𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎; seven

࿔*:･ﾟvii.

next: ࿔*:･ﾟviii. |  table of contents

THE FIRST thing you did when you first woke up was bring a hand to your face. When you found that your hat was still there, you let out a small sigh of relief and sat up to adjust it properly. Your fingers brushed over the familiar embroidery on the edge of the hat, feeling your tense shoulders slowly fall to their natural places. A yawn soon escaped you and you turned to look at the rising sun while rubbing at your eyes, squinting every now and then until your eyes adjusted to the light of the dawn. As you peeled your sleeping bag off yourself, Thunderstruck trotted over to you with a huff.

"Good morning, girl," you rasped out, patting Thunder's snout with a smile. Thunder nudged your hand and then looked at your bag which held a few apples you had scavenged a day earlier. There were only two and Thunder seemed eager to have them now, pawing at the dirt. "Yeah, yeah, okay," you chuckled, turning to take the apples out and turning back to find all four of the horses standing in front of you. Your eyes widened before a string of laughter left your lips.

"Let's see if I can break these up," you muttered, placing your thumbs in the pit at the top of an apple, trying to split it in half. You grimaced as you struggled to pull it apart, pushing your thumbs into the top until suddenly, it split clean in half. You looked at it owlishly, blinking harshly until you almost let out a yell of delight. Thunder had nudged your head over to face the still sleeping men nearby, making you grumble under your breath. Being alone was really starting to sound better than being around these men— well, so far, Mountain Tim had been the sweetest so you really didn't mind having him around.

"...anyways, here you go Thunder, and here's another half for you." Mountain Tim's horse ate up the apple quickly, shaking its head graciously once it had its share while Thunder ate it one bite. You reached over to grab the other apple and repeated the motion you had done earlier until it split. Johnny and Gyro's horses were quick to come up to your outstretched hand, eating the apple halves much slower than the other two. Once the halves were gone, Gyro's horse proceeded to lick your hand, making you laugh quietly, reaching out a hand to pat the horse's snout until your wrist was pulled away.

"What the hell are you doing to Valkyrie?" spat Gyro, pulling your arm until you were halfway into the air. Johnny and Mountain Tim were waking up from around the campfire, eyes widening as they saw Gyro hold you up. You scrambled to get out of his grip, pulling at your own arm with fear filling every crevice of your body. "I asked you a question, Speedwagon!" He threw you to the floor, leaving you to push away from him while you held your hat to your head.

"Woah, Gyro, calm down," Johnny urged while Slow Dancer trotted over to him, placing something into its owner's hand. Johnny grimaced but inspected it regardless, finding it to be a chunk of apple. With a sigh, he gave it back to Slow Dancer who took it back graciously as Johnny dragged himself over to Gyro. "He was just giving the horses some apples," he assured as you nodded fervently while getting to your feet awkwardly. Mountain Tim nodded from his spot on the ground.

"I was watching the whole time," Tim avowed which made you flush, "and, if they were poisonous, I would've known. I tend to have the nose for those kinda things." Gyro, albeit still barely convinced, gave a dismissive wave of his hand, stomping over to his sleeping bag which he then proceeded to roll up. As you rubbed at your sore wrist, Mountain Tim gave you an assuring nod that washed away the wave of fear.

You slowly made your way back over to your sleeping bag, conscious of the still angry man near you, and proceeded to roll it up as well. Thunderstruck was quick to walk over to her owner, bending her neck so that you could place it back in your bag. Then came the saddling up— you knew you wouldn't be successful on the first try but went through the process anyway, grimacing when you ended up hanging halfway off the saddle.

A snort came from behind you, but you didn't dare look and see who it was, face burning as you tried hopping onto the saddle again and failed. There was a bit more muffled laughter and you almost cried when you still weren't able to get on your horse. It didn't help that Mountain Tim was walking over to help. Once more, you threw yourself onto the saddle and pulled yourself up, panting from under your bandana.

"Guess you didn't need my help after all," smiled Mountain Tim as he, Johnny, and Gyro effortlessly saddled up. You hummed and pulled down the brim of your hat, cheeks aflame. "Let's get going then." Before any of them could even react, you were off, leaving the three to stare after you for a moment. "Er, we should go too..." said Mountain Tim as he pulled Ghost Rider into a gallop, Gyro and Johnny doing the same afterward.

The desert was quiet aside for the gallops of horses across it and the occasional cry of a falcon. As the sun began to rise, small lizards and birds left their desert homes in search of food, instinct fueling their every move. You watched as this happened, letting Thunderstruck do as she pleased. Every now and then, Johnny would shout directions and Mountain Tim would lead the other horses that way. Gyro, on the other hand, was quiet, not even challenging the route you would all take to the checkpoint.

Just like the day before, melancholy filled his electric green eyes, for what you couldn't tell. Again, it was none of your business and you weren't planning on making it your business anyway. After you all reached the checkpoint, you would all go your separate ways and you wouldn't have to see them until the finish lines. A pit of isolation sunk in your stomach as you leaned your head on the back of Thunder's neck, eyelids feeling heavy.

"Hey, wake up, you're gonna fall off your horse." You looked up to find Gyro riding closer to you, the only trace of emotion on his face being in his eyes. A grimace pulled onto your face as you looked away and shut your eyes. There was a grumble from Gyro and then the sound of Valkyrie pulling away from Thunder's side. Eventually, the town came into view and the three men sped up, leaving you following after them at your normal pace. This was only a checkpoint after all.

When you got there, there were two identical-looking men standing in front of them all, Gyro, Johnny, and Mountain Tim's arguing almost overpowering the voices of the other two men. Of course, all three were talking about who had gotten there first which was a bit disappointing to see in Tim's case. You said nothing and waited until they calmed down which had taken a moment after Gyro had gotten fussy and thrown his steel ball at a nearby wagon.

"Congratulations on your very early arrival, sirs," one of them began, standing there with an awkward smile, "this is a town specifically built as a checkpoint in the Steel Ball Run race." The three men seemed to finally pay attention as you leaned on Thunder's neck. "We were expecting to hear of the second stage riders arriving tomorrow but according to our information, you have distanced yourself about half a day from Sandman and Diego Brando AKA Dio, who took a separate route," said the other as the first one stepped forward with some ink, "we need to check your race numbers and your horses' prints."

"That damn Dio," grumbled Johnny, spitting into the dirt while Gyro grimaced. Mountain Tim gave the two men a charming smile while you all got off your horses. As one of the men began taking the prints, the other approached Gyro, handing him a letter with a smile. Gyro gave him a nod, no words exchanged between them— then your eyes met. You hastily looked away, pulling your bandana further up your face just as the man asked to take Thunder.

"Go on now, girl," you said, letting out a soft yawn afterward. The man perked up, looking around Thunder's body to face you, "we have a hotel with showers a bit down the road if you'd like to lodge there. We also have tents, restaurants, bars, a blacksmith, a barber..." You held up a hand to stop him and yawned once more, giving him a smile from behind your bandana.

"That'd be great," you began, turning to find Mountain Tim fixing up Ghost Rider's saddle, "d'you mind if I leave her with you?" Tim gave you a thumbs-up and you smiled, then turned around to the side of Thunder's neck. "Be good Thunder. I'll get you more treats later," you cajoled which was answered with a huff and a whinny. You gave one last wave to Mountain Tim before grabbing your bag and heading for the building with a hotel sign.

"Hey, Speedwagon! Where are ya goin'?" asked Johnny, making his way over to you when you stopped in front of the building. "Hotel," you replied gruffly, rubbing your eyes until you found Gyro standing beside him, eyeing your tired form. "Oh, in that case, why don't we all room together-" "Gyro looks like he wants to kill me so I'll have to pass." Johnny watched with wide eyes as you made your way into the building and then looked back at his friend with a frown.

"What?! I would!"

"Dammit, Gyro. You can be a handful sometimes."

"Handful of what?"

You had walked off before you could hear the rest of their conversation, eager to check into the room and have a nice, peaceful rest without having to worry about whether or not your hat was covering your face. How it had never fallen off until you wanted it to was beyond you. While getting the key to your room, the idea of a warm shower made its way into your mind, making you smile to yourself. You told yourself after your nap you'd take one.

"Room for three, please," said a voice from beside you, making you frown. Gyro was looking at you with a mix of smugness and anger, all wrapped up in one smirk. You didn't bother starting something with him and figured you'd be too tired to make sure you didn't die. An invisible shiver ran down your spine as you took the key in front of you, walking off before Gyro could try anything else.

Once you reached your room, you spotted Gyro and Johnny rolling over, talking about how they would go to the stables after Mountain Tim joined them in the room. You focused on unlocking your door, cringing when Gyro called your name. Without even looking over, you pushed into your room, slamming the door shut and locking it immediately after. As soon as you hit the mattress of your bed, you had fallen asleep.

And then, of course, you were flung out onto the street.

Your ears rung terribly as your body ached, rocks and splintered wood stabbing into parts of your body. Pools of crimson began to stream down your face, spilling from unseen wounds while you heaved for air. Considering you had just been blown out a window, your body felt like shit, but you had managed to gain enough strength to palm your head for your hat which sat there, untouched.

"Speedwagon!" You felt your arm fall limp— and there was Mountain Tim's body putting itself together right in front of you— and a blue blur came into your field of vision. Your body burned as the blur pulled you towards it and you had managed to make out Gyro glaring at some oddly-posed man in front of them. "Speedwagon, Speedwagon, can you hear me?!" the blur cried as its chest moved erratically.

Your throat felt too dry to say anything and you nodded as best you could, blocking the sound of talking and shouting with the ringing in your ears. It felt almost impossible to even breathe, let alone talk. When you were finally able to make out who the blur was, Johnny had dragged you onto his wheelchair and Gyro had held his hands out in front of them. You tilted your head back, feeling your hat loosen. Your hand shot up to hold it in place, Johnny giving you a look before his eyes widened.

"Gyro! The ground! He kicked something this way!" His grip on you tightened significantly and his chest heaved as it had before. You pulled his hand into hers, squeezing it to both keep yourself awake and to calm him down. As you sat there though, you could swear you felt blood slowly rushing back to your head. "No, Gyro! Get away from the mouse!" screamed Mountain Tim from behind them. Johnny stiffened from beneath you and you watched his face contort into fear, his already pale face going paler instantly.

"ITS BECOME A BOMB!"

[leora-rambles]

Can I request something for Leone abbacchio? Maybe where his s/o dies. Something where the reader was alone at the base, and there are clear signs of a fight but the only body in sight Is that if the opponent. So abbacchio uses moody blues to try and trace where she is, henceforth seeing the fight pretty much blow for blow up till the fatal blow executed upon the reader, and where she got to before finding her dead or dying.

Your Hands Felt Warmer Than Mine (Leone Abbacchio x Reader [Angst/Request])

Hey hey hey I’m terribly sorry this came out so late anon :,) Not going to lie I struggled a bit, but this was a valuable learning experience for me!! Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy!

CW: Gun usage, someone is shot.

——————

“What’s wrong?”

Abbacchio stops breathing air into his cupped hands.

“I didn’t bring my gloves out today,” he grumbles, rubbing his palms together.

You look at his jacket and notice that he doesn’t have pockets, either.

The leaves beneath the two of you paint the concrete with orange and brown hues. A gust of wind causes Abbacchio to shiver.

“Ah, wait.”

You slide your ungloved hands out of your pockets and cup his hands in your own.

Abbacchio stares at you in confusion. He lifts one of his eyebrows, “What are you doing?”

You purse your lips, “Your hands are cold right?”

Read the rest over here!!

[lunarychaos]

3 am uno sessions

featuring bucci gang  tw - swearing

“narancia, not you too please...” 

“i’m sorry [n/n], but mista was right...”

narancia placed down a card, everyone else’s biggest arch enemy. a +4 card - adding more cards into [y/n]’s pile of cards. 

the duo, narancia and mista, high-fived each other. “YOU FUCKING RAT!” [y/n] screamed loudly, angrily collecting four more cards from the pile. “i was so fucking close to winning... fugo! give me the fucking fork!” 

“it’s three am in the morning! go to bed, all four of you!” bucciarati groaned, using sticky fingers to teleport himself into the living room as he came out of the wall casually. “we have a mission tomorrow! give me those, clearly it keeps on distracting all of you!”

“BUCCIARATI, YOU BUZZ KILL!”

[staripheral]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩

✿ 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

✿  𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 : 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣

   ➺  request box

✿  𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

   ➺ latest work: ❛𝘀𝘁. 𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗸'𝘀 𝗱𝗮𝘆 - 𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 ❜  ⌈𝘳𝘰𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴⌋

𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗼 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 :)

[dakumoon-00000]

[jojothembo]

Hello!!! I really love your writing 🥺 can we get some Formaggio and Prosciutto petplay HCs? ;0 thank you so much in advance!! 💖💖

thank you so much!!❤️❤️ and also um GOD FUCKING YESS!  am so on board with this idea🙃

NSFW under the cut

TW: degradation, humiliation, mention of toys, pet play, (aftercare included),

Prosciutto 

💛Prosciutto is kind of a kink purist, he going to take all precautions to make sure it all goes off without a hitch

💛detailed discussions about contracts and safewords, he’s very cautious and concise with negotiations (god know negotiations are necessary with him) 

💛First of all, Prosciutto is a RELENTLESS top. He’s very stern and very dominant in his everyday life. And it translates in the bedroom 

💛be prepared to be his pretty little bunny

💛oh and he says it all the time, leans into your ear and calls you “my little bunny” just to fluster you.

💛He gets you a gold “P”  monogram necklace that he insists you wear at all times

💛he’s not the best at PDA but he does enjoy flustering you in public with the name 

💛he's not opposed to calling you by your pet name in public, you guys will be out shopping and he’ll ask “you see something you like bunny?” With his hand on the small of your back

💛he is more than willing to drop some money on your bedroom activities, leather restraints in your favorite color, matching toys, expensive lingerie

💛He’s a hard Dom and he has expectations 

💛he expects you to be waiting for him on the couch when he gets home, perched on your hands and knees ears on, tail plug in

💛he’ll greet you with a kiss on the forehead and head-pats

💛he asks you to serve him a drink as he unwinds after work having you by his side while he relaxes, just petting your hair checking in on his sweet before using your mouth as an ashtray 

💛“Just like that bunny, your so good to me~”

💛His tone of voice is almost chilled when he sees you get into headspace 

💛he’s very into impact play, bending you over his knee and spanking your ass beet red making you count until he’s satisfied 

💛“I’m sure you remember how to count bunny, don’t make me start over~”

💛EDGING he will not let you have it until you are crying for release!!

💛“Not a word from those pretty lips, you can cum when I think your good and ready.”

💛He has a Light degradation kink more into humiliation 

💛“Does my little bunny like to be fucked like a slut?”

💛“You take me so well bunny~”

💛loves to watch you on top of him, guides your hips as you ride him, watching you jump a little every time his hand strikes your ass 

💛Aftercare is extensive!!!! He draws you a bath, sets some comfy clothes on the bed for you, he makes sure that you take care of yourself after, no matter the intensity of the scene 

Formaggio 

 ❤️ Formaggio is totally game for pet play he’s definitely not as intense as Prosciutto more of a “nudge nudge” “ wink wink” kinda guy

❤️Your gonna have to walk him through some of the ins and outs of negotiation but he’s super attentive he wants to learn

❤️He’s gonna go for a kitty 

❤️He’s gonna HEAD OVER HEELS fall for it. It’s like a switch in his brain was hit and now he loves everything about it

❤️He ends up splurging on cat ears tails and toys(like sends you the amazon purchase receipt exited) 

❤️Gets you a cheeky collar with his name on it

❤️He might start using kitty as a staple pet name(but I think he’s already pretty liberal with pet names) 

❤️you might come home one day and find a pair of cat ears and a matching tail plug 

❤️“That’s a good kitty.”

❤️He loves to hear the bell jingle on your play collar when you give him head

❤️“Such a cute little thing aren’t you?”

❤️Likes to see you look up at him while you gag on his cock

❤️He loves to go down on you with your tail in, watching you squirm as he looks up at you

❤️“Aww does kitty wanna cum? Kitty’s gonna have to beg a little louder huh~”

❤️He wants to see everything! So a mating press while watching you in your little cat ears get pounded into the bedsheets drives him crazy

❤️”Cum on this cock kitty~ I know you wanna cum for honey.”

❤️Loves to pull your tail plug while he has you on all fours watching your ass bounce on his cock

❤️Aftercare usually looks like cuddles and junk food (he’s the type to fuck till he’s hungry)

❤️He usually  joins you in the shower after a scene and ends the night in bed cuddled up together with a rom-com

#lasquadraxreader #jjbaxreader #Prosciuttoxreader # Formaggioxreader

#formaggioisalazytop #lasquadra 

[biggestxsimps]

Are You?

A/N: A Josuke x Male reader fic. Just a bunch of angst and comfort at the end. Fear of abandonment from Josuke's end.

"You're not leaving are you?"

Josuke tremored, wanting that little bit of reassurance from Y/N. He always feared that the day would come where Y/N left him. Y/N wasn't leaving him at all, it was just Josuke overthinking things in his mind.

He reached a hand up, rubbing his own throat. Trying to soothe the aching feeling he felt. His breathing quickened slightly, awaiting a response from Y/N as he anxiously watched him.

Y/N walked over to the other male, sitting him down on his couch gently before cupping his cheeks gently, shaking his head. "No. I'm never going to leave you. I promise, I'd never leave you without a good reason, everyone makes mistakes. None of that was your fault." He reassured him, his thumbs rubbing over his cheeks gently. "Try to calm down...deep breaths. In, and out. Follow me.." he mumbled.

Josuke fixated his gaze on the other, starting to slowly calm down to get his breathing in sync with his boyfriends. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his tears roll down his cheeks shamelessly. He placed his hand over Y/N's, smiling slightly as he opened his eyes, wiping his tears. "Thank you.." he croaked softly.

Y/N nods, placing a gentle kiss upon his forehead. "It's alright my love. I love you very much, do not worry." He hummed, wrapping his arms around the other, Josuke hugging back tightly.

Masterlist

- Written by Owner 2

[nobuchboskyw]

Please do a yandere mista or Bruno ?

Of course! I’m really happy you asked :) You have excellent taste. I’m working on a Mista one right now, which I’ll post a bit later, so here’s a Bruno one for now.

Yandere! Bruno Bucciarati x Reader 

TWS: stalking, murder, kidnapping

The locals were a huge fan of him, you knew that. Whenever he came into local shops that you just happened to be in at the same time as him, bakers, grocery sellers and business owners alike never hesitated in showering him in free goods. His effortless charm and charisma made him extremely popular, you almost felt jealous.

One morning you asked a local barista who he was, and it seemed to you like they stiffened and choked on their words. 

“I have, uh, no idea what Mr. Bucciarati does. He is a good man.” they stubbornly left it at that, no matter how hard you pressed. 

Feeling large rough hands curl over your shoulder, and a deep voice in your ear you jumped. 

“Do you mind if I pay for your coffee today?” 

The voice was deep and smooth, seductive. Like treacle or golden syrup. 

You attempted to turn, but the person with their hand on your shoulder was a hell of a lot stronger than you’d anticipated. Startled, you noticed their hand on your waist and their chest pressed against your back, soft warmth flooding into your skin. He smelt like expensive cologne and gunpowder.

The barista’s face lit up at the sight of the person behind you. 

“Ah, Mr Bucciarati! Speak of the devil!” 

Despite Bruno being so forward with his actions, you had no idea what he wanted from you. He’d appear outside your work place in the evening with your favourite drink in hand (hang on, how’d he know?) ready to walk to you home like the gentleman he was. Gorgeous lush bouquets of flowers would appear on your doorstep, much to your delight, and suddenly all your student debts and loans started to disappear. Funnily enough he always appeared wherever you were, whether it was to run errands, to pick up a new book or check your letterbox. Charming as he was he always laughed it off, saying: “I’m always all over the town, expect to see me often.” At this he glanced at you hopefully, as if waiting to see a sign in your face that you wished to see him too.

“Oh, and you know that male co-worker of yours, m/n? I’ve heard he’s no good, perhaps stop talking with him?” What?

One night you even turned on the news to see the face of a man who’d been catcalling you at the train station on the headlines of a deeply disturbing murder case. According to news reporters, the body was split into segments, as if the murderer had simply ‘unzipped’ their body.

Fast forward to a chilly Monday morning where you turned up at your workplace to find the entire building closed down. 

I’ll have to search for a new job soon, you thought in dismay. 

Calloused hands embraced your waist in a manner too sensual for just acquaintances, and you whirled to face Bruno. 

“Are you free tonight?”

What you were doing at such a fancy restaurant on a weeknight you had no idea, but before you could even object Bruno had taken care of all the details and you had a date with him that evening.

The usually put together man was especially strange that night, going out of his way to be sweet, pulling out your chair for you, lunging in front of you to open doors (good forbid your beautiful hands touch a doorknob), stiffening and tightening his grip on you anytime a male/female walked past (which left deep bruises) and fixing his deep sapphire gaze upon you the entire night as if you were a fairy about to vanish into a cloud of glitter any minute now.

Despite all these oddities, you had a beautiful night.

When he was walking you home, Bruno finally decided to spit it out.

“I can have nobody but you. Please move in with me. Love me please, and only me.”

Shocked, you turned down his offer as politely as you could, stating that you just weren’t ready for a relationship yet. He continued walking with you, but moved with a glazed, pained look in his eyes and with a shuddering in his body as if he was about to break down any minute. Feeling horrible, you hugged him, but he felt stiff to the touch.

“This just won’t do.” He said quietly, gripping onto your arm in desperation. The lovesick glow in his eyes mixed with murderous intent set your blood running cold. “Y-you have to love me.”

“Bruno,” you said, trying to move his hand off your arm. “That hurts. Could we talk?”

You felt a cold feeling behind you and goose bumps rippled on your skin before the sensation of your body splitting in half made your vision go black.

You wake in a luxurious bedroom, with Bruno running his fingers through your hair. Crying and scared out of your mind, you beg him to let you go, but it’s like he can’t hear you.

Over the next couple of weeks, he treats you as if you can’t care for yourself. Cooking you extravagant meals, buying you lavish gifts, even forcing himself into the shower with you to run his hands over your trembling soapy body. 

You haven’t seen the outside world in months now. You can feel yourself going brain dead as Bruno’s obsessive love swallows you whole, making you completely and utterly reliant on him. No matter how humiliated you may feel about these arrangements, Bruno doesn’t mind a bit. 

Completely relying on him. Him as your entire world. It’s exactly how he wants it! 

He doesn’t care for a thing in the world, except your love for him.

But you do love him, right? Right?

[leora-rambles]

To Be in Your Arms (Risotto Nero x Reader [Angst and Fluff])

Is this late? Yes. Am I sorry?... yes 🥺👉👈

Apparently, this fic is too long for tumblr, so the rest is on AO3! My account is RohansPenNibs if you’re interested.

I forgot to mention that I got an AO3 account like,,, last week 👉👈 but hey now y’all know! I’ll be posting my longer fics over on there.

Thank you for your patience! 💞

___________

Risotto stares at the mirror, his eyes visibly sunken in, face unshaven and noticeably pale.

Despite already brushing his teeth and splashing his face with cold water, he still felt lethargic.

“Risotto, Amore, you should shave,” you giggled upon feeling his stubble with your palm.

He quirked an eyebrow up, still looking at the mirror, “really? I thought you loved it.”

Risotto placed his hands on your own and began rubbing it against his jaw.

You squealed in response to his antics, “hey! That feels weird—!”

Both of your laughs filled the bathroom.

As if his hands were weighed down with cinderblocks, he reaches for the razor.

“Fine, I’ll shave, I’ll shave.” “Good! I’m not about to poke myself every time I give you a peck!”

How many months had it been since you last kissed him. Four? Six?

It didn’t matter. Whenever he thought back, it felt like it was yesterday, anyways.

Full fic here!

[lunarychaos]

Hey how you doing ?Can i have a match-up please ? I’m a 5.2 chubby libra french girl with a bob brown hair and brown eyes(INFJ ).I am bi and I have ADHD .I’m a weeb and a gamer .Fun fact only with my family and my best friend I act motherly ,super sweet ,i’m always laughing and smiing with them nobody call me by my actual name,I smoke ik it’s bad and I love animals (i have a ferret named Roy )My hobbies is singing,cooking,being in the water and i really love arts(music,dance,drawing)

I’m going great! <3

I match you with...

Jean Pierre Polnareff!

Coming from the same country, he’d totally whisper sweet-nothings in your ears in French.

At first, he probably wouldn’t even know what ADHD is, but will completely still love and support you once he finds out what it is.

He loves your ferret a lot!

He thinks that you have a great singing voice and is amazed by your cooking skills!

He’d def smoke with you.

He thinks it’s cool that you’re into arts, he’d defintely ask you to teach him some dance moves and ask you to help him draw as well!

[nobuchboskyw]

Could you please do some yandere Enrico Pucci? (Or if you havent't read part 6, yan!Risotto?)

Have a nice day/night!

I'm a jjba anime only so I'll be doing a Risotto one. I hope you enjoy this!! Sorry it took a while to reply, had some stuff going on lol

Yandere! Risotto Nero x Gender Neutral Reader

TWS: gore, murder, stalking

Risotto had always known he was less of a saying, more of a doing person. Actions meant more than words to him, and he knew well that often he never had to say anything to get his point across. His height, menacing appearance and obvious power spoke for him. 

What he wanted, he took, you included. He decided the best approach was to show you just how much he loved you. He followed you around, made note of catcallers or people who harassed you on the street, and left their razor-shredded bloody remains in a bag on your doorstep, all for you. He knew you would like to walk home safely.

Just to make absolutely sure there were no threats to you, Risotto begun following you around. This man knows no boundaries when it comes to you, and in his eyes, he’s just looking after what’s his. 

His absolute favourite thing was watching you go about your daily life. Watching you wake up, get food, tolerate the crowded commute from your work/school all while keeping his distance or ordering the rest of La Squadra to tail you was his absolute favourite. Absorbing every little last detail of you with nothing to spare, having your beautiful form under the careful watch of his red and black eyes 24/7 is his idea of paradise.

Once he was tailing you in a crowd, and he watched as a shiver ran down your back and you turned to face him in absolute terror. A rush of absolute hunger and love racked his body as he fought the urge not to annihilate the entire crowd to have you all to himself. 

The rest of his week was spent replaying the few delicious seconds he had of your deer-in-headlights expression.

He was upset when one day Melone ceased his rapid-fire typing on his laptop to address him. 

“Risotto, there was a wanted order issued at the local police station a few hours ago.”

How this could possibly involve him Risotto didn’t know, but he answered Melone anyways. “Yes?”

Fighting back a giggle, Melone answered him. “It’s for stalking a civilian, and it’s your exact description. Over 6 foot, male and with red irises?” Risotto felt a murderous rage surge through his body. He’d done all this for you, protected and showered you in love and this was how you repaid him. As he allowed his emotions to wash over him, he debated over what to do. It wasn’t like the police could do anything anyways, Passione had them dangling on puppet strings.

                        _______________________________________________________

It was late at night, and you were hiding under the shelter of a shop veranda as you waited for it to stop pouring. 

“Excuse me.”

 You heard a deep, course voice behind you. The hairs on your neck stood up and you felt a shiver run down your spine. It suddenly struck you just how close the voice was to you.

How did they get so close? Did I not notice them coming?

You shook your fear away as you forced yourself to face the stranger, and immediately wished you didn’t. It was the exact man you’d rushed to the police station to report, after weeks of him following you. Ever since the stalking had started you hadn’t been able to sleep properly, always petrified with the fear that somewhere he was watching.

Y/n’s instincts were spot on. Risotto had been watching you sleep for the past month.

Craning your neck to look him the eyes, you said, “Yes? Did you need help with anything?” He simply shakes his head.

“What are you doing out here so late?” He asks quietly with a rough, smouldering voice.

“I was just coming home from work/school.” You answer meekly, shocked at how quiet and submissive your voice had become.

“I see. Where are you going?” “I’m sorry? U-uh, just -” “You should be heading home. I’ll walk with you.” Before giving you time to answer, one of his strong muscular arms wrapped around your waist and wheeled you around, walking you in the exact direction of your own home. He smelt metallic and like smoke, the grip of his rough hand on your waist drawing you closer to his side with every step.

“It’s okay, I can walk home by myself.” In a pleading tone you attempt to escape his iron cast grip with no success. 

As if in answer, he slides one hand down your thighs to scoop you up into his arms, your face pressed against his warm muscular chest. In some type of intrigued terror, you realise it’s pointless to struggle against him.

Risotto quietly walks through the rain, saying little, enjoying the feeling of your soft cheek slicked with tears pressed against his chest.

You must’ve fallen asleep, because when you wake, you’re seated at your dinner table and Risotto is dutifully watching a pot simmer on the stove. The beautiful smell reminds you of how hungry you are. 

How did he even let himself in??

Ladling the contents into a bowl, he picks up a spoon and proceeds to spoon feed you your dinner. Humiliated and half asleep, you try to push him away to no avail. 

“Shh,” he says, putting a finger on your lips to silence your protest before lovingly feeding you like you’re a sick child.

By the end of it you’re so scared and confused thin tears are running down your cheeks, and Risotto frowns at the sight of it. 

“You’re probably tired.” he says decidedly. Pressing you against him once again and carrying you to your bedroom, (how come he knows your house so well? Nothing could surprise you at this point.) he undresses you and lays you on the bed, showing obvious signs of restraint, a hot flush rising on his cheeks as he slides you out of your clothes and into your pyjamas.

Before crushing your exhausted body in the iron-cast grip of his arms, he nibbles at your neck whispering sweet nothings.

“Leave this place. Come stay with me. Forever.” he breathes.

What?

It’s too late to argue. He slides a hand across your stomach and brings your form closer into him, making you the little spoon. Sleepily you drink in his body heat, thinking idly that if it could be like this forever, maybe you wouldn’t mind staying with this horrifying man.

Risotto will most certainly never let you go. He’s sure of that.

[leora-rambles]

Rohan Can’t Do Bets (Rohan Kishibe x Reader [Fluff/Little bit of angst, as a treat])

cough,,, yes,,, mayhaps I have been dead,,,,, and mayhaps this wasn’t the risotto fic I was talking about,,,, BUT,,,, it is rohan 😳😚🥴 I wrote this in celebration of the OVAs coming out. Very sorry, it is a shorter fic.

I hope you are all staying safe during this pandemic 😌 drink yalls water

——————————————————

“Uh-uh, you’re done.” You spoke in a stern tone akin to a daycare teacher lecturing children.

Rohan was groaning about how ‘he could take another glass’ and how ‘he had a bet to win’ as you dragged him away from the bar.

You knew full well that your lover was a lightweight. He’d be two glasses in, and then boom, he’s out cold.

One look at his blush-heavy face and you knew he’d be passed out within drinking another drop.

Rohan was muttering profanities about the man who struck up a conversation with you, asking for your number.

Your boyfriend overheard, and Rohan being Rohan, he decided to fight for your love.

Again.

With a bet.

Because Rohan is just fantastic with bets.

Your lover wasn’t intending on backing down, sheerly because of his stubbornness and pride, so you decided pulling him out of it was the only choice you could make.

That’s how you ended up walking back to your hotel room with a very, very drunk Rohan draped on your shoulders.

“Just put me down..” Rohan murmured as you entered the room to your one-bed hotel room.

The smell of alcohol was stuck onto the mangaka, as well as the tint of pink staining his cheeks.

His warm breaths were heavy despite you doing all the work of carrying him.

You plopped the man down on the bed before cracking your neck from the strain of bringing him all the way from the bar to the hotel.

Rohan observed you as you made your way to the couch, your body relaxing when you dropped yourself onto the plush furniture.

He hissed, gripping his forehead. “Woooow, you’re not even gonna care for me..? What a world we live in.” Your eyes narrowed at his slurred words.

“I told you not to make that stupid bet,” You slid over to Rohan, slipping his headband off of his head carefully.

His hands travelled from your arms up to your face. “You’re always trying to one-up everyone.” You ruffled Rohans hair.

He scrunched his nose up at the touch on his scalp.

“I could see the way that guy was looking at you. I would’ve punch him if I had a chance.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s cute,” you teased, smirking as the mangaka knitted his perfect eyebrows together.

He draped his arms around your neck, shifting under you to make room on the king sized bed.

“You make me so worried, you know. You piss me off. You’re always getting these assholes’ attention... they’re always trying to woo you.”

His jealousy was cute, honestly. It was a side of him that he tucked away to the deepest corners of his mind.

“You know you’re the only asshole I’ll ever love though, right?” You poked, Rohan clicking his tongue at your wittiness.

“Yeah, yeah, and you’re the only dumbass I’ll care about,” he retorted sassily.

You exhaled at his comeback, subconsciously stroking his locks more, which urged the male to continue ranting.

“They’re always like ‘wooow you’re so cuteee. I’m desperate. You wanna go back to my inferior, trashy house?’” His mockery of the nice guy at the bar made you laugh, causing Rohan to smile, k9s showing openly.

“Even when I’m right beside you,” Rohan murmurs as he lifts his head closer to yours, “they keep on trying to make a move on you.”

The smell of alcohol was evident in his usually minty breath.

His arms circled around you tighter as he dropped himself back into the plush covers.

Rohan had a sudden switch in mood as he furrowed his brows and began grumbling, “he reminded me of that asshat Josuke,” he almost snarled, “even his hair looked stupid.”

Instinctively, you scanned the room, worrying about the pompadour bearing teen popping out of nowhere and giving Rohan another beatdown.

You then remembered that Josuke was two plane trips away from where you and Rohan stayed for the week, but you still prayed that the high schooler didn’t sneeze out of nowhere.

You shudder while Rohans slurring catches your attention, “do you think a rat king gave birth to another rat king on his scalp?” You placed your forehead onto his in an attempt to stifle your giggles.

“Honestly, though. You talking to those lower people is just charity work...” He shut his eyes, turning his head to the side.

His breathing steadied, indicating that he was asleep. As you were beginning to slide off the toned male, his eyes fluttered open. You were surprised to see tears welling up to his long lashes.

A shaky breath left his lips, “your dumb ass means a lot to me.” Rohan sighed, trying to blink his tears away.

His eyes were glazed over, and he didn’t like how his view of you was obscured.

“I’m just lucky to have someone like you, aren’t I?”

Lips tightening, Rohan sucked a breath in. You felt your heart swell with the newfound softness in your lover.

“I know I’m the best, and that I deserve the best, but you’re just...” he trailed off, leaving you wanting more.

“But I’m just what?” You pressed, Rohan groaned, “what more do you want me to say?”

“I want you to confess to me.”

Rohan whined, “confess? What are you, a priest? You wanna hear my sins?” You swept your thumb at a stray tear dripping down Rohans rose tinted cheek.

He melts into your touch, laying the side of his face in your palm. His now soft eyes stay focused on yours, as if he were memorizing every little detail he could spot.

“Tell me tomorrow, when I can bully you for this.” Fingers making their final run through Rohan’s locks, you jumped off the bed to change your clothes in the bathroom, but not before leaving a soft peck on Rohan’s cheek.

Your absence left the male alone with his thoughts.

Rohan ran his hand across his chest, up to his scalp, trying to imitate the way your fingers would ruffle through his hair.

No matter how he tried to copy it, your touch to his skin was unique.

He found himself tearing up again.

“I wanted to tell you how much of myself I wouldn’t have discovered if it weren’t for you.”

His rambles were quiet, wary of you in the bathroom. He ran his fingers down his cheek before his eyelids gradually grew heavier with each second.

[leora-rambles]

The Road I Have Traveled On: There’s A New Kid In Town (La Squadra/Reader [Multiple Chapters])

no empty head thoughts

Next Chapter!

The rain falls around the two figures like prayers from the sky. The man's hold on the other is firm, aware of their power. 

To underestimate them would mean death. He knows this.

They squirm on the ground, concrete beneath them scratching their back like sandpaper to silk. Their clawing hands are reaching for an object that was just not there.

“Where is he?” The man asks in his baritone voice, releasing the others throat from his hold. They regain their breath before laughing.

“He’s long gone, fucker! He was killed! Bullet to the lung!” Their eyes were glazed over, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from tears or the rain.

He looks at their spiteful face, the bitter smile on their lips obviously pained. 

“How this shitty gang didn’t find that out is beyond me! It just shows how completely stupid everyone here is! How stupid your group is—!”

The hand returns onto the person’s neck and tightens. 

They claw at his arms before succumbing to the dizziness.

It’s an unfair system, you think

There are many succumbing to live a life in the mafia. They are often forced, having to repay debts with money that is impossible to make in their state.

People who know no struggle speak as if earning money is easy. As if getting a job fixes all problems. 

The rich expect debtors to live a life like machines, to breathe as if they have nothing to live for except for the money they owe.

You hate that you’re in this situation because of that very system. 

“There are so many injustices in this world. We have to work our asses off while the people at the top only grow greedier because everything goes their way. It’s unfair, don’t you think?

“There are people without homes rummaging through dumpsters just to not starve... They didn’t ask for a life like that. They  didn’t ask to be hungry everyday. It’s a cruel, one-sided system we’re in. To create a world where no one has to suffer anymore… That is my goal.”

Silence rings around the base. Your heartfelt speech is met with crickets.

God you can barely breathe. Was that too much? Did these weirdly dressed men already figure you out simply from your talking?!

A man with four ponytails is the first to crush the silence. Out from his throat comes a baritone, obnoxious laugh. 

“Little ‘maggio here was only asking why you joined the family, man! We didn’t wanna hear your middle school election speech,” he scoffs, waltzing up to your form from the couch.

He lowers his lips to your face, light breaths just an earshot away. “What’s next, you’re gonna talk about saving the whales? Are we drinking a little bit too much of their water for you?” 

His hand hovers just an inch away from your hat, scarily close to exposing your hair.

You shove him away, clicking your tongue at his remarks. “Whatever. I’m here for Mr. Nero,” you sneer.

You brush off your rustic brown suit and black dress shirt, adjusting your cuffs in the process. The men seated around the glass table ignore your statement.

The one in front of you rolls his uncaring eyes. He points at a door at the end of a long hallway, his weird sleeping bag-like attire rubbing against itself as he did so.

“The last door. There. At the end,” he says, fragmented.

You begin to march towards the door, but not before catching a snarky insult from beneath the ponytailed man's breath. You curse beneath your own before knocking on the dark oak wood.

There’s no answer. 

You knock once again.

Still no answer. With a disgruntled huff, you rattle the golden door knob and then whip the door open. 

You scrunch your nose up in disgust. 

You don’t meet the eyes of the group as they erupt into laughter. The embarrassment sets in quickly, showing through a bolt of heat rushing to your face.

“Idiota!” A voice cackles from behind you.

You’re frozen into place, the toilet before you staring back in all its glory.

You want to kill these men. Can you kill them? You should kill them.

The noise of wood scraping against wood sounds from behind you. You watch the door open to reveal a man around 6’7”, dawning an attire that did not at all look work appropriate. 

Did the boss hire some kind of goth clown? What kind of entertainment is this?

“You’re the new recruit, aren't you?” He bellows, black sclera eyes scanning your every move. 

Oh. He’s the boss. 

You nod, albeit a bit embarrassed since you just opened the door to the bathroom thinking it was his office.

He motions, beckoning you inside the room.

“You have a pretty hefty debt to Passioné, do you not? Where did you get such a suit?” 

The man that you know now as Risotto Nero asks. His fingers are crossed with each other. He makes a point to place his chin on top of them.

Risotto scans you down, mentally adding up the costs of your suit in his head. When he arrives at his final calculation, he looks at you right in the eyes.

He speaks first before you answer. 

“You shouldn’t be spending debt money on luxuries like that.”

You almost laugh in shock. It’s hard to keep the customer service smile on your face.

“It’s... My relative… My sibling lended it to me.” You fumble over your words, and you pray to god it was believable enough for this 6 foot something behemoth.

He nods, and for a second you think you’ve fooled him. You nearly sigh in relief at his satisfied looking face. 

That is until a scary, dimpled smile replaces his placid expression.

“You don’t need to lie,” his low voice rumbles dangerously. His words strike fear up your spine like electricity. 

You sit up straight, eyes widening in alert.

Shit. 

Did he find out already? 

He found out, didn't he? You underestimated him too much. He’s sharp. Much sharper than anyone you’ve ever encountered. He’s going to kill you. You have to kill him first, or else he’s going to k—

“Just admit that you stole it.”

You think you’re going to die of a fucking heart attack.

Mentally you feel like you just won the ‘I didn’t get mauled’ lottery, but clearly that didn’t show on the outside. He laughs darkly, almost cruelly at your fear-frozen expression.

“Luce, am I correct?” He asks, his smile now gone. You nod, still shaken up from his previous response.

“What’s your last name?”

You lean in to whisper it to him. You don’t need the others hearing and making a personal background check on you. 

He nods, writing something down on a piece of paper.

He scans you down more and checks boxes off from the form.

“I’ve heard you’re a Stand user.” 

You nod your head yes. He writes something down again. 

“Show me it.”

With a light call, you release Restless Heart. Risotto stares at the figure, the vibrant red and orange pallet pulling some kind of warmth from his chest. 

Clouds surround your Stand, it’s humanoid face reminiscent of drama masks.

“It’s abilities?”

“It can provoke intense emotion in people. The feelings can be so strong that it takes control of their actions,” you explain. Risotto puts a hand up as if to stop you.

“And how will I know if it’s taken effect on me?”

“Oh, you would know. The emotions are in no way small. They’re incredibly noticeable.” Risotto seems to believe your lie.

He nods at this information, eyes set back on the form in his hands. You take this as the cue to pull your Stand back in.

After the light scratching of his pen subsides, he glares at you through his red pupils. 

“Alright. Let's get this straight, Luce,” he starts with a serious tone, “Just because you are a new recruit does not mean you are going to get privileges.”

“You will work just as hard, if not, harder than my men to gain my respect,” his low satin voice somehow grows deeper with each word.

He raises an eyebrow at your widened eyes.

“Got that?” He ends.

You furrow your eyebrows. With a nod, you lower your voice to seem sure of yourself, “I understand, sir.”

“You’ll be given your first mission Friday, 6 am. It’s Wednesday today, so that’s in two days. If you’re late I won’t hesitate to fire you.” He shoos you away to the door, where you’re left to walk past your lively coworkers once again.

Formaggio’s the first to notice you walk out of the office and make a beeline to the exit. “Hey, hey, chiacchierone!” He calls out rudely, catching your attention.

He smirks at your embarrassment. “You’re not gonna leave so soon, are you? It’s improper not to introduce yourself to your coworkers.”

“It’s also improper to redirect them to the toilet when they ask for your boss’s office,” you shoot back.

He scratches the back of his neck, an unapologetic look in his eyes. “You can’t blame me for that, man. That was him. You see over there?”

He points at the ponytailed man. “That’s Illuso.” The aforementioned male rolls his eyes at your glare. You make a disgruntled face before turning to leave.

“Hey, hey! Tell us your name first, asshole!” 

You clench your fists before calmly waltzing over to the one couch only one of them was lounging on. You take a seat on the empty spot and cross your arms. 

The men stare in disbelief. You can tell this was the first time they had ever been stood up to.

There’s a sharpness in your voice as you command, “Tell me all your names first.” You glare the group down with the intent to intimidate. Surprisingly, some did cower a small bit. 

You avert your attention to the weakest looking one— a green haired wimp. He looked timid the moment you stepped into the run-down house. 

A small whimper escapes his lips as he quickly diverts eye contact from you. He stutters.

The back of his neck is met with a slap by the blond beside him. “Are you a coward?” The finely dressed man yells, words accentuated by his slight overbite.

“No, bro! It’s just—“ The ‘coward’ glances back at you. He swallows a ball of saliva in his throat.

Why is it so hard to introduce himself to you? With the others it was easier, but you just had an aura that scared the shit out of him. It wasn’t just him, too. He could see Ghiaccio’s back straighten out more than usual. Even Melone looked intimidated beside you, though it showed only through the sudden tightening of his jaw.

“My name is Pesci,” he finally mutters. You nod your head back, a smirk on your face. 

“Surely…” you start, “Mammoni here isn’t the only one brave enough to introduce himself to me?” 

A tension grows beneath the men, the little game (more like trap) you had just set up on them apparent. Whoever cracks to your intimidation first and introduces themselves would be marked as a coward. 

Even worse, your words made it seem like the whole group was wimpy for not doing anything. 

Could they be overthinking it? Oh, most definitely. But this was a matter of pride now, not a friendly little “hello my name is”.

They look around, eyeing each other’s expressions.

The lavender haired man beside you clears his throat, fingers fidgeting on his laptops keys. 

“I’m Melone,” he speaks out, trying way too hard to sound brave and ending up just seeming robotic. Melone looks at his teammates expectantly. The one with the buzzcut speaks up, “Formaggio,” leaving his lips.

The rest stare at you silently, too wary to let you in on their names. Maybe you overdid it a little bit.

Illuso, Pesci, Melone, Formaggio.

You perch one leg on top of the other, resting your elbow against your knee. 

“You three have food based names…” You assume that the ones not speaking up are in on the trend as well.

“Aliases, aren't they? Only Mr. Nero knows your real names?”

No one responds, but you guess that you’re right from the looks on their faces. You try to gouge their expressions further. It’s not shock, but also not quite apathy. Curiosity? Interest?

You exhale a laugh through your nose.

“Alright,” you start, an amused smile on your lips, “If you’re all gonna be like that, I’ll play along.” You catch a glimpse of curiosity in the men’s eyes.

“My name is Leche.”

“Leche… like Leche Flan, or Dulce de Leche.” 

Melone repeats to the group after the rookie has long left the base. They all grumble amongst themselves, their frustration with the new member evident.

“What an asshole… He acted like he owned the place despite only being here for an hour or two!” Ghiaccio grips at his pinstriped pants, stretching and warping the lines as he vented. 

Formaggio runs his palms across the side of his arms, softening his goosebumps. “He gave me the fucking shivers…” 

The buzz cut male had always been the most honest with his emotions. Even with this said, he normally wouldn’t be telling his team that someone scared him out of fear of ridicule.

This is a different situation. He knows that they were just as scared shitless as he was.

“That dude has the same energy as Risotto glaring at the back of my head… Remember how pissed off he was after I fucked up that one mission? It’s like that, but turned into a person.”

Almost everyone mutters in agreement. The newbies aura felt downright mortifying, but they all fronted as to not look weak. 

Their fear was instinctual, like an animal sizing up its enemy to see if it would win in a fight. The answer was obvious when it came to you.

Prosciutto and Ghiaccio keep their gazes at the floor, unspeaking, trying to rationalize what was so scary about you.

Melone’s head perks up after a bit, “Mission?”

Formaggio nods, still calming down his goosebumps. He doesn’t know why out of all that he said, that was what caught Melone’s interest.

“You mean the one with the accountant?”

There's a long pause after his teammates' inquiry. 

Formaggio scratches the side of his nose as he forces himself to repress the memory again.

“... Yeah.”

His response causes Pesci to chime in after recounting the event, “Oh! The one where Formaggio tripped over and—“ 

The aforementioned male waves his hand, interrupting the other’s sentence before hiding his embarrassed grimace behind his palm.

“We’re not talking about that right now!” Formaggio barks.

The team hides their chuckles behind their collars or beneath their breaths. The red head rolls his frustrated eyes, “Anyways, I don’t like this dude.”

Prosciutto balances his head on his palm, pinning his elbow down against the armrest of the couch. 

“No need to be this hostile towards the new recruit. If Risotto says he’s qualified, it’s our best interest to believe him,” he reasons. 

Illuso pats the back of his blond teammate.

“I don’t think Formaggio is denying that Leche is qualified.” He slinks into the seat you sat in, resting his arm against Melone’s shoulder. 

“You gotta understand, Prosciutto,” Illuso begins, “When you have a stand as useless as Formaggio’s, you’re obviously gonna be a little intimidated by newcomers.” 

The insult triggers an angry curse from Formaggio.

He makes a move to stand up before feeling a strong hand push him back down by his left shoulder.

“This is no time to fight,” a deep baritone voice advises.

Formaggio's face pales at the sound. Risotto unveils himself from his Stand, the dim light of the room casting a dark shadow on half of his face.

“Leche isn’t off the hook yet just because he’s done the interview. He’s a different case from you all.”

Risotto had watched everything, from you intimidating his team, to you slamming the base door closed as you left.

He massages the bridge of his nose, his gruff tone clearly tired as he spoke, “I’m positive he was using his Stand during that little… interaction.”

The men did not react the way they would have normally. Whereas a punch would have been thrown at your insults, the most that occurred were petty glares and sneers.

Risotto crosses his arms, “Trying to find out more about him through documents was impossible, so I’ll need all the help that you men can offer.”

He looks at Illuso with his sharp, determined eyes. They’re slightly covered as Risotto furrows his eyebrows.

“Illuso,” Risotto calls out. The ponytailed man nods, already knowing the task he had ahead of him.

“I’m on it.”

[leora-rambles]

To Have Loved and Lost: I’ve Loved You Since 1995 (Rohan Kishibe/Reader [Fluff/Multiple Chapters])

Hey 😳 Here is the second chapter to ‘To Have Loved and Lost’! You can read this fic by itself, or as backstory to the previous chapter! I was basically drowning in work, so I’m really glad to be able to work on fics 🥺 thank you for your patience! Enjoy!

Previous/Next

November 5th, 1994

Rohan pulls his camera out of his bag, snapping a picture of the painting before him.

The gold label beneath the painting shone in the artificial lighting of the art gallery, reflecting Rohan’s sleek school uniform.

‘Matching Futures, A.S.’ The carving read.

Dimly coloured trees surround a dirt path, the wall of green tall and menacing.

As if they were walking through a barrier, two forms are painted walking straight into the forest, hands held together, a vibrant red string connecting the two.

One of the figures holds a basket filled to the brim with daffodils, while the other stays with no accessory.

Rohan narrows his eyes at the piece.

The painting isn’t anything new to him. He’s  seen many of its kind, many similar colour schemes with twists of their own. 

This one proved to be more than unfavourable to him. 

To put it simply, he thinks its bland.

Though even with his dislike in mind, he can’t deny that one thing about the piece outshone the mundaneness.

The red string of fate.

It’s the way the yarn holds its form, how the bright crimson shines and keeps itself vibrant from the green surrounding it. 

Why is it there? What’s the point of it?

The medium was oil paints, Rohan guesses.

He takes into consideration the angles, and how he’ll implement that into his own art works. He snaps another picture (a closeup of the string) for good measure.

The next painting, though very different from the painting before, also catches his attention.

R. Sans: Denzel, 1856

The abstract nature of the work highlighted the skull in the very middle, face to the left. If you didn’t look as close as Rohan was looking, you most certainly wouldn’t notice the blue flowers that littered the back of the table.

Rohan takes a picture of it, the shading of the painting seemingly beneficial for him.

He breezes by the painting and hunts for the next artwork that will somehow catch his eye. He stops at the sudden bright flurry of blue and yellow enveloping his senses.

Giovanni Tiepolo: Perseus & Andromeda, 1730

Embarrassing as it was, Rohan felt a gasp escape his throat when he took in the hues of the golden yellows and sky blues.

The Pegasus held two people on its back, soaring among clouds and other figures.

It was obvious the two were lovers with the way they held each other in their arms.

Rohan can feel the overwhelming flood of curiosity wash over him. He wants to be able to reach into the artists brain and just understand how he came up with such a piece—

It’s beautiful , he thinks.

Why is this masterpiece here, amongst these other paintings? 

“Rohan!”

Is the museum staff blind? Surely they’d know that putting something like this out here isn’t beneficial to the other artists. This just outshines the others.

He hears a familiar calling, but promptly ignores it. It was probably for someone else, anyways.

In a hurry, he fumbles with his camera for a slight moment, fussing over the angles before clicking the button to take the picture.

Best thing this museum could’ve done was give this painting it’s own section. 

“Rohan...?” It’s only then that he turns his head towards the sound.

You speed up, changing your pace from speed walking to a light jog at the sight of your schoolmate’s face turned towards you.

You sigh in relief, “Rohan! The class was looking for you.”

You stop at his side, following his line of sight as his head turns towards the painting once more. 

“The teacher noticed you weren’t with the group and had us looking for you. What were you doing?” You asked in a friendly tone.

Rohan hides his excitement from seeing the painting, and attempts to calm himself down from the rush of inspiration he got. 

“I was just looking,” he mumbles with a barely noticeable strain in his breath. 

For a second, there’s an awkward silence between the two of you. You still smile, happy you didn’t heckle a random stranger that just so happened to look like your classmate.

“We should get going! I think the class is still looking for you,” you laugh lightheartedly, only quickly feigning a cough when your classmate doesn’t laugh as well.

Though he would rather die than admit it, he was glad it was you who found him. If the others had found him first, he would’ve been in a sour mood (they would’ve ruined his inspiration).

It wasn’t like he thought highly of you, it was mere coincidence that Rohan didn’t find you as annoying as the others. 

He tolerated you, yes; but enjoyed your presence? No. 

He’d commend you for not asking him annoying questions like “Why is she naked?” Or “Did you draw that?” (as if the pencil wasn’t in Rohan's hand), but that was the extent of his praise.

You two begin your descent to the meeting place, eyes scanning the paintings on the wall.

“How did you know I’d be in that section?” Rohan asks, realizing that it was a good 20 minutes away from the meeting site.

“Ah, I had a hunch,” you say, sticking up your ring finger playfully. You both quicken your pace at the sight of familiar uniforms.

“You didn’t see him? Are you sure? The bus will be here in abou— hey, there he is!” The teacher waves at the both of you, signalling for you to run faster. 

He beams a toothy smile at Rohan, “Kishibe, try not to get lost next time, alright?”

Rohan crosses his arms and rolls his eyes at the teacher's hearty chuckles. He shifts over closer to you without you noticing.

August 16th, 1995

“No.” 

“Come on! Why?! Don’t be such a downer.” 

The two boys walk along the sidewalk, one of them noticeably quickening his pace. 

“You’re never out! Look— your complexion is getting paler and paler with each day! That can’t be healthy!”

“I don’t care! At least I don’t have that whack-o pompadour hair of yours!”

The pompadour bearing teen places a hand over where his heart is, “That’s too far, bro...” he then smoothes out his brown tufts of hair. 

Rohan rolls his eyes at the action, but subconsciously fixes his headband.

“I’ll forgive your hair comment if you come with! It’ll be a double date then. Please!”

“I’m busy all week! Do you seriously think I have time for your foolishness? Carnivals are filled to the brim with sweaty people! And bad food—“ Rohan side steps his way towards his house. 

He prepares to slam the door, spitting with venom, “Talk to me when you grow up.”

With no patience left, Taiki yells out your name. Rohan’s eyebrows furrow, and he makes a move to cover the other boy's mouth with his palm.

“Shut—! Shut up, idiot! What are you doing!?”

“I know you like them! They’ll be there— Come on dude—!” The brunette says, his voice muffled. Rohan grimaces and removes his hands from Taiki’s face, insistently wiping his hands on his trousers.

“You—! You think I like them?! You really don’t have anything better to do!” Rohan slams his door, promptly shutting the brown haired male up. Taiki huffs from behind the slab of wood.

Rohan touches a finger against his cheek, the warmth fighting the natural chill in his fingertips.

His cheeks burn a bright red, and not just because he was pissed off. 

Was he that easy to read? How obvious was it?!

“Rohannnnnn.... Please, man! I don’t wanna be alone.”

The artist grumbles to himself. A dull thump can be heard from the other side of the door. Rohan assumes it’s the other boy's forehead meeting the wood.

Five seconds pass, and he thinks that Taiki has finally taken the hint and given up. Well, until he hears another thump. Then another. Then another— 

‘This stupid…’ He rolls his eyes, checking his Gucci watch. Taiki had pulled shit like this before, and his whines usually ended before passing 20 seconds. 

This time, Taiki’s resolve felt… stronger. It had now been 26 seconds . That scared Rohan.

“Oh great Kishibe, please just wingman me.”

Rohan curses because he can hear Taiki whimpering. He thinks for a moment. 

Well. It was just a day, anyways. It’s not like you were going to propose to him. 

He’ll just be there to chaperone, merely babysit . Because if he doesn’t, who will?

Yes. He was only doing what any tasteful friend would do.

Wingman, or whatever.

“Fine!” Rohan barks, “I’ll go. Only because you’re whining like a dog.” 

He thinks a vein has exploded in his temple upon the excited cheers outside his door. If Taiki’s insistent banging on his door didn’t wake his grandmother up, then surely this did.

“You’re the best, man! I’ll totes freebie you with cotton candy there, or something!”

His plans for a quiet week are sabotaged.

August 19th, 1995

‘Stupid. Stupid Taiki , stupid Mika , stupid double date—!’ Rohan grits his teeth as he speeds his motorcycle up. 

He can see half of the Ferris wheel in his view, the obnoxious brightly coloured lights only serving to put him off even more.

With enough convincing from himself not to turn around and speed back home, he finally parks his motorcycle and dusts off his outfit (black pants, a prune coloured turtleneck, and a green bomber jacket.)

Rohan marches his way into the fair, paying for his wristband and keeping his sharp eyes out for any idiot with a pompadour.

He’s preoccupied with the sketchbook-bag beneath his arm when he hears an obnoxious calling.

“Hey, there he is!” 

Rohan feels a headache grow at the sight of his idiot friend rushing over. Then it stops.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the butterflies in his stomach fluttered harder than ever once he caught sight of you among the group.

“Ah, Rohan!” 

Alright. Maybe he took a liking to you. Maybe he has a small bit of a crush on you. But it’s not like he loved you. 

He’s had crushes before (although if he were to be honest, it was forced for art inspiration.) 

He’s not going to be flustered just because you were maybe a little bit attractive to him. 

No. Not one bit. 

Rohan keeps his mouth shut and looks away. He shifts his feet just so that they are pointed away from you (He’d read in a book once that when someone had a crush, their feet would point towards the person's direction.)

Mika loops her arms in with Taiki, her blonde curls of hair bouncing with each movement she made. 

“Oh? Is Rohan in a grumpy mood?” Mika pouts, her voice soft as she tilts her head on Taiki’s shoulder.

The brunette feigns an over exaggerated frown and turns to you, “Totes… you know how mean Rohan was to me when I asked him to come with?” 

Rohan’s eyes widened. “Oi, oi! It's a given I was ‘mean’ to you, you were basically whining on my door frame!”

He glances at you and catches a worried look on your face. You begin to stammer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t wanna come— I asked Taiki to ask you since I forgot to tell you during school, and I don’t know where you live.”

Rohan feels a warmth climbing up his neck all the way to his cheeks. He glares at the brunette, who promptly looks away.

“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” He mutters low enough so that hopefully it’s inaudible to you. 

Taiki scratches the back of his neck, coughing in embarrassment, “I wanted to see how much of a good friend you were, bro…”

There is very, very obvious murderous intent in the air (all coming from Rohan.)

You clap your hands together in an attempt to fight the tension.

“L-let’s get going!”

“What?”

“Sorry, sorry. I’d just remembered there was a birthday party today for my older cousin.”

“Older cousin? Mika, you don’t have an older cousin?“

“Nope.”

You can barely manage a confused noise as Mika shoves her spare tickets into your hands.

She looks into your eyes with a stare and a smile you only knew to fear after 11 years of friendship.

Oh god. 

“Have fun, buy something nice with these,” she muses off handedly before skipping away to the parking lot.

The four of you had only been to two rides before she suddenly halted and decided to go to her imaginary older cousin's birthday party (she’s been the eldest cousin her whole life, so how she thought that would slip past you, you didn’t know.)

“Well, we haven’t been to the spinny thing yet,” Taiki points at a UFO at the back, “Should we go there?”

You and Rohan look at eachother then at Taiki. The brunette purses his lips, scratching the back of his head as if to activate his brain cells. If neither you or Rohan take the lead, then this plan would not work out. “Let’s head over then—“

A distinctive ringtone sounds from his pocket. With a nervous curse, he pulls the phone out and answers.

He clears his throat, “Yo, Mik— MOM. Mom. Yo what’s up mom?” 

A thin layer of sweat begins to glisten on Taiki’s face as he stays on the phone. The stares coming from you and Rohan don’t help his growing nervousness.

“Aghhh the dishes? I can’t believe I forgot about them!”

The high pitched voice coming from Taiki’s phone is definitely not his mom’s. He laughs nervously.

“Yeah… Yup, I’ll be home in an hour— twenty minutes! No? Soon?” Something catches Taiki’s eyes among the bushes behind the two of you. 

“Right now?” 

Rohan raises a brow, obviously not buying Taikis bullcrap. He crosses his arms, a bit (very) offended that Taiki would think that he was stupid enough to believe in whatever circus stunt this was.

He nods his head nonetheless, his eyes closed as Taiki covers the microphone on the phone and speaks, “Hey guys, I forgot to do the dishes and now my moms kinda…”

He makes a face, bordering on a cringe and a grimace.

The artist beside you reaches over for the others’ phone, “Let me talk to her, Taiki. I’m sure we can reason with her. It is a free day for you, is it not?”

The brunette jumps back, sweat visible on his forehead as he rambles, “It was, now it isn’t! You know how it is with mom!” 

Taiki finger guns, a forced laugh escaping his shaky lips. Neither of you finger guns back. 

With only a wave goodbye from you, the boy runs off, leaving you and Rohan alone.

You stare down at your feet, soles of your shoes pressing pebbles onto rough concrete and making chalk-like lines. Rohan stares at you through his green lashes.

“I don’t suppose you have any other businesses today as well?” He grumbles, sneer still fresh on his face. You choke back a gasp from the suddenness of the question. 

“Ah! No— no I don’t. I can go home if you have something today, though—“ “No need, I don’t have anything today.” 

Silence. You puff out your cheeks trying to think of something to say, looking up for any conversation starters. The spinning UFO catches your eye.

“Oh yeah, the UFO! I haven’t been in one for years!” You tug at his forest-green bomber jacket, a big grin on your face. Rohan acts nonchalant as he strides over to the ride with you, acting as if deep down his stomach wasn’t doing backflips.

Luckily the line was near nonexistent, granting the two of you no wait time as you climb into the disc. You press your back against the sliding black slate, heart thumping in your chest.

The last time you’d gone in one was when you were 11, and the only thing you remembered was how giddy it made you feel when it violently spun. Judging from the look on Rohan's face, it seemed he had never been inside the spinning ride before (a look of nonchalance. Carelessness.)

Before you can question him, the room begins to spin. The artist beside you chokes back a gasp, clenching his teeth as the spinning grows faster and faster. You’re distracted, the sudden turning causing you to squeal.

You couldn’t hide the big smile on your face, as it was like your insides had turned to birds. It’s a strange thing to say, but the ride felt funny, almost tickled? There was a pressure pressing up against you from the momentum.

The black slates started to slide, and the excited screams from the other people in the ride began to grow louder.

Rohan feels his heart stop. He tries to look at you, but there’s a pressure preventing him from doing so. 

He can’t pass out— no, he won’t pass out. Not when you’re right beside him!

You hear mumbling, clearly directed to you though it’s drowned out from the screams and the loud carnival music outside.

“Rohan, did you say something—?” 

His eyes are closed, head tilted to the side with his lips slightly parted. If it weren’t from the force of the spinning ride, you were sure Rohan would’ve been out limp on the floor. Instead, he’s out limp on the black slate.

“Wow. All the rides we’ve been through, and you passed out on what, five— no, six of them.”

You plop him down onto a bright red stool, resting his elbows against the matching coloured round table.

The two of you had just been out of the teacups ride. You suggested that maybe Rohan should sit this one out, as he seemed to deal with a bit of motion sickness, but he insisted he get on with you.

“You’re real stubborn, dummy,” you grumble beneath your breath.

Rohan cradles his head in his hands, suppressing a groan. He massages his temples, not seeing the worried stare you shot at him. 

You stand up promptly from the table you managed to carry Rohan to, making a beeline towards the food stand. 

Once the dots finally stopped floating around in his eyes, Rohan lifts his head up and is greeted by a tray carrying a greasy bag, accompanied by a vanilla milkshake. On your side of the table is a soft serve on the verge of melting.

You were already gulping down your own shake, looking to the right, too preoccupied with the carnivals' liveliness to notice Rohan’s staring. 

A part of him wants to reach out and move a stray hair away from your face, while the other half bashes that thought down brutally, as if it were a bored teenager at the local arcade abusing the whack-a-mole game.

Rohan slides the shake towards him and takes a sip.

He nearly flinches from how sugary it is. The actual shake was so sweet, it made the whipped cream on top taste bland. 

Rohan kind of hates it, so much so that he contemplates dumping the drink right onto the concrete beside him.

… He doesn’t, though. 

“It’s so sweet,” he grumbles, the straw still in his mouth. You turn your eyes towards him, straw also centred between your lips.

“Mhm! It’s good, isn’t it?” You grin, taking another chug of your slush. He only shrugs.

You grab a fry from the inside the grease-stained bag. 

Shuffling your icecream closer towards yourself, you swipe the side of the fry into the cold cream, popping it into your mouth after. 

You’re midway chewing when you notice Rohan's sharp eyes observing you. He holds back a snicker.

“... Weird.” “Hey! Don't trash it until you try it! It’s actually pretty good…” 

You nudge the tray in his direction. 

He raises his eyebrows. You nod towards the fries.

With a roll of his eyes, he shuffles through the paper bag. He carefully dips a fry into the ice cream, taking a small bite after examining it.

Rohan hides his mouth behind his hand as he chews. The flavour was… oddly satisfying? He expected a mess of grease and an overpowering taste of sugar, as if the two flavours would bash and collide with each other like orange juice and toothpaste. It wasn’t at all like that.

The crisp of the fry meshed with the ice cream well.

To his surprise, it tasted… 

“Good?”

He flickers his green pupils at you, his thinking screeching to a halt from your interruption. He buries his lips deeper into his hand.

“Hey, don’t hide that smile away from me, Rohan! It tastes good, doesn’t it?” You exclaimed, snickering with triumph, behaviour all too familiar to a certain pompadour haired idiot.

He furrows his brows. It used to be a matter of taste, but now it’s a matter of pride. He can’t let you know he enjoyed your weird little food combo. 

“... It doesn’t taste good,” Rohan fights to strengthen his poker face, moving his hand away so that you could see his ‘frown.’

“Tastes weird, like I said.”

You puff out your cheeks, sighing, “Geniuses are never understood in their time…” 

You feign a pout before chuckling lightheartedly.

He ignores the little flip his heart does at that laugh. He shoves all of his thoughts of wanting to hear that melodic sound again before he embarrasses himself further. 

Rohan stands abruptly, throwing his cup in the bin before walking in the direction of the rides. You rise up to follow too, but remember your food. 

You chuck the bag of fries into your backpack and suck the remnants of your milkshake as if your life depended on it, then run to the male.

“Don’t leave like that!” You sputter, palms on your knees as you regain your breath.

“Mm, should’ve eaten faster,” he says, his pencil out and moving almost frantically. Rohans face is relaxed, only his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he sketches the tinier details of the Ferris wheel.

You look up, amazed at how fast yet intricately he drew. It’s as if someone had taken a picture of the ride and placed some kind of black and white filter on it.

His signature is a piece of art in itself, the “Kishibe Rohan” curling majestically like the golden trimmings of a fine wooden cabinet. It looks perfect. 

“If you want, we can go up and you can see everything from the top.” He places a thoughtful finger on his chin from your offer. 

Rohan nods his head lightly, holding back a smile (and a yelp) when you don’t even think for a second before grabbing his hand to rush over to the line.  The seat beneath him is cool, and he flinches a little when he places his warmer hand on it. You shiver a little bit as well at the coldness of the metal. 

The sun had begun its way down slowly, the clouds turning an orange-yellow.

The employee locks the door, and your capsule begins to move. You make a quip about Rohan's motion sickness that he promptly scoffs at. 

His arms are crossed as he leans back onto the corner, rolling his eyes at you teasing.

“Hmmm, I don’t wanna have to carry you agai— hey, look, we’re near the top!” 

You let out a breath of amazement, everything felt so small, like the little miniatures in glass cases at the mall. You wanted to pick each stand up and rearrange it, over and over.

Rohan maps out the whole carnival, wondering if this would do his personal studies in scenery any good. 

“As a kid, I used to try and go on the Ferris wheel all the time,” you admit quietly, a nostalgic smile on your face.

“How come?” He questions, not too bothered by light conversation.

“I was told that ghosts would appear beside me on here.” You keep your eyes focused on those below in the meantime, attention flickering from person to person.

His interest is peaked. “Ghosts?” Rohan raises an eyebrow, his pupils only flickering to you for a millisecond. This could be an interesting story to add onto his plot.

You hum as a yes and continue. “My aunt said if I closed my eyes and held my breath, they would come and talk to whoever was on with me. They were nice ghosts, apparently.”

“My relatives told me the ghosts said I’d live a long, happy life—“ you breathe out a bored sigh, “That was cool and all, yeah, but I wanted to talk to one myself.”

“Why’d you want to encounter one so badly?”

“Dunno. Bragging rights?”

Your car was just about to reach the top when Rohan speaks once more, “Did you ever actually see one?” He asks, a hand on his cheek. 

You hum in response, “No, but I think I felt one beside me before.” 

You bring a bashful hand to scratch the back of your neck, muttering, “But then again, I was like, what, five? So it was probably the wind, or one of my cousins playing a trick.” 

Pulling away from the carts window, you shut your eyes, taking in the deepest breath you could. The faint smell of dewy grass and fresh pretzels waft up your senses.

The capsule reaches its peak, stopping its movement the same way it did with the others. Rohan pulls back as well and turns his gaze towards you.

The artist's lips part in awe. The burst of colour behind you reminds him of that very same painting he saw at the museum that cold winter day.

The yellow-orange hues in the sky blend in with the light blue perfectly, the wispy clouds behind you looking as if they were carefully brushed on by the skilled hands of an oil painter.

Everything felt perfect at that moment. The way the wind blew lightly in your favour, how the drifting sunlight tinted your skin with an ethereal glow. Not to mention how serene and peaceful you looked with your eyes shut. 

He hopes this isn’t the last time he sees that expression.

Rohan's hands itch for his sketchbook, but you open your eyes before he can open the book.

You see his eyes trained on you as the golden sun from behind him shines. A burst of wind messes with his hair, ruffling it in a way that made him look so much cuter (Mika was confused whenever you’d use that word to describe Rohan) than he usually was.

You speak out shyly, starting to get flustered at his staring, “Is there something on my face?”

Rohan flinches, embarrassed. He shakes his head and looks away to the side, attempting to fight the flush growing on his cheeks. 

The cart begins its descent downwards. You both exit the ride, admittedly bashful around the other.

“It’s getting late, isn’t it? Should we go on one more ride—“ 

Your sentence cuts short as the fast-talking of a game attendant catches your attention. A blue shark plushie, on the verge of exploding from stuffing, stares at you with its beady eyes from the booth.

It’s practically begging you closer with its damned stubby little triangle fins.

Before Rohan can ask you what you’re looking at, you’re already too preoccupied with your future stuffed animal. 

You stand at the booth, not noticing Rohan take place beside you as you await the woman’s words. She smiles at you, explaining the rules of the game. 

“Just throw the ball at the bottles. You’ll have to take all 16 of the bottles down here for this little guy.” She pats the stuffed sharks head before handing you three baseballs.

Rohan smirks. It’s embarrassingly easy. Even a toddler could do it if they tried hard enough. 

He thinks— no, knows you’ll make it. He’s seen you play dodgeball before (accidentally hit his face with a few, too), and you were unstoppable.

Taking a step back, you get into position. You throw your arm back, and then—

“Sorry, you didn’t get enough bottles to get the Shark. You did score enough for this dapper little dude, though!” She hands you a smaller, cyan coloured stuffed penguin. 

You squish the plushie in your hands. Not bad. Maybe it could grow on you. 

Rohan clicks his tongue beside you. Handing the woman his own money, he smirks back at you with a smug smile.

She hands him the baseballs.

“You couldn’t even get just 8 more! Watch me get all of them in a heartbeat!”

Closing one eye, he points the ball towards the bottles’ direction.

“Sorry sir, that’s still a few bottles beneath the requirements! Here you go.” She hands Rohan a penguin identical to yours, minus the fact that it was a light navy colour.

It’s your turn to smirk at him, which he promptly rolls his eyes at. 

You both begin walking away from the stand.

“Hmmm… What did you say again? ‘Watch me get all of them in a heartbeat’?”

“It was rigged anyways! I only did that so you wouldn’t feel embarrassed about your lack of upper body strength,” he boasts, squishing the plushie beneath the same arm holding his sketchbook-bag thing.

You feel a light gust of wind blow against you, you in return trying to hold back a shiver. Your palms rub against rising goosebumps. Rohan notices, and leads the two of you to a bench.

The sun had gone down long before the two of you went to pursue your stuffed friend, painting the sky a dark indigo. It was only now that your adrenaline rush calmed down that you felt just how cold it was. 

The male beside you had been eyeing your outfit the second he saw you, and he knew it was no good for the night time air.

He places the stuffed animal and sketchbook down on the seat before shrugging off his jacket and offering it in your direction. 

You conceal an excited smile.

“Woah! You’re giving me your jacket? If I tell anyone about this, no one will believe me!” You tease, slipping on the forest green puffer jacket. He’s left in his thin prune-coloured turtle neck sweater.

Rohan massages his temple in annoyance. “It’s getting late… You have a curfew, don’t you?” He asks, fingering the motorcycle keys in the pocket of his black pants.

The street lamp provides dim lighting on the two of you, flickering everyone once in a while and leaving you two in darkness aside from the carnivals' vibrant colours. 

You nod, eyeing the time on your flip phone. 7:37 pm .

“Yeah, someone’s picking me up soon, though. I just gotta call,” you say, pushing the numbers down to ring the home phone.

He could still hear the obnoxiously loud screaming from people riding on the roller coaster, but weirdly, the silence between you two felt louder.

Rohan stands there awkwardly, penguin now in his arm with his sketchbook clamped between the other. There’s a beep, and he turns away to give you and your phone privacy.

Instead of hearing a human voice on the other end of the line, he overhears an automated recording.

This happens again a few times. The watch on his wrist reads 7:45 the last time he hears the “dial again” message.

You take a nervous breath in, unintentionally catching the faintest bit of mint cologne from Rohan’s jacket. It smells like it’s from some high-end brand.

“Are they not picking up?”

“No— I’ve tried calling back a few times now.” 

You stand up and begin taking off his jacket, the annoyed frown on your face poorly hidden. “I’ll just take the bus. See you around, Ro—“

Before you can get the sleeves off, he slides it back onto your shoulders. 

He’s trying to control his face to remain impassive, uncaring. “I’ll drive you home. My motorcycle has room, anyways,” he grumbled, all but smooth about it.

“Really? You don’t have to if you don’t want to!” 

“It’s fine.”

He begins walking towards the parking lot. Your quickening footsteps behind him brings a small smile to his face.

“It’s not embarrassing for you?” He hears a small mutter from your direction. Rohan quickly shakes his head, albeit a bit too expressively for his tastes. 

“I’d worry if you had to wait,” he admits. 

Truly, he didn’t want you to be in trouble. The area of the fair was in no way dangerous, but it was still late in the evening. Even just the thought that there could be a chance of danger rattled him.

Rohan snaps out of his thinking once he hears a flustered “Oh” come from you.

“Because you’d look like an idiot. I imagine some people from our school would see you just standing there, looking like a lost child,” he desperately tries to backtrack, but you’ve already heard enough.

Rohan coughs, trying to hide his embarrassment. You’re not doing too well off yourself, the deep rouge in your cheeks hidden by the dim lighting. 

He speedwalks toward the bike and practically plants himself onto the seat. He hands you the plushie.

“Just hop on already. We might get caught in some traffic.”

You do so, awkwardly shuffling on the seat, trying your best to stay balanced without having to hold on to him. 

He starts the bike and begins to move. 

A yelp escapes your lips as you nearly fall off, only grabbing onto him in time before you could kiss the concrete.

“Oi, hold onto me, dumbass!” He stops the bike and turns his head.

You cover your face with the plushies in embarrassment, “I’ve never been on one of these things before, so I wouldn’t know, stupid!”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. He knew it would have to come to this.

“Alright,” he mutters, “Put your arms here,” he instructs, and you follow along. 

With your arms now wrapped around his torso, Rohan prays that you can’t feel the intense drumming in his chest.

He adjusts your arms so that they sit at the curve on his waist. He can feel your light breathing fan against the back of his shoulder.

You tighten your hold on him, only the two stuffed animals between you two.

“Are you alright now? You’re not gonna fall?” 

With a nod from your head, he starts the motorcycle up once more.

You mentally thank the wind for cooling down your face. Had it not been for the constant breeze, you were sure you’d been sweating bullets.

Rohan feels the same way. He would feel you pull him closer with every turn he took, and the more you did so, the more panicked he became inside. 

He stops at a red light, quickly shaking off his wrists to relieve his sweaty palms. You let go of him to make sure the plushies stay intact, and won’t fall off.

You brush stray hair from your forehead.

“... I’m sorry. You really didn’t have to, Rohan.”

“The earliest bus was supposed to come at around nine, and you could’ve gotten into trouble while waiting for it to arrive. It’s just basic decency.”

“Right…”

There was a beat of silence before cars started pulling up to the lane beside yours. Just the two of you and the vibrant fluorescent lights from the shops “Closed” neon signs.

Rohan's breath hitches when you wrap your arms around his waist as the traffic light turns green. He starts the motorcycle up once more.

“Thank you, Rohan,” you murmured lowly, resting the side of your face against his shoulder. You close your eyes as the wind begins picking up speed.

He swallows thickly, then tightening his jaw. Rohan tries not to lean into your touch as he strictly keeps his attention on the road ahead.

The rest of the ride is silent.

“We turn here, right?” He speaks up after a long, uninterrupted peace. You lift your head up from his shoulder and check your surroundings, “Ah, yes!”

“Turn here, and just a couple of blocks more— here!” You chirp up from behind. 

He slows the motorcycle down to a complete stop, trying not to let out a disappointed huff as you unraveled yourself from his body. 

Hopping off his vehicle, you brush both his and your plushie down before handing him his penguin.

You take off his jacket and hand it over to him. He slips it on in a rush, preparing to ride off with his penguin zipped up underneath his jacket.

“Rohan,” you exclaim, catching the males attention. He looks up at you in slight surprise.

You smile at him, “Thank you again… for the ride and today. It was really fun. We should hang out again.” 

Rohan doesn’t know how to respond. He can feel the butterflies bouncing around in his stomach. He stares up at you in awe, amazed at how the porch light illuminated your form.

Hang out again.

Those words ring in Rohan's ears like a symphony.

He stares at you in silence for a good 30 seconds trying to process your words fully.

Again? Just the two of you, or with Taiki and Mina? They were practically gone the whole day today, but what did you mean? Was this your way of asking him out on a date? Does this mean you like him back?!

Your eyebrows slant in concern for the artist. You begin to ponder whether you said something wrong the longer he stayed frozen.

It dawns on him too late that you’ve probably been waiting for a response. Rohan hesitates to open his mouth. 

What’s he supposed to say? What would be the right option!? He’s just stared at you for— what, a full minute?—  without saying anything! How is he supposed to come back from this?!

Rohan blinks.

“Okay.” He responds.

A tiny piece of him shatters. 

As if a robot had taken control of his body, he turns his attention to the road and speeds off, leaving you in a confused daze.

He feels a part of him shrivel up and die from embarrassment as he processes what he just did. The cold wind only serves as a cruel reminder.

What kind of response was that?!

When he knocks on the door, face red and frozen into a look of horror, his grandmother asks if he hit his head on anything as she rushes him in.

“Did you witness a crash?” She asks, checking his forehead for his temperature.

He shakes his head, switching to autopilot as he makes his way toward his room. The poor stuffed penguin is just a slight squeeze away from exploding in his grasp as he shut the door to his room.

He collapses onto his bed, and screams into his pillow.