#my works.ll

[lliminall]

(Yan) “Chrollo, why were you crying before? ….Are you alright?”

tags: gn reader, yandere, chrollo being big sad and a little bit unhinged

In the dark shadow of the room, you could almost convince yourself that Chrollo is praying as he glances up at you. Sat hunched on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded against his forehead as his dark eyes open to meet yours. It would be a funny thought, if it wasn’t so unsettling to see a man of his composure unraveling before you.

For a moment he says nothing, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have said anything about it at all. If you should have stayed in the bathroom and pretended to busy yourself in the shower for another half hour. It feels almost violative to witness him in this state. Your hand itches to flip the switch of the bathroom light, plunge the room into darkness and wipe the image of that expression from your mind.

Chrollo stands and crosses the room in just a few short steps. His hands find rest on the curves of your cheeks, thumbs meandering along the lines of your face.

“I’ve lost someone very important to me,” he says. “Someone I should have been able to protect.”

His eyes are sad, too sad for a man of his kind. It’s wrong on his face, wrong on his body, for someone who’s caused so much grief to be crumbling under the weight of it himself.

“One of your friends again?” you ask.

“Yes,” Chrollo answers with a sad smile. “One of my oldest friends. And there is someone on this boat who is determined to take more from me.”

Your stomach churns nauseatingly. You aren’t sure if it’s the motion of the sea or the man in front of you causing it. Chrollo pulls you into his body, pressing his forehead against yours. He looks at you like he wants to absorb you through his skin. Catalog every detail, every sight, sound, and touch of you in the library of his mind. It feels too much like he’s bracing to lose it. To lose you.

“I see now that I’ve been an idiot,” he says. “Arrogant. An arrogant fool. I didn’t understand how close I was to losing all of you.”

Nausea. Cold, creeping nausea. You want him to drop this unfamiliar act, to become the strong and unwavering force he has always been to you. He can’t be weak. He’s made himself into the only support you have, and he can’t be weak now.

Something sharpens in his gaze.

“But I won’t make the same mistake again. I’ve been weak before, in a long distant past. Did you know that?” He smiles at you as you shake your head. “No, and I won’t be again, now or any time in our future.”

His hands tighten around your face.

“I will be anything, become anything, do anything it takes to keep what belongs to me.”

Nausea. Nausea. Your hands press against his chest in a weak attempt to put space between yourself and this man you don’t recognize. He can’t be this now. Fraying at the ends. He has to be your only constant. Your strong and unbroken constant.

At the pressure on his chest, Chrollo seems to find himself again. The edge in his eyes softens and he’s looking at you again like you’re his favorite dog, shivering while the thunder rages just outside your shelter. Firm hands press your face into the warmth of his chest.

“Chrollo, please. You’re scaring me.” The tremble of your voice muffles into the fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t be afraid, love,” he says. “Nothing is going to to take you from me. And if he tries to—“ his breath catches with a wave of emotion. The fingers in your hair tighten.

The air around you becomes thick with something powerful and suffocating, something cold and cruel that makes your joints lock and skin prickle. It fades as quickly as it comes, and Chrollo breathes slowly, deeply beside you. His hand caresses your hair in slow strokes, an imitation of comfort that does more to ground himself than to sooth you.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t cause you to worry about this.” Warm lips press into the crown of your head before he tugs you away from his body to look into your eyes. “You’re safe with me. You always are.”

There’s a knock on the door. He leaves you to turn and pluck his coat from the bed, taking the warmth of his body with him, and you are left standing in the chill of the room with cold skin and damp hair.

“I’ll only be gone a moment,” he says. “Dry yourself off quickly. We’ll be moving rooms again tonight.”

He steps into the hallway where another voice greets him, and the door clicks shut behind him.

Your hair is dripping onto the tile beneath your feet. Chrollo’s voice fades into the depths of the hallway, further, further, until it’s gone.

You lock the door with shaking hands.

#chrollo smuggling reader onto the black whale in one of those jumbo doggy carriers #no sir this is my emotional support kidnapping victim #how else will I emotionally recover from the deaths of my friends if I can’t go home and mope to her every time my mortal enemy strikes #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo #yandere chrollo #hxh x reader #chrollo imagine #yandere chrollo imagine #yandere hxh x reader #my works.ll #chrollo.ll #hxh.ll #asks.ll

[lliminall]

libera me, dies irae, requiem aeternam

[yandere!GER x reader x yandere!giorno]

word count: 1.8k

tags: fem reader, yandere, ignoring canon to make my silly little stories cooler, read a bunch of those poetry tiktok slideshows beforehand and now I think I can write like richard siken or something

In the dream, you wake up in the void. It’s the only dream there is, ever since he brought you here. The dream always begins the same.

There is nothing in the void. Not a body for you to kick and flail with, not a voice for you to call out. There is only you, floating, and the prickling sensation of something watching you all the while.

You learn to accept it. The emptiness. You learn to tell yourself that you’re only dreaming, that it will pass as it does every other time, that you can simply ignore the clawing, gnawing feeling that you are being watched with the intensity of a predator stalking the sole object of it’s attention. It works, even as you begin to hear echoing whispers of words you can’t quite make out.

The voice is distantly familiar, the smooth tenor being one that you hear nearly every day, since he brought you here. If it would just come closer, speak a bit more clearly, maybe you could finally make out the words it speaks to you. Maybe they would be familiar, too.

You learn to manage, in the void of the dream that’s always the same, until the night it changes.

When you wake in the dream, you are in his bed, in the room he brought you to. It’s quiet, dark, and when you turn to face the other side of the bed, he isn’t there (you don’t like to say his name). You think you’re awake, really awake, until you glance out the window and see that it’s black outside. Not black with the night. Not black in the absence of light. Black in the absence of anything.

Your skin prickles. You are being watched.

You roll back onto your side quickly and the sound of rustling sheets is the only noise in a room far too quiet. There is something in the room with you, a shape in the shadows at the far end, rigid and unmoving. Your eyes strain to adjust to the darkness. At the top of its form, where its head must be, two eyes stare back at you, wide and unblinking and nearly glowing. Blood rushes through your ears. Your body is frozen, and you cannot look away. The eyes pin you where you lay.

“You are always afraid,” it begins in the familiar voice, “when we meet.”

Your tongue is heavy in your throat. You couldn’t respond even if you knew what to say. The figure begins to move, the eyes and the blurry shape of its body stalking slowly along the lines of the wall. It’s stays within the darkest throws of shadow, approaching you as if you would bolt at the slightest startling movement. Maybe you would, if there was anywhere to go. If you could feel your fear-stricken legs under the sheets.

“You have no need to fear me,” it says. It’s mechanical voice seems to soften. “I could never harm you, as my user could never bear to cause you harm.”

White-knuckled fingers clutch the sheets to your chest, and you take a long steadying breath as you command your body to move, speak, anything.

“Wh-who-“ your halting voice begins. “Who are you?”

The figure comes to a stop across from your bed. It regards you quietly for a moment, it’s unblinking eyes flitting over your body, your fists, your face. How helpless you must look below it.

“I will never harm you,” it says, it’s voice hardened and determined. It’s making a promise to you. A vow. “I will never leave you. My devotion to you will never wane.”

It takes a step toward you and your fingers lock again. It stops before you by the bed.

“There is nothing and no one that can take you from me, or from my user.”

It leans over your body and in the dim light of the room you can finally make out its face. Its smooth, hardened features. The crown of its head. The arrow shape pressed into its brow and its piercing, doll-like eyes. A mimicry of a human being. Something only half-way there.

There is no heat coming from its skin, you realize as it nearly cages you in. There is no warmth, no coldness, as if it occupies no space at all.

“In every eventuality, in all of life’s diverging paths, I will keep my promises to you.” It raises a pale hand to your face, and you realize that you’re crying at it wipes a tear from your cheek with a single finger. Not warm. Not cold. Not quite there.

“You will understand,” it says, in a voice that’s softer somehow. “In time, you’ll come to understand why we do what we must. I’ll see to it.”

A trembling breath rattles through your chest. It raises its hand in front of your face and you see that there’s a flower between its fingers, small and delicate. It tucks the bloom into the folds of your hair.

“I will see to it. No matter how many times it takes.”

—

The tea in your cup is getting cold. The china has been switched out today for something more colorful and ornate. To match the coming spring season, you suppose. He always is attentive like that (you don’t like to say his name).

“Should I have another drink brought out for you?” he asks. His voice registers somewhere in the back of your mind. Smooth tenor. Not mechanic. Familiar, in more ways than one now.

You take a steadying breath. You remember waking up in his bed this morning. You remember feeling the residual warmth of his body on the sheets he had just left. You remember the sunlight filtering through the curtains and onto your skin.

You remember picking flower petals out of your hair and gagging over the sink. You’re awake. Not asleep. Not in the dream. Awake.

His hand slides into your peripheral and you hear the soft clinking of a knife as he spreads jam onto a pastry for you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks.

The sunlight is warm on your skin. The scent of his coffee is light in the air. His hand dips into your view again to set the pastry onto your plate. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.

In the back of your mind you register his sigh. His hand comes to rest tentatively over yours, and you finally give him the eye contact he wants (you don’t like to look at him. You don’t like to speak to him or be touched by him or sit in the parlor and have breakfast with him either, but he doesn’t always give you the choice).

“You can tell me if you’re having trouble sleeping,” he says. “You know I’ll help in any way that I can.”

His blonde hair sits in perfect curls against his face. He’s trying, you can tell, to school his expression into something relaxed and amicable, but you can also tell it’s taking more of a strain than he would like you to see. You are driving him mad with worry. You know, because his face is beginning to look a lot like yours. Sunken, dark-eyed, bleak.

“I’m fine,” you say, and move your hand to take the biscuit from your plate. You begin to eat, finally, and his shoulders seem to relax a bit.

“I’ll bring home a supplement for you. Some melatonin, perhaps,” he says. “And you can tell me if there’s anything else you need.”

His voice is too familiar. But his hand was warm on top of yours and there’s sunlight in the windows and food in your mouth. Awake, awake, awake.

“Thank you,” you say, and raise the beautiful cup to your mouth. Your tea has gone cold.

—

Giorno wakes late into the night with a tug on his soul. His stand is out, and up to something.

He rolls to his side to see the stand crouched low, eyes locked on his, it’s face close to yours and it’s fingers threaded through your hair. It isn’t the first time he’s caught it like this.

The stand pets your hair in long, affectionate strokes, and you don’t stir under its ministrations. You had been so good for him that evening, sitting quietly at the dinner table as he sorted through paperwork, tucking yourself into bed and accepting the melatonin gummies he handed to you without fuss. He knows you’re only being so cooperative because you don’t have the energy to put on a stubborn face anymore. You haven’t been sleeping well since he brought you here.

The medicine seems to have done it’s work and then some. Giorno can see lines imprinted in the skin where your cheek was pressed into your pillow. Your hair is splayed around your head in a mess of a halo, and you don’t stir as he props himself up an elbow to better look at you.

They sit in silence, he and his stand, watching your peaceful visage. It isn’t an expression they often have the privileging of seeing any other time.

Giorno is often struck with the sense that are things going on beyond his awareness. That his stand, powerful and intelligent in ways he doesn’t yet comprehend, is pulling strings he cannot see. Often, he is struck with the sense that his ultimate weapon is not as well under his control as it allows him to believe.

The stand removes its hand from your hair and looks at him. The hand trails lightly across the length of your body, curving over the lines of your shoulder, your waist, ruffling the fabric at your hip. It watches him expectantly, and Giorno’s fingers twitch.

The stand removes its hand and Giorno raises his own, guilty like a child reaching out for what’s been forbidden. He starts at your shoulder, smoothing the sleeve of your shirt and feeling emboldened when you don’t so much as breath in response. He flattens his hand against your warm skin, brushing down the dip of your waist, the hard line of your hips, the soft flesh of your belly. There are inches between his chest and your body. It’s the closest he’s ever been to holding you.

His heart swells with adoration, every little interaction a blessing that renews his devotion to you. He looks at his stand that has not broken its line of sight with him, and wordlessly they come to their constant understanding.

More than anything, he wants to keep you safe. More than anything, he wants you to understand that he loves you, and selfishly he wants your love in return.

Giorno lays down beside you, his arm draped over your form. He thumbs at the sliver of skin where your shirt has ridden up over your belly, and trusts that whatever his stand may be doing, whatever hidden things lie outside of his control for the time being, it’s all being done for their sake. It’s all being done for your sake.

He closes his eyes and leaves you under the watch of his unblinking Requiem.

#i just think he’s neat #yandere giorno x reader #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #yandere giorno #yandere giorno giovanna #jjba x reader #yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #giorno #giorno giovanna #giorno.ll #jjba.ll #my works.ll

[lliminall]

carino

[giorno giovanna/reader]

word count: 6.9k

tags: fem reader, NSFW (minors do not interact), giorno being smitten with you, fingering, teasing, giorno is older than you by about 10 years, sappy sweet sex for the birthday boy. giorno is charming but he’s also a bit of an intense weirdo and I wish we would talk about that more

It occurs to you, as your shoulder is clipped for the third time this night and you almost spill your drink again, that you should learn to get more comfortable with saying the word no.

No, Chiara, I don’t want to go clubbing with you tonight. No, I’m tired and I’ve got work in the morning and I’m really not that thrilled at the thought of spending my Sunday night surrounded by people several tax brackets above me.

Ah, but as your drink sloshes in your glass and you bite back a sharp fuck, Chiara leans against you and laughs wholeheartedly, and you remember why you can’t ever seem to deny her anything. For all the trouble she gets you into, she’s your friend.

And she’s got a credit card with her dad’s name on it that she whips out every time she drags you to these upscale venues. That certainly helps.

“God, your clumsy tonight,” she laughs. “I told you not to wear those shoes.”

“What, and ruin this outfit with my sneakers?” you say, gesturing to your dress and heels. Around you people mingle and dance, wearing clothes from brands you see in fashion magazines. And here you are among them, in your bargain rack best.

“True,” Chiara concedes. “Well. At least you look pretty.”

Before you can thank her, her eyes blow wide and her shoulders go rigid as she catches sight of something behind you.

“Oh, god,” she says with dread, and you follow her line of sight to see none other than her father, seated at a table on the balcony overlooking the floor. She gasps.

“Oh, god,” she says, with even more dread, as her father catches sight of her and waves her over. She whips around to face you.

“Shit. I didn’t know he was going to be here,” she whispers.

“I mean, I guess old men are allowed to have fun, too,” you tease.

“No,” she hisses. “That’s not what he’s here for. Don’t you see who he’s sitting with?”

You peer over her shoulder to look at his table again. Through the crowd you can just make out bits and pieces of men in fine suits, a man in a bright red hat, and…someone else. Someone who certainly stands out from the rest with his long blonde curls and the low cut of his pink suit. The set of his shoulders and the hard line of his gaze as he converses with the man in the hat communicates clearly that he is someone important. Someone who’s used to being treated as important.

“The blonde?” you ask.

“The blonde?” Chiara repeats, incredulous. “The blonde? You don’t know who that is?”

You tilt your head at her. “Uhm, should I?”

She stares at you for a moment, thinking.

“Right,” she says. “I forget that you’re not…well. I guess you wouldn’t know. Just, uh, be polite. Really polite. Like you’re talking to the president.”

She takes your hand and begins to tug you to the stairs.

“Sorry, what?” you hiss. “Who’s up there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll just go up and say hi to my dad and leave.”

“Don’t worry about it?” you argue as she drags you up the stairs. “You can’t make a huge deal out of it and then tell me not to-“ your voice trails off as you realize you’re coming within earshot of the table, and Chiara’s face breaks into a grin as her father waves the both of you over.

“Ah, mia principessa,” he greets her as she leans over his chair to kiss his cheek. “How fortunate to see you here. You never visit your poor father these days.”

“Papá, I told you I’ve been busy,” Chiara groans.

Her father says your name warmly, and offers his hand for you to take. In the few times you’ve met him, Signore Alessi has only ever been kind to you. “A pleasure to see you, as always. I trust you’re keeping my daughter in line?”

“Trying to,” you say, letting him clasp your hand in his. “You know how it goes.”

“Indeed I do,” he says, and motions to two men who immediately pull out a chair for each of you.

“Oh, we don’t want to interrupt,” Chiara says, and tries to wave one of the men away.

“Nonsense,” her father replies. “I was just telling Don Giovanna about you, anyway.”

Chiara laughs nervously and takes her seat. You follow suit.

The seat you’re offered places you next to Chiara, and across from the man with the red hat. At the head of table, beside him, is who you assume is Don Giovanna.

“He had only the best to say of you,” Don Giovanna says with a low smile. Signore Alessi couldn’t look more pleased, and it occurs to you that this man, although younger than him, is clearly the one with the most influence at this table. The honorific title of Don only confirms that he’s someone of great social standing here. Your gut twists uncomfortably with anxiety; Chiara really has brought you out of your league with this one.

“Your father tells me you’re studying sociology?” Don Giovanna continues.

“Ah, yes,” Chiara stutters quickly.

“What would you like to do with it?”

“Social work,” she answers.

Don Giovanna nods his head. “That’s an admirable goal,” he says. “We could certainly use more compassionate workers in the social services.”

And because Chiara is apparently uncomfortable with the amount of attention on her, and because you’re the most convenient victim, she says, “thank you, Don Giovanna, but really I only chose to do it because of my friend.”

She motions to you, and the Don’s eyes, and every other pair of eyes at the table, move to watch you.

“She’s always there for me, even when I don’t deserve it, and she’s the kindest person I know. I just want to be able to become that kind of person for others.”

You think you could cry at hearing such genuine praise, if you couldn’t feel Chiara nudging your heel under the table to shake you out of your headspace. The table full of important men is awaiting your response (and, conveniently, no longer pinning that attention on Chiara).

You don’t know what to say. How do you even respond to such high praise? You don’t know what to say but you need to say something. Anything.

“Oh, uhm. Fuck.”

Ok, well. Anything but that.

The table bursts into laughter. Chiara covers her mouth and snorts as her father claps his hand to his chest in a full belly laugh. The man in the hat cracks the first grin you’ve seen from him yet, and even the Don is stifling a low smile. You don’t know whether you should be relieved or even more embarrassed.

“(Y/n) has been a wonderful friend to my girl,” Signore Alessi says, saving you from having to recover yourself with a response. “I’m grateful that my daughter has such a good influence in her life.”

As Signore Alessi goes on, gracefully rescuing you with a change of subject, the man in the hat catches your attention.

“Is that an accent I’m hearing?” he asks.

“That obvious?” you say sheepishly. “Yeah, I moved here a couple of years ago.”

“Your Italian’s very good, but I can always clock a foreigner,” he says. “And I’m also guessing this isn’t the type of place you usually hang out in.”

God, you’re going to kick Chiara for this later.

“Uh, no. I mean yes, you’re right. This wasn’t exactly my first choice for tonight.”

“Ooh, well don’t tell my boss that,” he says with a teasing lilt, nodding his head towards Don Giovanna, who is listening attentively to whatever story Signore Alessi is in the middle of. “He kind of owns the place.”

Beside you, Chiara sighs. “What she means to say is that she’s a homebody who doesn’t know how to party. Of course the club is lovely.” She kicks you under the table.

“Hey, no shame in that,” the man says. “Between you and me, I’d rather be at home with a beer right now, but duty calls.”

“Oh, are you in real estate like Signore Alessi?” you ask. The man stares at you for a beat. Chiara shifts in her seat beside you.

“Yeah,” he answers at last. “Real estate. We were just meeting about uh, property and shit, you know how it goes. Boring stuff.”

As Chiara is folding and unfolding her hands, you notice that her eyes have flicked to the Don, and you also notice, in your peripheral, that the Don’s eyes have flicked to you. There’s a sense that something is going over your head here, like being on the outside of a joke everyone else is in on, but as soon as the feeling appears the man in front of you is speaking again.

“Anyway! I haven’t even introduced myself. The name’s Mista.”

You offer him your own name, and he orders drinks for you and Chiara, insisting that you stay and chat with everyone. Their meeting has wrapped up anyway, and he would never turn down the company of two pretty girls, he explains.

Mista is easy to talk to. Easygoing and genial, he quickly has you relaxing into a friendly conversation. Your anxiety from before melts away as you tell him about your home country, about the ridiculous situations Chiara has dragged you into (which she responds to with a groan), and as he answers with a laugh and a funny story of his own. You are so wrapped up in conversation with them, that you pay no attention to the eyes watching you quietly from further down the table.

You’re laughing with a half-empty glass in your hand when Chiara tugs on your wrist and excuses you both from the table for a moment.

“Oh my god. He’s checking you out,” she whispers as she pulls you into the bathroom.

“Mista?” you ask, feeling your cheeks warm. “I mean, he’s sweet but-“

“No!” she interrupts, and leans into your space conspiratorially. “The Don.”

Hah. The Don.

“Ok. Sure,” you say.

“I’m not joking,” she says. “God, you’re so clueless. He’s been watching you this whole time.”

“I haven’t even spoken to him,” you say. “And he’s like, 10 years older than us, at least. And rich.”

“And he was watching you,” Chiara huffs. She says your name lowly and levels you with a stare. “I know these things. Remember the last time I caught someone checking you out?”

“The guy who showed up to our date with an ankle monitor on?”

“God, that’s not the point. I told you he was flirting and I was right.”

Sensing that this conversation is not about to go anywhere else, you concede with a halfhearted “ok” and push the door open to leave.

You push the door open into the Don’s face.

He catches it smoothly with one large hand and doesn’t flinch as you squawk.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there,” you squeak.

“No worries, Signorina,” he says. In the small space of the hallway, you notice that his voice is rich, masculine, smooth. “Is everything all right? Your friend seemed to be in a hurry.” Has he sounded like that all night? Has he been looking at you like that all night?

The hallway to the bathrooms is small, and the the placement of his hand on the door has his arm and body hovering over you in a way that’s almost…intimate. You notice, not for the first time that night, that Giorno is handsome. Very handsome. You decide that you’re reading into things too much because this isn’t a romance novel and things like this don’t happen to you, of course.

“Everything’s fine,” you answer, looking over your shoulder to see that the bathroom behind you is empty, which means that Chiara has hidden herself in one of the stalls.

“My friend was just”-you think of telling him she has a headache, and then remember how embarrassed she made you earlier-“throwing up. A lot. I told her she should have eaten something before coming out and drinking.”

Giorno’s brows pinch in concern. “Ah. Is she…all right? I would be happy to call someone over to check on her.”

“Nope,” you answer. “She’ll be fine as soon as she gets it all out. Last time we went out clubbing it took-“

“Actually!” Chiara’s voice rings out behind you, the stall door flying open with a thud. “I think I’m sick, because I can handle my alcohol just fine, actually, so I’d like you to take me home now, please?”

She sidles up beside you and pinches your side, politely excusing the both of you from the Don as you say “ow.” He makes a face somewhere between quizzical and amused as you’re dragged back to the table for Chiara to kiss her father on the cheek and tell him goodbye.

“So good to see you, principessa,” he says, and turns to you. “Tell her to come visit her poor father sometime, and bring yourself along while you’re at it.”

You smile. “Of course, Signore.”

It seems that the rest of the table is ready to call it a night as well, as Signore Alessi and the others stand and begin to give their goodbyes. You down the rest of your drink quickly, finishing just in time to see that Don Giovanna has come back to the balcony—and that his eyes are on you again, for the second before Signore Alessi is calling for his attention.

You decide that you should leave before he can ask about your poor, sick friend again.

The wash of cool air is more than welcome as you step out of the building and into the street. Your skin must have been flushed for half the night, between the embarrassment, the laughter, the drinks, and…whatever that was with the Don.

“Thank god that’s over,” Chiara sighs beside you, whipping her phone out to call an Uber. “I’m remembering why I always skipped out on dad’s dinners when I was a kid.”

“Oh, I didn’t think they were that bad,” you say. “Especially for a bunch of middle aged-“

The door swings open behind you, and Mista strolls out alone.

“Good, I caught you before you took off,” he says. He nods at Chiara and then looks at you expectantly. “I’ve got a little favor to ask. Could I get your number?”

Oh. Oh no. Mista seems sweet, really, but-

“For my boss.”

Oh. Oh.

Over Mista’s shoulder, you see Chiara’s mouth fall open as she holds herself back from giving you an immediate “I told you so.”

Don Giovanna wants your number. The Don wants your number. You have to be misreading this. Maybe he’s just got an open position for an intern that needs filling. Maybe he’s just very polite and wants to check up on your supposedly nauseous friend later.

“He would’ve asked you himself, but he got a little wrapped up, as you saw,” Mista goes on with a laugh.

“Yeah, sure,” you say before your brain can catch up to your mouth. You enter your number into a phone Mista hands you, and he turns to enter the building again as your Uber pulls up to the curb.

“He’ll probably call you sometime tomorrow,” he says with a wave. “Great meeting you guys. Ciao!”

You watch the door click shut behind him. Chiara is going to be so obnoxious about this. You dive into the car before you can see how smug her expression is and look very pointedly out the window. Incredibly, she says nothing as the driver pulls up to her apartment just a few blocks away, and the both of you trudge through the lobby, into the elevator, and through the doors to her apartment. You’re tugging your dress over your head to change into your pajamas when she finally speaks.

“I’m booking you an appointment with my Brazilian waxer,” she says.

You would smack her with a pillow, if you didn’t know that she was also offering to pay. And with the way your nerves are already beginning to act up, it’s an offer you may want to take her up on.

—

The next weekend, Chiara comes over to help you get ready for your date by laying in bed and watching while you put your makeup on and offering such useful suggestions as “are you sure you don’t want my push-up bra? I would want a push-up bra.”

You don’t bother to respond, because you think your boobs look fine in the mirror, and because you still can’t make yourself believe this date will end up in that direction anyway. Giorno, as he asked you to call him, had been nothing but polite over his texts to you. Brief, formal, but polite.

He did specifically call it a date, which defeated your theory of a job offering, but it all still feels so…unbelievable.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Chiara says, as if reading your thoughts. “I mean, of course he’s into you, because you’re beautiful and smart and nice, but-“ she sighs. “God. You have no idea how big this guy is. This is so insane.”

“What, is he the prime minister’s landlord?” you laugh. “I can handle some big-shot real estate mogul.”

Chiara looks at you the way she might look at a dog with three legs. Sweet, but pitiful.

“You are so, so clueless,” she says. “You should probably stay that way.”

You don’t have time to wonder what the fuck she’s talking about, because your phone pings with a text from Giorno. He’s pulling up to your apartment complex.

—

It’s drizzling as you push past the doors of your apartment building. You didn’t think to bring an umbrella down, you hope this doesn’t smudge your makeup—and the worms have already begun to wriggle onto the sidewalk.

Poor things. The skies will be cleared up and the sidewalk will be bone dry again in just a couple of hours. They don’t even know that they’re about to die slowly and horribly.

It’s just as you’re picking up the last one that you hear a car pull up to the curb behind you. You pray that it isn’t Giorno, come just in time to see you crouched in a puddle with a worm between your fingers, but you can’t imagine that anyone else in this grubby apartment block would be driving a Ferrari. He steps out just as you’re placing the little guy into a soft patch of grass.

“Buonasera,” he greets you as he takes in the scene. Your hands are dripping with mud water and worm slime, and suddenly you’re very worried about getting dirt in this car that probably cost more than you’ll make in years.

“Buonasera,” you say. “I was just, um. The worms-“ you trail off as you realize you don’t have an explanation that doesn’t make you feel a bit silly, but Giorno’s face breaks into a soft smile. He produces a handkerchief from his pocket and takes your dirty hands in his.

“I can see that,” he says, rubbing your hands gently between the fabric, brushing it between each finger and over every knuckle. His hands are warm. Your skin is clammy. “I’m sure they appreciate the effort.”

He opens the passenger door for you and escorts you in with a hand on your arm, and your cheeks begin to warm with that familiar heat.

The restaurant he brings you to is easily the nicest you’ve ever stepped foot in. Certainly nicer than the boutique cafes Chiara (and her dad’s credit card) often treat you to. Giorno hands his keys to a valet and leads you up the steps with a hand on your lower back, through a set of heavy double doors and into the lavish building. Elegant decor, low lighting, floor to ceiling windows overlooking Naple’s skyline and the bay…this definitely has ankle monitor guy beat. Regretfully, you do have to give this one to Chiara.

The hostess looks up from her station as you approach, and upon seeing Giorno, immediately gathers a couple of menus and motions for the two of you to follow her. He must be a regular here, you think, or maybe it has something to do with what Chiara was telling you earlier. Something about Giorno being a bigger deal than you understood.

The hostess seats you at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. Quiet, secluded from the other patrons. Giorno pulls your seat out for you and takes the jacket from your shoulders. He orders a bottle of wine with a name you don’t recognize and the hostess leaves you with your menus.

“I hope the restaurant is to your liking,” he says. He must be joking. Everything about it is beautiful, if not a little intimidating for someone unused to such luxury.

“It’s very pretty,” you say, looking out across the bay. The sun is beginning to set, casting vivid red hues across the seawater.

“Do you like to watch the ocean?” he asks.

“From a distance, absolutely,” you answer. “Up close it gets a little…scarier.”

“Scary? Are you not a fan of swimming, then?”

“Oh no,” you say quickly. “I saw Jaws when I was a kid. Never been the same since.”

The corner of Giorno’s mouth quirks. “I can assure you no one here has died in a shark attack for a very long time.”

The waiter returns to set a wine bottle and two glasses on the table, pouring it out for both of you. Giorno takes a slow sip of his and you pick up your glass to do the same. You aren’t usually one for wine, but you’re not about to offend him by rejecting it. You take a sip and try not to make a face that says “ew.”

“Do you enjoy wine?” Giorno asks.

“Yes,” you lie. “Your friend said you own the club we met at?” A smooth change of subject.

“I do, as well as a couple of others in the city. My business partners and I often hold meetings there, as you saw.”

“Meeting about uh, real estate things?” God, you’re bad at this.

Giorno smiles. “No, not quite. We were actually discussing an upcoming charity fundraiser.”

“That’s nice. Chiara always said her dad’s coworkers were-“ you realize you’re about to put your foot in your mouth yet again, and change course. “-great people. Really generous.”

Giorno takes another slow sip from his glass, and fixes you with a look you can’t quite place. “That very kind of her, but things haven’t always been this way. I do try to keep them in line now that I’m in the business.”

“What charity are you fundraising for?”

“A few,” Giorno begins. “Most of them supporting children and families affected by substance abuse.”

Ah, Naple’s infamous addiction issues. From what you’ve heard, the problem has lessened in severity since the last decade, but an issue with roots so deep can only be uprooted so quickly.

“I’ve heard about the addiction rates here,” you say. “Is it something you’re passionate about?”

“Absolutely,” Giorno says, and his gaze becomes intense, even more so than it always seems to be. “You could say that my life’s work has revolved around it. To threaten the well-being of these people, to pollute these streets with drugs-“ he turns to gaze through the window, at the sidewalks and people below. “-it’s unforgivable.”

You aren’t sure how to respond to such a speech, at first. Giorno’s intensity is brilliant to the point of intimidation, firm and absolute in this conviction he’s shared with you. You realize that this is the same assuredness you’ve seen in him since you met him that night, in every small interaction you witnessed (and shared) with him. In the way he’s looked at you, even after only just having met you. An absolute certainty in what he wants, and the absolute confidence to pursue it. You have no doubt, somehow, that he’ll have it.

“I like that,” you say simply. “I mean, you must be very proud. It seems like all your work is paying off.”

“I am,” he says, with that intense gaze fixed on you. Bright. Brilliant. “Thank you. You would be surprised at how much…resistance my work has been met with. It isn’t something one receives thanks for often, in my circle.”

You can’t imagine an apparent philanthropist being so deprived of something as basic as genuine praise, but the look on his face is achingly close to something you’ve seen before. In kids who were never told enough how good they were, in quiet classmates who’s work never seemed to be noticed. It’s uncomfortable, almost, to see pieces of those people in the man in front of you. It’s intimate, too intimate, and Giorno is still pinning you with that look, so you decide now is a good time to veer the conversation onto a different course.

“Well, if your whole real estate business doesn’t work out, I guess you could always ask the local mafia for a job,” you say.

Giorno’s mouth quirks again. “Oh?”

“My friend says they’ve really cracked down on the drug trade around here,” you explain. “I bet you’d fit right in. Be like a real Dark Knight type of situation.”

“Was Batman in the mafia?” Giorno says, matching your playful tone.

“Uh, maybe? He broke a lot of laws, right? So basically the same thing.”

“Mm,” Giorno hums. “Yes, I suppose it is.” Something in his smile is unplaceable to you. It reminds you of the night in the club, when you were pricked with the feeling that something was going over your head. That Giorno is in on some private joke you’re oblivious to.

“But if I was spending my evenings fighting crime,” he begins. “I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting you.”

Warmth spreads through your cheeks, now from more than just the wine. Giorno is easy to talk to. Charming, witty, polite. The food he orders for you is delicious, of course, and you don’t realize until your plate is cleared and the sun has set that Giorno has managed to keep you talking for the entire evening. To think that you had been so anxious about this date, and just a few hours later here you are, chatting like you’ve known him for months.

When Giorno leads you outside the moon has already begun to rise, cool night air brushing past your flushed skin. His hand is warm on your lower back as he escorts you down the steps, firm under your fingers as he helps you into the car. When he slides into the driver’s seat and his own door clicks shut beside him, the bustle of the street and chatter of the crowds melts away, an intimate silence filling the small space of the car.

“Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?” Giorno says, his eyes dipping briefly along the curves of your face, your neck, your…they flit back up to meet yours. Your skin prickles.

“Mm, maybe a couple of times,” you say.

Headlights from passing cars bathe Giorno in fleeting streaks of light, glinting off the rings on his fingers, illuminating his face and the skin of his chest where his unbuttoned shirt parts. He brushes his fingers over the soft skin of your hand, watching your face intently, as if testing the waters for your reaction. You curl your fingers into his, feeling the warmth of his palms, the slick metal of his rings.

“Thank you for taking me out,” you say softly.

“The pleasure was mine,” he says, his thumb making slow drags across your knuckles. “You’ll have to allow me the chance to do it again. After all, I need to redeem myself with a drink you actually enjoy.”

You huff sharply at the mischievous edge to his words. “You noticed.”

He smiles, teasing as his fingers brush up and down yours. “It was very kind of you to try to spare my ego, but I did notice.”

“And you were just going to let me suffer through it?” your smile back.

Giorno leans into your space, your twined hands close enough to his face that you can feel his breath on your fingers.

“Do you know that you scrunch your face when you drink something bitter?” he says. You’re suddenly very aware of the drool pooling underneath your tongue, and swallow hard. “It’s very endearing, (y/n).”

You can’t seem to push a response through your lips. The two of you sit in a charged silence, watching each other, feeling the warmth radiating from his body.

He says your name in a low voice. “May I kiss you?”

Oh, he may. He absolutely may.

“Yes,” you breathe. His hand untangles from yours to slide up your shoulder, your neck, under the line of your jaw and into the thick of your hair. His fingers curl into it there, the pressure on your scalp tilting your head back and pulling a sharp exhale from your lips.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, his breathe fanning across your mouth. You answer with an “mm,” too woozy with anticipation to put together anything more.

“How long have you wanted me to do it?”

Oh, he is cocky. Most frustrating is the fact that you can’t say it’s undeserved; Giorno is gorgeous, and charming, and right in front you, and you do want it. You have wanted it since…you think back to the first time you felt this familiar heat around him.

“Since you cornered me. Against the bathroom door in the club,” you tell him.

From this close, you can see the tiniest pull of a smile on his lips. “Hm,” he says. “That long?”

He’s finally worn out your patience. Your hands fly to his face, cupping the sharp lines of his jaw, threading into his hair and tugging him into you, covering his warm mouth with your own. He hums into it, returning your kiss with equal pressure, and as quickly as you’ve kissed him you realize he’s already taken back the reigns.

Giorno’s mouth works against yours slowly, surely. You cede control to him happily, letting your hands slide down the hard lines of his neck and shoulders. The fabric of his jacket is like butter under your hands, fine and delicate over his sturdy form. You nudge it to the side as your hands wander, the skin of them pressing into the bare skin of his neck where his muscles work as he takes your mouth over and over again.

His other hand presses into your waist then, encouraging you over the center console and closer to his chest. You let him pull you wherever he pleases, one hand dropping onto his leg to steady yourself as you’re dragged nearly on top of him. With the distance closed, his hand slides to wrap his entire arm around you, pulling you further into his chest, close enough for his mouth to wander down, down to your neck and the sensitive space where it meets your shoulder.

Your breathing has picked up. Enough that the window in front of you is beginning to fog, and you can feel your chest brushing up against his with every gulp of air. He runs a hand down your back in soothing strokes.

“Easy,” he coos. “I’ve got you.”

He pulls away just enough for you catch your breath, but close enough still to leave his grip in your hair and his arm around your body, making steady, steady strokes. It isn’t like you to get so worked up so quickly. But then, none of your dates before now have been…well, Giorno.

“Giorno,”you breathe. Your fingers find the skin of his shoulders again, scratching lightly them, and the sharp breath it pulls from the man pressed up against you is delicious.

“I’m here,” he says. Is his voice getting huskier? “Is there something you need?”

There is, but it isn’t something you normally ask for. Not on a first date, and certainly not from a man your hardly know.

But Giorno has made you feel nothing but safe in the short time you’ve spent with him. It’s irrational, how much you want to trust him despite practically being strangers, but you cannot deny this quality about him that just makes you feel…safe. That coaxes you gently into placing your faith in him.

He says your name again. “You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I can take you home now, if that’s what you want.”

But you do want it. You do want him. The hard part is asking for it. Giorno is older than you, wealthy, gorgeous, wildly successful, and a dozen other things that make insecurity coil tightly in your gut. But he watches you so patiently while you deliberate, his gentle hand making circles on your back, and to assume that he would look down on you for any of those things feels as if it would be an insult to his character.

You swallow hard. “No, I want it.”

That smile on his lips again. “Want what?”

Your head drops to his shoulder and you groan, taking a fistful of his undershirt. “Please don’t tease me like this.”

Giorno tucks his head into the space between your neck and your shoulder, his breath fanning over your ear. “Tell me exactly what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

You whine into his shoulder and only feel a bit embarrassed at the childishness of it. “I can’t,” you tell him.

He places one of his hands into yours and you take it in your grasp. “Then show me.”

Splaying his hand out on your ribs, he waits for your guidance. You intertwine your fingers again, feeling the size of his hand under yours, the metallic edge of his rings. He squeezes your fingers back, but makes no other move. He really is going to make you ask for this.

You let out a long, shaky breath. You want this. You want him. Tentatively, you begin dragging his hand across the plane of your body. Up your ribs, just underneath the swell of your breast, where his thumb brushes curiously over the underwire of your bra. You linger there, moving his hand in short arcs under the curve of your breast, breath hitching as his thumb travels closer and closer to the stiff peak of your nipple…and then you drop your hand, dragging him away from the soft flesh.

His mouth curls into a smile against your shoulder. “Teasing me?”

You laugh breathlessly as you guide his hand over the dip in your waist. “Only since you seem to like it so much.”

His hand slides appreciatively over the meat of your hip, kneading it firmly. You follow the cut of your hipbone inward, underneath the plush of your belly, to the crease between you thigh. Blood rushes hot through your ears, making you almost dizzy with want. Anything you ask for, he said. Anything you ask, he’ll give.

The heat of his mouth attaches to your neck again, and the feeling is so wonderful against your buzzing skin that you feel your eyes flutter close. He’s encouraging you, you realize. Gently coaxing you into confidence. He wants you, too.

Inching him down, you guide his hand to brush over the mound between your hips. Your breath catches. You’ve never had to ask for this before.

You think of the men you’ve been with in times past. How they practically threw themselves at you, taking absolutely anything they could get from you, hungrily, without restraint. This is foreign. It makes you feel almost desperate with need, to be so close to having what you want, but to be so nervous to reach out for it.

Sensing your hesitation, Giorno opens his mouth and presses the wet heat of his tongue flat against your neck, dragging it up along the line of your jaw to the sensitive skin below your ear, and this time your eyes do roll back. The wet trail he leaves on your skin chills in the night air, and you moan for him.

“Che brava ragazza (what a good girl),” he praises you. “You can have it. Just ask me for it, you can have it.”

He squeezes your hand gently, reassuringly, and you don’t have the patience to be bashful anymore. You slide him down to the bunched up hem of your dress, under the fabric, and flat against your aching core. The meat of his palm is firm against your folds and he rewards you immediately with a strong grip around your pussy.

“Good, good girl,” he says, making short strokes with his whole hand up and down your center. He pulls away from your neck only to drag you into another kiss, harder than the last, and you abandon his hand against you to fist both of yours into his hair. The moan you let into his mouth is wanton, embarrassingly so for someone who’s only barely been touched. You can’t bring yourself to care. The pressure between your legs is so, so good.

Deft fingers slip under your panties and you gasp as he slides the pads of his fingers along the wet of your lips.

“All this? Already?” Giorno says airily.

“You make—fuck,” your voice clips as the pads of Giorno’s fingers dip into your entrance, dragging your slick up to the nub of your clit. “Mmmm fuck, you make me feel good.”

Giorno groans, a low rumble in his chest, and you drop your head to his shoulder as his fingers make quick circles around your clit. His pace is steady, pressure firm, as he works you closer and closer to a peak that is quickly approaching.

You take the hand still tangled in your hair and drag it to rest flat on the meat of your breast, which he kneads greedily. The temperature in the confined space of the car has risen, high enough that you can feel sweat starting to gather on your skin and dampen your clothes, but you don’t care. You might be about to squirt all over the interior of Giorno’s nice car, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that either when he’s pulling you so diligently to your climax.

“You’re so worked up,” he says, and his voice is definitely shot now. Deep. Gravelly. A little bit desperate. “Are you going to cum for me?”

You are. You are you are you are, and his fingers pick up their pace under your panties, and the hand on your breast finds the soft peak of your nipple underneath the pad of your bra and pinches, and you squeal. The pressure between your legs is hot, hot, hot.

“Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna cum, please please please-“ You collapse into his chest, thighs shaking underneath you, and moan into the fabric of his suit as the pressure in your hips finally releases. With the arm around your waist Giorno holds you upright while you go practically boneless against him, hips stuttering into his hand as he works you through the length of your orgasm, his chest rumbling against you as he praises, “brava, brava ragazza, proprio così (good, good girl, just like that).”

As the rush begins to sizzle out, his fingers continue in their persistent slide against your clit, until you’re pushing at his hand with an “ah, ah” that has him laughing airily. The car is filled with the sound of your fluttering breaths, and of the quiet, soothing noises Giorno makes above you.

“Good thing I don’t have a night job fighting crime,” Giorno teases you.

You laugh breathlessly. “Yeah, good thing.”

You wrap your arms around his broad chest, sinking into the warmth of his body, and he envelops you in his arms. Stroking your back as you shiver, carding fingers through the tangles of your hair. As the fuzz begins to clear from your head, you feel the faintest warmth in your belly again as you realize you aren’t quite finished. Your fingers slide along the edge of his belt, playing with the buckle before he scoops your hand into his and brings it to his lips for a kiss.

“Not yet, amore,” he says. “Not here.”

Your shoulders slump with your disappointment and he laughs against your hair.

“When I fuck you,” he speaks into your ear. “I’m going to do it properly.” You shiver against him.

He lets you rest against his chest until you’ve caught your breath. “Do you have work tomorrow?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then come home with me,” he says with a smile and a kiss to your head. “And I’ll let you have whatever else you want.”

You pull back to look at him. Cheeks flushed. Hair tousled from the work of your fingers. The collar of his shirt pushed wide open against his chest. You want, you want, you want.

“Ok,” you answer, and press your lips to his warm cheek. The car starts with a low rumble, and you fix yourself in your seat. Your skirt is bunched around your waist, your hair a mess, your makeup smeared, no doubt. Giorno pulls away from the curb and you roll down the emptying Naples streets. “But only if I get to tease you this time.”

He meets your eyes with that look that promises absolutely nothing good. “Of course,” he says, pulling your hand to his mouth for another kiss. And another.

“Anything you want.”

#happy birthday mr giovanna 🎂 #bit unsure of his characterization here but it's my first fic for him so #he's been running a criminal org for like twenty years he's allowed to be sweet and smitten and a little bit cocky #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna #jjba x reader #giorno imagine #giorno giovanna imagine #vento aureo x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #giorno #giorno.ll #jjba.ll #my works.ll

[lliminall]

Passione Boys After You Dump Them | Headcanons

How they react and how they try to win you back. Because we love to see a man grovel.

tags: gn reader, slightly toxic in some of them, nsfw implications in abbacchio’s

Giorno Giovanna

Your announcement that you wanted to break up with him wasn’t exactly a surprise to the Don. He’s perceptive of your feelings, and he knows that he doesn’t have as much free time as most. He certainly isn’t able to be there for you as often as other suitors would. That doesn’t mean he’s happy to hear it, though.

This may be one of the few moments where you see his carefully crafted shell begin to crack. You mean more to Giorno than you know. He’s had so few people he loves in his life. The thought of losing you breaks his heart in a way he hasn’t experienced before.

Giorno isn’t willing to let this conversation end until you see things his way, and he is incredibly persuasive when he wants to be. Maybe you should wait and cool off a bit, amore. He can take care of all of this if you’ll just give him some time.

But…you don’t give in. He realizes, too late, that in all the time he’s spent away from you, these problems have become too much for you to bear any longer. You made up your mind and nothing he says is going to change it. Any further attempts to convince you are equally rebuffed, until he accepts that you’re just not willing to speak to him right now.

So he gives you space. No big deal. He’s patient. He can keep himself from pursuing you…for a while. The last thing Giorno wants to do is act impulsively on his emotions, and he’s certainly feeling more emotional than usual right now. He lets you have some distance, but ultimately he’s confident in his ability to win you back. No one else can take care of you like he can.

There may never be a moment in his mind where he truly feels as if he’s lost you. You’re not really broken up, you’re just taking a break. Yes, maybe you were right in saying that he hasn’t been setting aside enough time for you. And yes, he can understand why you might feel as if you only come second place to other priorities in his life. He’s a busy guy! But you have to understand that he’s doing his best, and he’ll find a way to do better. For your sake.

So he leaves you alone. Maybe you need a few weeks, or even a month or two. When he feels you’ve calmed down enough, he’ll start reappearing in your life again. As a friend, of course! He wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, ha ha, but you two have always gotten along, even before you were together, so surely you won’t object to him just checking in? :)

And it’s like you’d forgotten how easy he is to talk to. How helpful his advice is. How nice it feels to bask in the glow of one his soft, genuine smiles, which so few others are lucky enough to see. And so, maybe you end up spending more time with him than you wanted to, in the wake of your breakup. He acts so nonchalant about all of it, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to be spending time with you, no awkwardness, no lingering bitterness, that you can’t help but lean into it.

He knows exactly the right time to strike up a conversation about getting back together. When you’re alone together and the mood is high (and maybe you’re starting to realize that you really do miss him. Just a little bit), he’ll lay a hand on your arm and finally allow himself to be honest with you again.

“I’ve thought about what you said, and I want to apologize for the ways I’ve fallen short. But you must understand, amore, there’s no one for me but you. If you can find it in yourself to give me another chance, I promise I’ll prove that to you.”

Guido Mista

Totally blindsided. He doesn’t even know how to react at first. I mean, sure, you two had been having some issues, but it wasn’t anything that serious, right?? He’s already planned your whole lives together. He even picked out the name of your future cat. You can’t just leave him now!

Be prepared to have a very long, very emotional argument. Mista cannot accept you leaving him, and he can’t understand why you’re not willing to stay and work these problems out. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so distraught as he is now. He loves you so much, and he knows you love him too. Shouldn’t that be enough?

It isn’t, and you tell him that, and it absolutely crushes him. You’re both in tears by the time you leave, and even then he’s following you out the door trying to convince you to stay. He’ll be blowing up your phone afterwards, and then your email if you block him. There’s almost nothing too embarrassing for him at this point, he’d cashapp you money just to get you to read the note attached. This poor man lmao. He just really, really loves you, and he can’t not have you in his life.

He’s so mad at you. He can’t even remember the last time someone cut him this deep. The rest of the team is immediately made aware of how crushed he is, and Mista doesn’t even have to tell them. The cloud hanging over him is dark enough that passerby’s on the street can tell there’s something wrong with this man.

I can see him getting a bit nasty with you during this period. Whether it’s through text or if he manages to get you face to face, he’s not the type of person to hide how he feels, and right now he is feeling a lot.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to show up here if you would fucking unblock me and listen! Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, ok? I just…you have to hear me out. Please?”

The time apart from you, no matter how long, leaves him absolutely miserable. The distance does give him time to think, though. About everything you said to him that night, the issues you couldn’t bear anymore. If you can’t bear the problems, and he can’t bear to be away from you, some compromises will just have to be made.

I give it a month, max, before he comes back to you, now much more level-headed and solemn. He’s trying his hardest to make things right again. He just needs you to meet him halfway.

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo knew you two had been on the rocks lately. He isn’t an idiot. Every argument, every miscommunication, every day you became a bit more withdrawn, it was all noticed and filed away carefully in his mind. But when you finally find the courage to sit him down and tell him it’s over, he still can’t control himself. He’s panicked, at first, until he hides that vulnerability behind a much harder and safer emotion: his anger.

The resulting outburst, of course, only serves to strengthen your resolve. This is exactly why you had to leave to begin with, and as much as you’d hoped he would have found it in himself to be civil, you knew it would go like this. He’s so upset he can hardly breathe, and when the yelling finally becomes too much, you leave him to fall apart alone.

With time, the rage subsides to simmering anger that lingers and persists for weeks. It’s easier to pretend he hates you for it. You left him, like everyone always does. He trusted you and loved you more than anyone else, and processing those feelings is just too painful, so he turns them into anger instead. At least that’s an emotion he knows what to do with.

It isn’t sustainable, though. Maybe it takes a push from Bucciarati or another friend, someone he respects enough to take correction from, but sooner or later he realizes he has to process these awful feelings. He misses you. Every day. And maybe you weren’t entirely wrong about your reasons for leaving. But if those reasons were things that could be changed…maybe this can still be fixed.

The next time you see him, he’s unrecognizable from the man you left screaming in his apartment. He’s nervous, clearly, but composed. He asks you gently if you have time to talk, and the tension visibly drains from his body when you agree.

He starts by apologizing for how things went that night. He shouldn’t ever speak to you that way, and he knows that. He just didn’t know how to control himself then, but he’s learning those skills now! If there’s one thing Fugo can do, it’s study, and he tells you all about the books he’s been reading to better himself. Topics ranging from anger management, to emotional intelligence, to relationship conflict.

He asks, anxiously, if you would be willing to give him another shot. He’ll even agree to see a couples counselor, if it makes you feel more comfortable. He knows that with his effort to improve, and your willingness to find better ways to work with him, you two can work all of this out. He just hopes you still think it’s worth the effort.

“I know I messed up, but I just wanted you to see that I’m trying. And I’m getting better. And I’d like to keep getting better with you, if that’s ok.”

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno can’t say that he didn’t see this coming. The state of your relationship was clearly less than ideal. Bruno is a man who stretches himself thin, who gives so many pieces of his time to so many people and projects, that sometimes it can feel as if you’re only getting the leftover scraps of him.

He’d always assumed that he would be able to commit more of himself to you later. In the future, when Passione was stable, when the Don didn’t need him so much, when his community was safe without him. Of course, there’s no guarantee that any of these things would happen soon or ever, and his assumption that you would be willing to wait on him indefinitely is proven wrong.

Immediately, he tries to deescalate. Explaining that all of these problems are fixable, that he loves you so much, that maybe you should both just go to bed and things will feel better when you’ve slept on it.

“Slow down, amore. Shh, I know. Things have been difficult lately, but we can work through all of this. Just trust me, all right?”

As the conversation goes on and he sees that you aren’t going to be convinced, he begins to lose his composure. Bruno is a passionate man. In his time as a Capo he’s become accustomed to being obeyed, to having his every request carried out, and to having the absolute trust of most of the people he considers important to him. For you, his most important person, to be slipping out of his grasp with no control is not something he’s prepared to deal with. At least not gracefully.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so frantic as he is while you’re leaving. He tries to remain composed, but he can only stay so calm when he’s watching the love of his life prepare to walk out on him. You can’t do this. He can’t let you do this. He can take care of everything, he always takes care of everything, if you’ll just let him, don’t you see?

In the aftermath, he’s devastated. He throws himself back into his work, and to most people he would appear to be functioning just fine in your absence. To his team, however, this facade is easily seen through. He’s sharp. Barbed. A little more ruthless, a lot more unfocused. Giorno all but forces him to take some time off and recollect himself, and Bruno does so begrudgingly.

Time off is just time without a distraction. It hurts (and maybe digs up some trauma from his childhood that he didn’t realize he still harbored), but it also allows him to do some necessary reevaluations. Bruno cannot live without you. In the time he’s loved you, you’ve become his reason for the work he does. You’re the reason he wants to clean up these streets, the reason he needs his city to be safe, the reason he needs to be a strong and dependable figure, always improving, always moving forward.

I don’t think it would take him long to come to this conclusion. A month, max, before he seeks you out again, ready to offer himself back up you—as much of himself as he can. He’s ready to make compromises if you are too.

Narancia Ghirga

Dear god. Brace yourself lmao

Narancia’s abandonment issues run bone-deep. From the earliest stages of his life, the people he loves the most have been leaving him in one way or another. He cannot bear to be left behind again—especially not by you.

Prepare for screaming, crying, punching walls, and desperate begging. There’s no outcome where you and Narancia have a calm, respectful conversation about this. As soon as you mention leaving him, he’s spiraling. He needs you to take it back. He needs you to change your mind. He needs you to apologize and promise to never ever even think of leaving him again. He could never imagine walking out on you. How can you do this to him?

When you leave and the panic begins to wear off, he’s furious. He’ll oscillate between hopeless despair and anger, and you’ll be on the receiving end of both. Narancia is not leaving you alone. You may have to dissolve into tears yourself, pleading with him to just give you the space you need and work on getting himself over this. He may agree—temporarily. Even if he promises to stop showing up and bothering you in person, that doesn’t mean he can stop himself from texting you when he’s drunk in the wee hours of the morning.

“Fuck, how can you do this?! I’m sorry! Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry and I promise I can fix it! Please, can we just talk?”

With enough time, he’ll have calmed down enough to at least have a more mature conversation about what happened. And that conversation will happen. It has to. He knows you asked him to stay away, but you have to understand that he can’t ever do that. He needs you, and he’ll do anything to prove that to you, no matter how long it takes.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio’s immediate reaction is to shut down. It’s a self-preserving reflex more than anything, but to you it’s just confirmation that what you’re doing is right. You can’t keep begging for what he’s obviously not willing to give: vulnerability. Inwardly Abbacchio is crumbling, but the only response he allows you to see is irritation and cold indifference. Go ahead, leave him. It’s not like you were ever going to last to begin with, and it’s not like he can’t find another fuck-buddy whenever he wants.

This is, of course, a lie. You’ve never been just a hookup to him, but the fact that he could even say something so cruel to you is just more proof that you need to remove yourself from him. By the end of the argument, you’re crying and he’s waiting for you to shut the door behind you so he can finally break out the alcohol and get plastered.

Very few people would be able to sense that there was anything wrong with him. He falls back on his old method of disguising his misery: burying it under ten masks of indifference. He puts on a convincing performance, but he knows that’s all it is. You were a light in the dark trenches of his life, bright and warm and inviting, and he snuffed you out. One more colossal failure to haunt him at night.

He finds other partners. One night stands and shallow, meaningless hookups. They’re meant to be a distraction, but they’re only half-successful. His connection with you wasn’t just about physical pleasure, it was about an emotional connection that his other partners can’t replicate. He loved you, in a way he hasn’t loved anyone else.

It will take Abbacchio a very long time to work through this. He doesn’t just have to bite back his pride to ask for reconciliation, he has to overcome his self-loathing enough to allow himself to hope. When he does come back to you, he comes as a man who’s finally begun to build himself back up into someone he believes is worthy of you.

“Hey. I know it’s been a long time, but I just wanted to check up on you. And maybe, if it’s all right…could we go somewhere and talk? There are some things I wanted to tell you.”

#so does anyone else still read for golden wind or #giorno giovanna x reader #guido mista x reader #pannacotta fugo x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #narancia ghirga x reader #leone abbacchio x reader #jjba x reader #my works.ll #giorno.ll #mista.ll #fugo.ll #bruno.ll #narancia.ll #abbacchio.ll #jjba.ll

[lliminall]

yandere!itachi uchiha x reader | general headcanons

tags: gn reader, stalking, controlling/obsessive behavior, itachi being a creep but he knows it

itachi is largely a hands-off yandere. at least in the beginning, he really doesn’t interact with you much. you would have no idea the extent of his attachment to you, or how much time he spends trailing you and simply observing your each and every mannerism. he considers himself to be a kind of silent protector, someone who watches out for you without expecting anything in return.

the longer this goes on though, the stronger the pull towards you becomes. itachi doesn’t just want to be stuck in your peripheral. it loses its satisfaction the more he sees you smiling and chatting with friends, family, coworkers. why does he have to be stuck on the outside, while they bask in the soft light of your presence? he does more for you than any of those people do, and you don’t even know it. he’s more devoted to you than any of those people are, and you don’t even know it.

when the quiet (and intimidating) shinobi begins hanging around your work place more often, you don’t think anything of it. he’s been nothing but courteous in your interactions with him, succinct but polite. it’s the strangest feeling, though. you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you’re being watched while he’s there, sipping on a cup of tea in his quiet corner of the cafe. when you turn to look, his eyes are never on you.

itachi is lucid enough to recognize that there’s something wrong with his behavior. creepy, even. but as a shinobi he’s done far worse things than follow some civilian around from the shadows. and anyway, he’s doing this for your own good. you can’t use chakra. you can’t fight. and itachi has spent his entire life witnessing how dangerous the world around him is. however questionable his actions may be, those concerns are easy enough for him to brush away when he remembers that his reason for doing them is just. he’s more than willing to dirty his hands for your sake.

it’s endearing, how kind you are to him despite knowing nearly nothing about him (certainly not as much as he knows about you). you emanate a sweetness so uncommon in his world, so often snuffed out by the harsh realities witnessed by shinobi. it makes you rare. it makes you special. it makes you a cool and healing oasis for him to come and be refreshed by, when he needs to be reminded that not everything is violence and drama and underhanded work.

your relationship with itachi likely doesn’t progress beyond that until you begin seeking him out. asking him about his day when he arrives for his usual order. waving him over when you see him on the street. itachi really was content with being a nameless figure that protected you from the dark, or at least he tried to be, until you began encroaching further and further into his life until he could no longer ignore how good it felt to have you there. you don’t even know that you’re sealing your own fate with every conversation you tug him into.

itachi is a yandere so subtle that you may not ever realize just how deep and dark his feelings for you run. even if you were to get into a romantic relationship with him, he easily plays off any concerning behavior as harmless overprotectiveness. he just cares about you so much. and you know how much violence and death he’s surrounded by in his work, surely you can understand why he would want to keep you safe? you don’t need to worry about any of it. itachi will take care of everything. you just need to let him take the reigns.

all of that can change in a second if you try to leave him, though. itachi is a loner by nature. he doesn’t form intimate relationships easily, and when he does, he’s locked into them. that uchiha loyalty is not to be taken lightly, and if you force his hand he’ll use any means necessary to keep you under his protective wing. it would be easy enough to put you under a genjutsu to keep you in line. you’re a civilian; you wouldn’t even know what hit you or how to break out of it.

that’s assuming he even has to go to that length, though. itachi is one of the most revered shinobi in the leaf. you know that you can’t overpower him, run from him, or hide from him. even if you had the courage to try, one hard glare from him is enough to put you back in your place. he doesn’t like the thought of scaring you but he’ll do what he must. you’ll wonder what happened to that gentle and good-natured man you used to know, as he’s tugging you back to your home and you’re shaking with the memory of that cold, blazing red glare.

as long as you can stay within his carefully placed guidelines, itachi is a relatively easy yandere to have around. if you never cross his barriers you’ll never have to witness that dark and possessive streak he holds for you. even if you do, he’s more than ready to forgive and forget if you’ll just learn your lesson and give yourself back up to his protecting arms. ultimately, he wants you to be safe and happy and his. he doesn’t want to take any more from you than he absolutely has to—he just needs you to meet him halfway.

#naruto phase is forever #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha x reader #yandere itachi #yandere itachi x reader #yandere itachi uchiha x reader #naruto x reader #yandere naruto x reader #itachi uchiha #uchiha itachi x reader #yandere uchiha itachi #yandere uchiha itachi x reader #itachi.ll #my works.ll #shippuden.ll

[lliminall]

ok but what about yandere giorno who gets jealous super easily to the point where he gets jealous of everything and everyone that has his darling's attention for more than a minute

and when they are meeting up with some of his friends one of them, i don't know, let's say fugo or a random character that you can create, is too touchy for his liking (let's say hugs darling too much or tries to be near them).

how do you think he will react? what will he do?

I live for jealous yans

tags: gn reader, yandere, possessive behavior

You are late coming into the cafe this morning. Or rather, you are a few minutes behind your usual routine, because you haven’t actually agreed to meet Giorno at the little table by the window you love to sit at each morning. It shouldn’t matter. It’s only a few minutes. But this is the only time he’s able to speak with you, and Giorno has already been deprived of your presence for the last week.

It’s a shame that Passione business often keeps him away for such stretches of time, and a greater shame still that you don’t realize just how out of his way he’s gone to align his morning routine with yours. The warm mug of mocha in his hands is adequate at best. The coffee isn’t the reason he comes to this place.

Another glance at his watch, another minute you’ve yet to arrive, and he really doesn’t have much time this morning before he must get back to work. He thumbs at the tube of chapstick in his pocket. Your favorite scent, the label peeling from its time spent in the pockets of your purse. He could imbue it with life, follow it straight to you, find out exactly what’s happened to keep you away-

Ah. There you are.

Meandering distractedly down the street, deep in conversation with an individual he doesn’t recognize. A man who tugs you to the side of the walkway to lean in close and show you something on his phone. You lean in as well, angling to see the screen, and your face is close to his. Too close.

It’s a position Giorno has found himself in once before. Standing in line beside you as you wave him in to look at the newest pictures in your phone’s gallery. He remembers the soft scent of your perfume, the warmth radiating from your skin, his arm nudging yours.

He knows exactly what this man is doing. It’s what Giorno himself does every time he finds a way into your presence. The need to be near you.

You’re laughing at whatever this man has shown you. The energy of it sends you curling into yourself, further into the space of this…intruder. The man doesn’t look away from you for even a second as you straighten and settle down, distracted again by whatever video is playing in front of you. Giorno knows the look in this man’s eyes. He knows, as well, that you’re as oblivious to it on him as you are of it on Giorno.

There is something cold settling into the core of Giorno’s chest. Frigid. Tight. Bitter. You look up at the man to chatter at him animatedly, and he leans against the wall behind him to gaze down at you with something not unlike infatuation. He settles into your space and his thigh touches yours. You don’t seem to notice. You don’t pull away.

Giorno stands and brushes smoothly past the doorway.

“Ah, signorina,” he greets you as he crosses the street. “I was beginning to think you’d slept in again. And here I was thinking you wouldn’t get to enjoy the croissant I saved for you.”

“Oh my god. You did not,” you say, but your face betrays your excitement. For all your insistence against him paying for your morning meals, you’ve never once turned down food from him.

“It was the last one and I thought you might appreciate it,” he says. Giorno looks briefly at the man standing beside you, who straightens and casts Giorno a perturbed look. It’s quickly wiped away as you turn to face him.

“Carlo, this is my friend Giorno. We both come to this cafe a lot,” you say.

Carlo gives Giorno a short smile.

“Good to meet you,” he says. “I’m a high school friend of theirs. (Y/n) and I got into a lot of trouble together, right?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Whatever. You got into trouble, I saved your ass before your parents could find out.”

Carlo gives you a genuine smile, and that tightness in Giorno’s chest returns.

“(Y/n) does seem to have a knack for doing charity work,” Giorno says. “I often have to remind them to pick their battles. Sometimes it isn’t worth the effort.”

His friendly expression belies the barb in his words. Carlo looks at Giorno for a hard second, as if deciding whether or not he’s been insulted, and whether or not he should do something about it. Giorno takes the opportunity to turn to you again.

“Should I finish off your croissant myself?” he says. “I would hate for it to go to waste.”

“What? No!” you say, and pull away from Carlo with a laugh. “It was nice catching up with you,” you tell your friend as you motion for Giorno to follow you. “I’m starving. But we should finish talking another time!”

Carlo nods and waves you goodbye with a look on his face that hasn’t quite processed what just happened. In the span of a few seconds Giorno has snatched you up again, sparing one last glance at your interloper before turning on his heel and offering you his arm to cross the road.

Giorno holds the door open as you slip inside, falling straight into your usual seat at your usual table and digging happily into the food he left for you. He settles in with his mocha again, feeling the bitterness fade into a subtle thrum beneath his skin.

“I know what you were doing back there,” you say in between bites of food. “If I was feeling bold today, I’d say you were acting a little…” you place your finger to your chin in faux contemplation, fixing him with a stare that’s chastising, but playful enough that he knows he gotten away with it. “Jealous?”

Giorno hides his smile behind his mug.

“Can you blame me?” he asks. “It’s been far too long since I had the pleasure of your company. And your food was getting cold.”

You level him with an unimpressed stare as you chew your cold croissant.

“Giorno Giovanna. You’re lucky I let you bribe me with food.”

He watches you, content, as you finish off your breakfast.

“And lucky that I let you run other men off when you haven’t even asked me out yourself,” you add knowingly.

Giorno pauses with his cup midway to his mouth. His pulse skips, and for the first time he feels as if he’s the one under the weight of your analyzing stare. It’s a nice feeling, to be held under the microscope of your undivided attention. He clears his throat.

“Well. In that case, you’ll have to let me buy you dinner next. So you can tell them you have a boyfriend, and run them off yourself.”

You take a long sip of your coffee and smile at him. “I guess I will.”

The bitterness under his skin thrums quietly, but Giorno presses it down to bask fully in the light of your (finally, finally) shared affection.

There’s a phone in his pocket with a number that can take care of your interloping friend in minutes. There are any number of ways he can excise this miserable emotion from himself. A threat, an accident, a well-placed accusation of wrongdoing on your annoying new friend. Giorno supposes it will depend on his mood once he leaves you here.

But for now, he will let you ramble to him about the work day you have coming up, your plans for the weekend, your new favorite show. He’ll let you lean in close to him to show him that funny video, and he’ll lay his hand over yours to steady the phone as you dip into his space.

There’ll be time to figure out how to deal with this blight, after he’s satiated himself with the knowledge that you’re his, his, his.

The video ends and you curl your fingers into his, entwining your hands on the table.

Lucky, indeed.

#giorno x reader #yandere giorno x reader #yandere giorno #giorno giovanna #yandere giorno giovanna #giorno giovanna x reader #jjba x reader #yandere jjba x reader #asks.ll #my works.ll #giorno.ll #jjba.ll

[lliminall]

libera me, dies irae, requiem aeternam | pt. 2

[yandere!giorno x reader x yandere!GER]

word count: 2.5k

tags: gn reader, yandere, very brief implied nsfw, still ignoring GER’s canon limits, jjba but make it eldritch horror

It’s a wonder that you can still find ways to get yourself hurt despite the many safeguards your captor has put into place. No razors in the bathroom, no glass in your room, no knives at the table unless he is with you.

Tonight Giorno has joined you for dinner, and the knife you’ve been allowed to cut your food with proves itself to be a weapon in your sleep deprived hands. The blade only slips for a second, but it’s long enough slice deep into the meat of your finger, and you hiss as stinging pain races up your hand.

Giorno’s hands are on top of yours before you can even think to ask for help.

“It’s all right,” he soothes. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of it.”

His hand covers your bleeding finger and something in the air around you seems to shift. A change in the energy, intense and disorienting, and somehow familiar. A creeping sensation begins to overtake you, frigid like ice water dripping down your spine. You’ve felt this energy before.

It retreats only a moment later, leaving you swimming back to your senses in the quiet of the dining room. Giorno unfolds his hands and your fingers rest in his palm, perfect and unmarred except for the smear of blood on your skin. Your head spins.

“What…?” is all you can manage in response.

Giorno looks at you contemplatively, choosing his words carefully as he thumbs over the skin of your fingers for as long as you’ll let him hold them.

“It’s an ability I’ve had for most of my life,” he says. “I understand this must be disorienting for you.”

You want to ask him to explain what just happened, where you’ve felt this before, and why this feeling of dread settled under your skin the moment he showed it to you. But Giorno stands and lifts you up with him by your newly healed hand.

“I should have noticed how exhausted you are,” he says. “I apologize. You must want to lay down.”

He begins leading you to your shared bedroom, and there’s a finality in his tone that tells you he won’t be explaining what that was just yet. He leaves you in your bed with a final brush over your hand, and turns the light off behind him.

—

It’s late when you finally decide to forgo your attempts to sleep. The clock on your bedside reads “12:45 AM” in faint glowing numbers, and Giorno has yet to join you in bed. You have a feeling that you know where to find him.

Padding softly to the door of his office and knocking twice, he calls for you to enter.

It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting to see you at all, much less clad only in the thin fabric of your night shirt. It brushes against the tops of your thighs and you tug the hem down as you step into his office.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you tell him.

“I understand,” he says. “I’m sure you’re confused about what happened earlier.”

You take a seat in the chair across from his desk.

“I do have a lot of questions,” you tell him. “I get that you didn’t really want to talk about it, but it’s keeping me up. And kind of, uh, freaking me out a little bit.”

Giorno takes a deep breath. “It’s…difficult to explain,” he begins. “I suppose it was inevitable that you would learn about it eventually, but I don’t know if it will bring you any comfort to hear an explanation.”

“Giorno,” you nearly whine, and his expression brightens at the sound of his name on your lips. It isn’t something he’s had the pleasure of hearing often. It isn’t often that you seek him out willingly for a conversation, either.

“I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about it. Can you just tell me what happened? Please?”

He looks at you with a torn expression and says nothing. You know he doesn’t like denying you anything, but his desire to please you is second only to his need to keep you under his careful control.

“I won’t bother you about it again,” you add. “I just—I really need you to help me make sense of this.”

You need him, you said. You know that you’ve won when his shoulders slump the tiniest bit, and he lets out a long breath. Giorno takes a pen from his desk and holds it up for you see. That energy permeates the air again, the one that you know but can’t quite place, and before your eyes the pen begins to warp and twist into something else. A stem pinched between his fingers, a pale pink bud growing and unfurling into petals at the top. He places it into your hand. It’s a flower. Delicate and beautiful where only moments ago it was mechanical steel.

Giorno smiles at your awestruck expression.

“This is my ability. I can create any living thing out of inanimate objects.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “You can make anything?”

“Nearly anything,” he says, pleased at your rare lightheartedness. “Do you have any requests?”

You hum quietly in thought, still thumbing absentmindedly at the flower between your fingers.

“What about…a frog?” you ask, your expression open and hopeful.

It occurs to you that this is one of the only positive interactions you’ve had with him yet. Giorno is basking in this moment before you, clearly trying to mask how pleased he is with his usual composed demeanor. He plucks another pen from his desk and that same energy permeates the air again. It cuts through your mood like a knife, shocking you back into focus. You remember why you came here. There’s something wrong with all of this, and you’re going to find out why.

The pen becomes a frog in Giorno’s palm, and he motions for you to give him your hand. You swallow hard and hold it out to him, schooling your face into an expression that’s as relaxed as you can manage. You want him in a good mood. You want him answering your questions.

He places the frog gently in your waiting palm, where it settles into the warmth of your skin. It’s real, but your appreciation for the moment has been soured by the reminder of what you have to find out.

“It’s cute,” you say, and Giorno smiles at your praise.

“You made an excellent choice,” Giorno says. “I’m partial to frogs myself.”

You don’t know if you’ve seen him looking so hopeful in all the time you’ve been here.

“How do you do it?” you ask. “Is it like…magic?”

Giorno laughs quietly and you feel almost like a child for saying it.

“It’s not quite magic,” he says. “Although you’re not that far off. It’s more like—well, it comes from my soul.”

“Your soul?” you ask, not quite following him.

“Yes,” he nods. “It’s my spirit, you could say. The manifestation of my will. It has the ability to create life, and if there’s ever anything you want to see, you’re welcome to ask me for it.”

Giorno poses it as an offer to you, but you hear it for what it is. A request. Please come to me. Please talk to me. Please smile and laugh with me again. What a breathe of fresh of air this would have been, a break from the boredom and anxiety of your days, if you hadn’t just begun to put the pieces together. Giorno’s spirit has powers.

“So, if your spirit does all this, is it kind of like a ghost?” you ask.

“You could say it’s something like that,” Giorno says. “You can’t see it, but it’s been here each time I’ve used it for you.”

A spirit that you can’t see. A spirit with magical powers. You remember every night that you’ve been here, every night that you’ve felt haunted in the space of your own dreams, that lingering, otherworldly, familiar feeling following you into your waking hours.

You remember a voice like Giorno’s and piercing eyes standing over you. A spirit. Giorno’s spirit.

You must look like you’ve well and truly seen a ghost, and you suppose you have. Giorno’s expression falls as he senses the change in your mood. He calls your name softly.

“Is something wrong?”

You can’t be near him anymore. You place the frog on the table and stand, the flower falling somewhere at your feet.

“Sorry. I’m going back to bed,” you say, and as you whisk yourself away you hear his dim voice calling out to you in confusion.

You can’t go back to the bedroom. Can’t lay down and sleep where you’ve been watched—stalked—night after night by this thing that has haunted you ever since you were brought here. Your legs bring you to a guest room, sterile and unlived in, and you drop to the floor against the pristinely made bed. Knees to your chest, bare thighs prickling in the cool air.

This is a nightmare. A waking, living nightmare. You can’t let yourself fall asleep again, where that thing will be there, waiting for you as always. You imagine opening your eyes and finding yourself back in the void, with nothing but the presence of a monster you now know is real. You cannot. You will not. You have to stay awake.

You sit in the dark room until your exhausted body begins to betray you. How long has it been since you slept? Really slept? You sit until you begin to nod off and then you stand, and pace, and crouch with your head in your hands. Anything to stay awake.

You feel, for a moment, that oppressive energy filling the room again, but there is nothing there. You wait, and it fades, and you don’t know if your sleep deprived mind has finally begun to unravel or if that thing has finally begun following you outside of your dreams.

—

Giorno isn’t surprised when, by the time he finally retires for the night, he doesn’t see you in bed. Normally he insists on you sharing his room, for your own safety, of course. He can’t risk leaving you unattended all night. Tonight, however…his gut tells him it would not be wise to search you out. No matter how much he wants to take you by your shoulders and have you explain what that was all about.

He folds himself under the blankets and falls into a fitful sleep.

He dreams about you. Or rather, he sees you and himself, living your lives together, as if watching a film play out before him. There’s a tug on his soul. What is his stand up to?

He sees you walking with him in his gardens. Chatting to him about the flowers you pass and the care you’d done for them that morning. You look happy. Not in the way you were before—before he brought you here—but in a way that approaches it.

Like a sixth sense, Giorno is suddenly aware of his stand’s presence somewhere near him. The scene fades away from him like a tape being rewound, and then it rebuilds itself around him, different now.

He sees you crying in the bedroom, storming into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. It doesn’t have a lock, but he knows you would be flicking it if it did.

“I’m doing this for your safety,” Giorno watches himself tell you through the door. Does he always look this tired? “I promise you, everything I’ve done is for your benefit.”

You sob quietly behind the door, and the world breaks down and rebuilds again.

He sees you and himself seated at a table in a restaurant. A public venue, where you shift nervously in your seat. Giorno places his hand over yours and you don’t pull away.

“Are you all right?” he asks quietly. “We can always go home if this is too much for you, carina.”

You shake your head and fluster. “No! No, it’s ok. I think I need to—I mean, I just have to get used to it. Being out here again.”

Giorno watches himself nearly flinch, and feels the same pang in his own chest at the understanding that he’s made you so afraid of something so normal. A restaurant with people in it. People who aren’t him. You curl your fingers into his and give him a shy smile.

“And I want to be here with you,” you say.

The world breaks down, the world builds up. Giorno catches sight of his stand over his shoulder, and calls out to it in the chaos.

“Why are you showing me this?”

His stand meets his eyes for a moment, and then the world is rebuilt.

He sees you sitting across from him at the dinner table, pointedly looking anywhere but at his face. Looking like you could start crying in a second.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you. “I’ll take you outside as soon as I have the time, but you know I can’t allow you out alone when you’re acting like this.”

You don’t answer.

Breaking down, building up.

He sees you sipping mocha from a mug he raises to your lips. You, cursing at him and declaring your hatred of him. You, sweaty and flushed beneath him. You, turning your back on him.

You. Bloody and broken.

Giorno has seen enough.

He wakes drenched in sweat. Sheets stick to his skin as he hauls himself up to sit on the bed, and he turns to face the window where his stand is illuminated by the pale moonlight.

“What was that?” he asks, nearly out of breath. It does not respond.

“What was all of that? Why would you show me this?”

The stand does not reply. It knows, and Giorno knows, that he already has the answer. That these are just a fraction of the countless outcomes of your lives together, his deepest desires, his greatest fears, and somewhere in between, the choices that lead him there. His stand watches him. Quiet.

“I know,” Giorno says. “I already know what’s at stake. I’m going to fix all of this, I just need time.”

The stand watches him. It doesn’t need to speak—it doesn’t ever speak to him—but Giorno knows in his soul what’s being communicated between the two of them.

Don’t fuck this up for either of us.

Giorno throws the blankets from his body and takes a hair tie from your nightstand, imbuing it with the form of a butterfly and following it out the door. He leaves his stand in the room behind him. He needs to find you, now.

Everything he wants and everything he fears has been laid out before him, as vivid as anything else he has lived and breathed through.

One of these outcomes is destined for truth, and Giorno has never failed to reach a goal once set in front of him.

The butterfly comes to rest on the door to a guest room down the hall.

Giorno takes a long, steadying breath, and knocks.

#said I would keep the requests to under 1k and look at me now #clown shoes tied and ready to go #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #yandere giorno #giorno #giorno giovanna #yandere giorno x reader #jjba x reader #yandere jjba x reader #my works.ll #giorno.ll #jjba.ll

[lliminall]

excerpts from the group chat | pannacotta fugo x reader

tags: fem reader, implied sexual activity, copious amounts of swearing, borderline crack but I know in my heart they would be this annoying irl

Fuck Heads

Group Chat with Pannacotta Fugo, Narancia Ghirga & Guido Mista

iMessage

Tuesday 4:34 PM

Guido Mista they didn’t have salsa I got u ketchup

Narancia Ghirga ok fuck u

Guido Mista they’re both tomatoes idk why ur bitching

Narancia Ghirga Im not brining ur beer now ur fucking on ur own

Guido Mista please daddy? 🥺

Narancia Ghirga jk princess I got it

Guido Mista fugo I am headed over now be there in 10

Narancia Ghirga be there in 20 running late

4:47 PM

Guido Mista bro I’m here let me in

Guido Mista are u shitting?? open up I’m here

Narancia Ghirga its cus u brought us fucking ketchup instead of salsa

Narancia Ghirga jusy call him hes probably getting his dick wet again

Guido Mista we talked about this he does not have a girlfriend. he is a fucking incel narancia

Narancia Ghirga i was there last week I heard moaning. I told u

Guido Mista then it was porn u dumb fuck

Guido Mista open the FUCKING door

Narancia Ghirga bro literally what are u doing let us IN

Pannacotta Fugo I will fucking kill both of you

Pannacotta Fugo Stop banging on the fucking door.

Guido Mista LET US INNNNN

Narancia Ghirga wtf let us in???

Pannacotta Fugo I’ll let you in but do not speak to her. She’s studying in my room just mind your business

Guido Mista SHE????

Narancia Ghirga BRO ACTUALLY WAS GETTIN IT WET LMAOOO

Guido Mista and why can’t we meet her??

Pannacotta Fugo You fucking organisms. You are not pestering my girlfriend.

Narancia Ghirga BRO

Guido Mista BROOOO

Guido Mista also ok rude

Narancia Ghirga he cant bring her out cus he wiped her out with his 10 inch schlong

Guido Mista u don’t even have a girlfriend ur just embarrassed we caught u jacking off

Pannacotta Fugo I’m coming outside and I’m bringing a fucking weapon

Narancia Ghirga is that why u had us bring some much food I thought u we’re trying to bulk up wasnt gonn a judge tho

Guido Mista my man 💯💯💯

Guido Mista proud of u now let us the fuck in

Guido Mista the food is getting cold bro open the fucking door

7:28 PM

Guido Mista night bro would have gave u ur goodnight kiss but ur girlfriend was right there

Narancia Ghirga wheres my goodnight kiss

Guido Mista come here bby girl i got it for u right here

Pannacotta Fugo You will be two brown stains on the floor by the time I'm done with you

Narancia Ghirga pee ur pannts

--

iMessage

7:45 PM

Narancia Ghirga fugo got his dick sucked today. by a real girl

Bruno Bucciarati Why are you telling me this

Narancia Ghirga just thougth u might like to know

message read at 7:47 PM

--

iMessage

7:50 PM

Narancia Ghirga abbachio guess who i saw layin pipe tonight

This user has blocked your number. You are unable to call or text this number at this time.

Narancia Ghirga fugo

Narancia Ghirga dammit

#so basically I think I'm the funniest person alive #fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo #pannacotta fugo #jjba x reader #narancia ghirga #guido mista #narancia #mista #jjba #fugo.ll #mista.ll #narancia.ll #jjba.ll #my works.ll

[lliminall]

Chrollo sitting you up against his chest and holding a water bottle to your lips. He feeds you sips from the same bottle he drank from a moment before and watches as your lips touch the same places his did

Feitan feeding you himself with a spoon. He makes it out like it’s a demeaning, dominating thing, but really he just wants the excuse to take care of you. He scoops just the right amount of rice onto the spoon and waits a moment for it cool before holding it to your lips

Shalnark driving you to get boba tea, but he only orders one large. You sit in the car and he takes a long sip before holding the same straw to your mouth and feeding you from the same cup

Machi cutting apple slices and handing them to you while you both sit on the balcony. Your fingertips brush hers with each pass, and she uses her thumb to wipe sticky juice from your face and makes a noise that tells you not to mention it when you go to say thanks

Uvo used to order separate pizzas when he came over. Two for him, one for you. Now he only buys the two. Lets the you pick the toppings on one and has you eating from the same box as him

#i want to be FED #the intimacy of someone hand feeding you…cutting your food for you….eating from the same plate #puking and crying and throwing up #chrollo.ll #feitan.ll #shalnark.ll #machi.ll #uvogin.ll #hxh.ll #my works.ll #chrollo x reader #chrollo #feitan x reader #feitan #shalnark x reader #shalnark #machi x reader #machi #uvogin x reader #uvogin #hxh x reader

[lliminall]

passione boys farting around you

man idk.

bruno

excuses himself from the room to do it. around his boys he doesn’t give a fuck he will clear the room out, but he chooses to treat you with a little more respect lmao. the first time he lets one out around you it’s an accident, and he apologizes politely and kind of laughs at your scrunched up face. will tease you relentlessly if you let one out around him though. jesus christ imagine him analyzing the smell of your fart like he does with the taste of sweat and criticizing your poor dietary choices or smth. please punch him

giorno

does not fart around you if he can help it. he considers himself a gentleman for you and also is kind of embarrassed at the idea of it. would fidget awkwardly and apologize if he did fart around you, but you almost can’t even care about the grossness of it all because it’s one of the rare times you’ll see him genuinely flustered. would not say anything if you farted around him, he would just like. roll the window down or give you a look and move to sit on the other side of the room, which is almost worse than if he’d just pointed it out

mista

zero qualms about farting around you. will dutch-oven you for fun. will do it on the couch and then pin you to his chest when you try to run away because he likes to see you squeal, and he’ll do it all while cackling like a maniac because it’s just so funny to him. and his farts fucking reek. he’s out here waging biological warfare and enjoying it. if you fart around him he will either make a big deal (playfully) about how gross it is OR he will pretend to be into it. “damn babygirl, you fart with that ass??” “babe STOP” the type to sniff your chair after you stand up

fugo

another who does not like to fart around you. he will get very embarrassed if he does, but he’ll get super defensive and try to brush it off like it’s not a big deal and you’re the one being weird about it, even if you didn’t say anything. you can absolutely tease him about it and get an even more flustered reaction, but he might just hold you down in the stink-zone as punishment. he will lose all qualms about you smelling his rank ass the second you make a big deal about it. he didn’t start this war but he will finish it. will give you an exasperated look and walk away if you fart around him, unless he’s in a particularly good mood, in which case he will make fun of you for it

narancia

also does not care if he farts around you. he does it so casually. he doesn’t even look up or stop what he’s doing, unless he’s doing it on purpose to torment you, in which case you’ll look up to see him staring at you with an absolutely shit-eating grin. he’ll do it LOUD too, he doesn’t give a singular fuck and his farts are deadly. eye-watering, lung-clenching, gagging, puking-in-your-mouth-a-little type farts. what the hell is this man eating to produce smells like that. if you make a big deal out of it he’ll tell you you’re overreacting, but if you fart around him he will loudly go “ewwww” and like. plug his nose dramatically

abbacchio

in the beginning of your relationship he does not want to subject you to his farts, and will quietly move into another room to do it. this lulls you into a false sense of security and leaves you absolutely unprepared for the hell that awaits you later on, because once he gets comfortable with you he has no qualms about subjecting you to the stank. he’ll fart in bed while cuddling you against his chest and refuse to let you up for air. he doesn’t really say anything about it, he just grins deviously. will make a grossed-out face if you fart around him, but it’s mostly to tease you because he honestly doesn’t care that much. he works with a team of disgusting and rowdy men, he’s no stranger to smelling other people’s farts

#🤷‍♀️ #jjba x reader #giorno x reader #bruno x reader #mista x reader #narancia x reader #abbacchio x reader #fugo x reader #my works.ll #giorno.ll #mista.ll #narancia.ll #abbacchio.ll #bruno.ll #fugo.ll #jjba.ll

[lliminall]

run, rabbit, run

[yandere!feitan x reader]

word count: 2.1k

tags: she/her reader, yandere, predator/prey dynamics, non-con, feitan has a chase kink and you find out the bad way, this is also the first time I’ve written smut so that gets a warning itself lol

Your legs are aching, and your lungs burn, and this was a very bad idea.

You are running through the woods, at night, in god knows what part of what country, and this was a very, very bad idea. You’re sure that if Feitan has come back now and realized that you’re gone, it would do you no good to turn back and beg for his forgiveness though, so you don’t. You keep running.

To be fair, it wasn’t like you’d had an opportunity to escape yet in the months he’s kept you in the house long behind you. You saw a chance and panicked, and took it, and it was a horrible terrible awful fucking idea because your legs hurt and your lungs hurt and your feet hurt and you don’t even know where you are. The woods stretch on forever. The moonlight is hardly enough to even place your next step with.

You have a sense, as well, that you are not alone in these dark woods. But of course you would feel that way, right? You’re in the woods with every other night-crawling creature and surely Feitan hasn’t tracked you down already. It’s too dark and you’ve had too much of a head start. He’ll find you and make you regret it in the morning, you think, when you’re too tired and thirsty to give any more of a chase.

A branch snaps somewhere behind you, and your blood turns to ice in your veins. You stop dead in your tracks to look back, but there’s nothing in what little patches of light you can see. The woods are silent apart from your breathing, and you think wishfully that it couldn’t possibly be him because he moves like a ghost through the house he keeps you in, never making noise unless he wants you to hear it.

But that’s just it, isn’t it?

Unless he wanted you to hear it.

There’s another snap from a different direction, closer now, and you don’t know how he could have gotten there so fast and so quietly. It can’t be him. Of course it’s him. Please god don’t let it be-

“Are you done yet?”

It is him. It’s him it’s him and if you were breathing hard before, you’re choking on air now. Your feet feel stuck to the ground.

He continues, taunting and gleeful. “Poor rabbit, doesn’t know where to run.”

You can’t see him, but you can hear his satisfaction at having caught you in your mistake. You think, regretfully, that this was probably what he wanted all along. Another excuse to punish you. You wonder if he gave you the chance to escape on purpose.

Your will to run is draining quickly. You’re not stupid enough to think he’ll let you off easy if you give up now and apologize, but what good does running do at this point? You go to turn towards the sound of his voice, resigned to whatever fate he has planned, when he speaks again.

“You’re done already?” he says for the second time. There’s that taunting edge in his voice again, and you know now that he’s having fun with this. Seeing you struggle, making you scared, watching you fail. It’s all a game.

You open your mouth to tell him yes, you give up, just take you home and get it over with, but there’s a hard thock in the tree trunk closest to your legs, and you whip your head towards the sound to see that he’s thrown a fucking knife at you, and your legs are moving again as he cackles behind you.

You don’t have the presence of mind to think that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh.

Now, when he chases you, you hear him. His footsteps are loud and his voice mocking while you crash through the brush, branches whipping your face and legs and arms. You wish he would just catch you, like you know he easily could. You’re exhausted and scared and aching and it’s enough to make you miss your mattress on the floor of his basement.

Would he punish you more if you gave up? Are you really any better off if you let him run you through the woods all night?

You want to give up. You want to tell him to go fuck himself and his stupid games and all the other freak shit he’s put you through, and your legs burn and your lungs burn and-

Something collides with you from behind with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs, driving you into the ground. It’s him, of course, pinning you underneath him and tangling a fist in your hair to shove your face into the soft moss. Your head is spinning and you can just make out his voice above you.

“Stupid girl,” he spits. “Can’t run. What should I do to you now that I have you?”

You try to lift your head to see him but he holds you down with more strength than you can hope to fight. You open your mouth to speak, to tell him fuck you, I hate you, I hope you die, but before you get the words out he’s pressing his hips down and rolling them into your ass and-

Oh. Oh god.

He’s hard.

Your mind blanks with the sensation, the horrifying realization of what exactly he’s going to do to you. You think he’s breathing harder than usual above you and you know it’s not for lack of energy. He presses his chest against your back and you feel his breath against your ear.

“What will you do,” he breathes, “now that I have you?”

His hands are on your waist then, flipping you onto your back before he drops down to rest on your hips again. The air is cold on your cheeks, and you realize that it’s because they’re wet, and your crying.

Feitan dips down to your face and licks a long line from your lips up to your eyelashes, catching the tears and leaving a sticky stripe behind. In the patch of earth he has you pinned in, there’s just enough light to make out his sneering face, and you wonder if you’ve ever seen him so satisfied as he is now. There’s no question that you’ve given him exactly what he wanted, and he’s going to punish you for it anyway.

His fingers undo the knot on your shorts.

“Will you behave?” he asks as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and underwear, sliding them under your ass and off your legs. It’s a pointless question. There’s nothing you could do with him straddling your body and snatching your wrists to pin them above your head. With his other hand he undoes the clasp of his own pants and reaches down to pull out his stiffening cock.

You nod in response to his earlier question, and part your lips when he presses two fingers into them. They slide along your tongue, stale with the taste of dirt and sweat, and you gag as he scratches just a bit too close to the back of your throat before reefing them from your mouth and sliding them down his dick. How considerate, you think, of him to bother lubing himself up for you.

It’s also apparently the only nicety he’s going to give you, because in the next moment he’s lining his dick up with your entrance and you yelp as he pushes himself in to the base with one fluid motion. He groans as he bottoms out and you squirm, trying to lessen the stinging stretch, with no luck.

The ground is rough and cold under the bare skin of your lower half, roots digging into the muscles in your back as he begins a brutal pace. Your breathe hitches with each mean thrust, and you turn your head to the side to avoid his searing gaze.

This is surely only the first of many punishments to come. You’ve never done something this blatantly disobedient with him before.

What would he even do, to scare you out of trying it again?

Feitan must notice that you’ve become lost in your thoughts, because his hand is gripping your jaw and turning your face to meet his again. His lips smash against yours, grinding, biting, growling.

“Look at me,” he says against your mouth. His tongue slides in through your lips, tangling with yours, and you taste your own blood on it.

“Look at me”—you yelp with a particularly hard thrust—“when I fuck you.”

In the quiet of the night you can hear the steady wet sounds of his dick pumping in and out of you. That initial pain from the stretch is gone, and the longer he’s at work, the warmer the space between your hips grows. You realize, humiliatingly, that he hasn’t once needed to stop and re-lube himself, because you’re more than wet enough on your own.

He shifts the angle of his hips slightly, and his cock is rubbing up against all the soft, sensitive spots inside you. The wicked glint of his teeth in the moonlight tells you that he’s just as aware of your growing arousal as you are.

It makes your cheeks heat up and the space behind your eyes begins to sting with fresh tears, as that coil in your belly continues to tighten and you both know exactly what he going to make you do.

“You like it?” he sneers. He slides a thumb around the seam where your entrance and his cock meet, picking up your slick and dragging it up to your puffy clit. You sob as he begins circling it with an unfair precision, and your thighs begin to tremble with the sensation.

“You like it,” he continues, “when I fuck you into the dirt like an animal?”

He’s waiting for an answer, you realize, when the nails on his other hand bite dangerously into your wrists, and you sob yes, Feitan, yes.

The steady thrusting, his finger on your clit, and the weight of his body on yours is bringing you closer and closer to the edge, skin hot, core aching, until all at once the coil snaps and your toes are curling with your release.

His grin above you is nothing but predatory, and your cheeks flush with humiliation as your back arches into the waves of pleasure, hips rolling to meet his. You bite your lips to try to stifle the moan being ripped from you throat, but the look on his face tells you he’s gotten everything he wanted anyways.

His pace quickens as your own high sizzles out, and soon the movements become erratic and harsh before he stills altogether, grinding his hips shallowly into yours as he groans and paints your insides with his cum.

The air is cold without the heat of sex warming your skin. You’re boneless on the ground, sucking in deep breaths, and the man above you looks no worse for wear.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. You’re dirty and tired and your face is streaked with tears, and you wish you didn’t care about how pathetic you must look to him.

The hand clasped around your wrists slides down to your mussed hair. Gently, he tucks a stray piece back into place, brushes a few strands away from your damp cheeks. You don’t let yourself stop to think of the implications.

He slides out of you and while you’re gathering your senses, he’s picked up your clothes to tug them back up your legs, under your bottom, and back into place around your hips.

He pulls you up onto shaky legs, and you feel his cum soaking through your panties and dripping down your thighs. You think you could start crying again.

He takes your wrist in a grip with a bit too much force, and tugs you along after him as he starts back towards the house. The pace he sets is just quick enough to have you stumbling after him, and you think again of what he’s going to do to you when you get back.

Fresh tears fall down your cheeks, and in a weak voice you tell him “I’m sorry, Feitan.”

He spares a glance back at you. You cannot see his expression past his cowl, pulled back into place over his nose and mouth, but in his eyes you see the barest hint of his typical cruel mirth.

“No,” he says, dropping his hand down to yours, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. It could almost be comforting.

“But you will be.”

#i was possessed by thirst demons I have no other explanation for this #feitan.ll #hxh.ll #my works.ll #feitan x reader #feitan #yandere feitan #yandere hunter x hunter #hxh x reader

[lliminall]

yandere!chrollo/phinks/feitan and what they make you wear

tags: implied fem reader, yanderes being creeps, extremely biased clothing selection lmao I basically pulled half of these from my own boards

chrollo

I have to agree with the general consensus that chrollo is a collarbones and thigh man, but may I also offer: the space between the neck and shoulder, and the soft tummy area between your hips. so naturally, lots of wide, low cut necklines and fabric that hugs your waist and shows every soft curve

I’m imagining soft, feminine silhouettes and fine fabrics that show every detail of skin underneath. I think he would even intentionally select fabrics that are fine enough to be see-through under the right lighting, so when you put it on in your room everything looks good, but when you step in front of a window he can see the outline of your body and your underwear. he’s sort of a creep he just does a very good job of hiding it lmao

skirts skirts skirtsss unless you’re vehemently opposed, there would be basically no pants in your wardrobe. skirts and dresses only. he loves the silhouette of a long sweeping maxi skirt but also the flirtatiousness of a hem that hits right below your ass

I can see him coming up behind you while you’re wearing a dress and striking up a casual conversation, but the whole time he’s got his hands loosely fisted in the fabric of the skirt, caressing your hips and playing with it just enough to make you think he’s about to lift it a little bit too high. just enough that you can feel the hem brush against your ass and worry that your panties will show. I hate him

pics below the cut for your convenience:

feitan

when he first takes you, I don’t think he would bother to put any thought into your wardrobe. he’d probably just give you whatever clothes were the easiest for him to get ahold of, and I doubt they would be the most flattering or even fit properly. imagine he just walks in with a walmart bag one day and hands you like five of those $10 tshirts that say shit like “I DON’T WANT TO ADULT TODAY.” what if he hands you one of those violently yellow minion shirts. I might kill myself and he does it on purpose too

HOWEVER I don’t think that would necessarily last forever. I’m still not over the fact that’s he’s into Trevor Brown’s art, which if you’re unfamiliar with, features a lot of creepy-cute style girls in lolita-esque clothing. I feel like eventually he’d realize that he’s wasting a perfect opportunity by making you walk around in unflattering stained tshirts when he could be dressing you up like a paper doll in whatever he wants

I’m imagining white for his darling, or maybe even really soft pastels, especially pinks. he likes the innocence of it, how sharply it contrasts with his own personality and aesthetic. I think he enjoys the feeling of being some kind of “big bad wolf” or the “monster under the bed” with you, and this would even further highlight the power imbalance between you

I love the idea of his darling in babydoll dresses and nightgowns, frilly and flowy and almost infantilizing. honestly though I feel like his taste in clothes would be sort of shit so I have taken many liberties with the example pics PLEASE if you have to be kidnapped the least he could do is let you look cute ffs

phinks

ASS MAN ASS MAN ASS MAN you can’t blame the guy for just wanting to see some cheeks

booty shorts, those skin-tight flare pants with the patterns…you know the ones, the ultimate butt-flattering pants. the man is constantly horny, he would have you walking around naked if he could

I don’t think he would force you to wear anything. he would just be so handsy whenever you did put on the clothes he picked for you, he would not hold back with the praise and you would be 100% aware of how smoking hot he thinks you are in that outfit. you would realize very quickly how much it improves his mood to see you like this, and you could absolutely use it your advantage. the man would be willing to get you anything and dish out a lot of privileges just to see some ass peeking out of a pair of stupidly short shorts

#yandere hxh #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #this is so self indulgent look away right now #spent 30 minutes trying to find good plus size examples and damn…Pinterest really is a barren wasteland for anyone above size 4 huh #hxh.ll #feitan.ll #chrollo.ll #phinks.ll #my works.ll

[lliminall]

yan!phantom troupe and annoying things they do during sex

enough dick riding it’s time to clown on these hoes

tags: NSFW/MDNI, she/her reader, yandere but some of these could read as non-yan tbh, dubcon, anal, public sex, oral (female receiving), awkward sex lmao

chrollo

now y’all listen…I know we all love to think of chrollo as a sex god, and I like to think of him as being very skilled in bed too, but this man is still human and I’m prepared to roast the shit out of him for it

chrollo is good at sex. he certainly thinks he knows your preferences better than you do, and infuriatingly, he’s got the skill to back it up more often than not. but when he does get it wrong….oh lord he gets it wrong

it’s not even anything particularly egregious. maybe you’re lubed up and dripping wet and he’s just having a little more trouble staying on your clit than usual. typical man behavior but what makes it unbearably awkward is that he doesn’t seem to recognize that he’s struggling.

you two have been going for a while, and fuck he’s worked up, and his fingers just can’t quite find that perfect spot. I see him doing that thing where he’s rubbing your left lip and you try to move his hand to your clit, but he moves it back and says something like “no, you can take it.” sir….wtf do you think I’m taking lmao. he’s so confident in it though that you can hardly find it in yourself to correct him. maybe it’s best if you just let him have this

I think there would also be this constant sense that he wanted something out of you from this, beyond the sex, but he would never voice it outright. he wants a deep, genuine intimacy from you, and he feels like the better he can fuck you the more inclined you’ll be to grow real feelings for him. your life with him can’t be that bad if he makes you feel so good, right? he’s so attentive and considerate in bed, and he could give you all of that everyday if you would just let him

he would almost use it in a pavlovian sense, coaxing you into letting him give you an orgasm whenever you’re irritated with him, so you start to shove down those feelings of animosity in anticipation of his touch. he’s an asshole lmao and when you catch on to what he’s doing, it’s going to taint every future sexual interaction you have with him. he craves genuine intimacy from you but isn’t capable of giving it himself. you can never really appreciate his gestures of affection because they’re all self-serving and manipulative.

pakunoda

reads your mind like she owns the rights to it and I don’t know about y’all but that’s basically my worst nightmare lmao. she’ll ask you what you’re into with a hand on your shoulder and now she knows about all of your embarrassing kinks and fantasies. she will absolutely use it to her advantage in bed as well

I think she could also use this to blur the lines of consent just a bit, in certain circumstances. she’ll run her fingers down your arm, asking you with little subtlety if you’d like to join her on the bed, and you can refuse but if your memories tell her that you were sort of into it the last time she tried, she’ll use it as an excuse to keep pushing you. gently, of course. she would never dream of outright forcing herself on you, she’s just…coaxing. manipulatively. with information about your sexual preferences that you never wanted her to be aware of to begin with

if you’re unaware of her nen ability I think it would be unnerving, the way she’s so in tune with your innermost thoughts and desires. she could use this to her favor, setting herself up as the person who was made for you, a soulmate almost, with the ability to understand you and love you more deeply than anyone else possibly could.

if you do know about her nen ability, it would put you in a near constant state of anxiety. you can’t hide anything from her. you have virtually no privacy. every little touch from her is going to have your mind racing, reading into every question she asks you for possible memories it could dig up that you do NOT want her to know. in this circumstance, I don’t think she would use her ability so often, because she wouldn’t want you to be constantly on edge around her, but the fear would still be there.

feitan

he’s sadistic and an asshole and self-serving and rough. I could write a dissertation on all the ways sex with feitan could potentially suck lmaooo but I’ll try to narrow it down here. I think we’ve all seen plenty of content about his tendencies for sadism in sex, so I’ll try to think a bit out of the box for these

he’s quiet. very quiet. you could be giving this man that power wash 3000 sloppy toppy and the most noise you’ll get out of him is like, some heavy breathing and the occasional grunt. sir how am I supposed to know if I’m doing well or not?? I love writing him as a dirty talker but I feel like unless he was doing it to tease or degrade you he wouldn’t have much to say

I think, especially in a situation where he and darling have been together for a while, he would put real effort into making it feel good for you, too. not only as a display of dominance, proving that he can have his way with your body and pull whatever reactions he wants from you, but also because you look so, so good squirming and making those sweet faces under him

this is where things have the potential to get awkward, because when feitan is putting in genuine effort, there’s the potential for him to fail, and failure is vulnerability. and feitan does not do vulnerability.

I think a prime example of this would be if he were to go down on you. eating someone out is such an intimate gesture. if you’ve ever had someone go down on you but they weren’t quite good enough to get you off, you know how awkward it is to pull them back up to your face and convince them to just try something else lol. this is not something you could do with feitan.

telling feitan that what he’s doing isn’t working for you is almost never a good idea, especially when he’s already putting himself out there by trying to do something nice-ish for you. it would embarrass him a little bit, and it would reinforce the idea he had when he first went yandere for you, that the best way for him to deal with his feelings is by exerting total dominance and ignoring any impulse he has to show you a more affectionate side. you can’t hurt him if he never shows you his soft spots.

so just play into it until he figures out what really gets you going. unless he explicitly tells you to show him what feels good for you, you’re better off faking orgasms and taking care of yourself in the shower later. it’s not all bad; he’ll be in a much better mood and eventually it may even encourage him to try being nicer outside of the bedroom. I hope you’re a good actress lmao

machi

this poor woman is tsundere to the point of self sabotage. obviously she must like you because otherwise she wouldn’t keep you around constantly, but she can NOT tell you that or make any sort of gesture that would make it obvious, at least not in the beginning. it’s just a little intimidating for her. to be honest you might have to be the one to suggest sex, because otherwise it will take her ages to work up the courage to risk being rejected by you

the actual act of sex will have you wondering if you ever should have brought it up to begin with because…she can not relax into it. in a normal relationship I don’t think she would be so intimidated by it, but in a yan relationship she is hyper aware of the disparity in power between you

she doesn’t expect you to ever genuinely return her feelings, even though she desperately wants it, and she’ll be second-guessing everything that happens leading up to and during the act. do you really want her like that? are you just doing it because you think it’s what she wants? I mean, she does, but not at the expense of your full and willing consent. are you doing it to manipulate her? to butter her up to something? she can’t pull herself out of her head long enough to just enjoy it

on the bright side I think this would cause her to develop a preference for eating you out. laying you out on your back and sinking to her knees would keep you from seeing her face, allowing her to almost hide from you. so you can’t look through her. can’t see the conflicting impulses flit through her expressions. it also gives her a perfect view as your hips roll and your lips part in pleasure, so she can take in all of those beautiful sights and sounds with little vulnerability on her end

shalnark

he’s selfish lol. I do think he would enjoy getting you off, but his pleasure is first priority. in the beginning of your sexual relationship he would diligently bring you to orgasm every time you slept together, because he wants you to eventually be the one coming to him for sex. it took so long to talk you into it in the first place, he does not want to undo all of that work by fucking up and not making it enjoyable for you

as you both get used to it though, he would get comfortable with getting himself off and then flopping over and falling asleep if you didn’t manage to come in the time it took him to finish. not that he would do it every time, but still. asshole

I also think he’s one of the kinkier members of the phantom troupe, and if your kinks don’t happen to align with his then tough luck lmaooo he’s getting what he wants one way or another. I think he would enjoy dressing you up in super feminine lingerie. the guy’s a gamer and you can NOT convince me he isn’t at least a little bit into the cat girl aesthetic

If you happen to like the maid dresses and cat ears and collars with the little bells, then boy you two are going to get along well, but if it’s not your thing you aren’t going to have much fun slipping it on anyway and putting on an act for him. if you do it well enough he’ll eat you out though, so there’s some motivation

anal? I think anal. I think he’d at least want to give it a shot. he wants to claim every hole you’ve got to offer at some point. depending on the mood he’s in though, he may not have the patience to stretch you out well enough before sliding his cock in, and taking a dick up your ass while underprepped is not a fun time

he wouldn’t want to make you cry or anything, he still wants you to enjoy sex with him, but he would also expect you to be tough enough to deal with a certain amount of pain until you relaxed enough to enjoy it. he is such a prick

phinks

the man is obnoxiously horny. unbearably horny. his hand is on your ass 24/7. you could just be unloading the dishwasher, standing on your tiptoes putting up plates, and you turn to look over your shoulder and see him staring at the space where your shirt has lifted up and exposed the lines of your hips and the dimples on your back. bricked up in .6 seconds over nothing I stg

in his ideal world you would be just as horny as he is, but the average darling will just not be able to keep up, and so a lot of your sessions will just be him fucking you hard and fast to get himself off without taking up too much of your time. he does want you to come, but he also doesn’t want to rub your clit raw.

I could see him getting into thigh-fucking as a necessity because of this, he’s a strong dude and when you’re too sore from last night to give him anything more in the morning, the man learns to make do

I think he’d have a thing for risky sex. semi-public stuff like asking you to suck him off in an empty parking lot, fingering you under the table in the back of a restaurant just after rush hour. he wouldn’t force you into it if you were uncomfortable, but he would still tease you with it because he thinks it’s funny to get a rise out of you. sliding his hand up your thigh until you swat at him and glare before frantically looking around at the tables next to you to see if they noticed.

unrelated to sex but on the topic of pissing you off for fun, he’d also 100% dutch oven you. pinning you under the blankets and cackling like a bastard while you gag and claw for freedom. I hate him lol

shizuku

I think a lot of sex with her would be very self-serving. it’s not that she doesn’t care if you come, it’s just that she gets so in her head sometimes that she forgets to worry about making you feel good, too. if you want to come consistently with her, you’re going to have to put in the work yourself. she’s just a little bit of a pillow princess

I see her as having a relatively low sex-drive as well, so if she doesn’t get you off it may be a while before you have a chance to try again with her. she would climax every time you slept together though. she isn’t one for the “sex is about the journey not the destination” philosophy lol, she’s in it to get off. now if only she would apply that same line of thinking towards you…

is so direct with her dirty talk it feels almost clinical. maybe it couldn’t really be called dirty talk at all lol. “spread yourself open. how many fingers do you want?” “come over here, I want you to go down on me. actually, just lie on your back. tap me if you need to breathe.”

uvogin

I know it’s fun to read about taking guys with huge 8 inch schlongs and getting absolutely wrecked but y’all…it’s average dick supremacy in this house. you know how tiring it would be spending ages stretching yourself out and working up to take this man’s dick? who’s got the timeee as an occasional thing I get it but dude…on the regular that would get old real fast 😭

and I do think he would want to take the time to stretch you out. he’s another yandere that wants you to genuinely want him, and because of his strength he’s also worried that if he doesn’t take the time to prep you, he could accidentally hurt you. the upside is that with the amount of foreplay you two will be doing, he’s going to get very familiar with your body very fast

another man who’s constantly horny. slapping your ass, pinching your tits, pressing his hips into you from behind and cupping your crotch. maybe that sounds like something you’d be into, but I think it’d get annoying at some point. like sir…you’re just gonna stand there and squeeze my ass while I’m trying to cook us dinner? at least pick up a knife and start chopping this celery ffs

he’s also a little bit condescending about it? he likes the obvious power imbalance between you two. he likes the way you squeak and scramble to catch your balance when he hooks an arm between your legs and hoists you up onto his shoulder with no warning. it’s cute. you’re so helpless. and if you try to tell him off, even better! it’s like watching a kitten flash it’s claws at him, but instead of throwing you some cat treats and scratching behind your ears it just makes all the blood rush to his dick

#they deserve to be dragged every once in a while. as a treat. to me #chrollo.ll #pakunoda.ll #feitan.ll #machi.ll #shalnark.ll #shizuku.ll #phinks.ll #uvogin.ll #hxh.ll #my works.ll #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #pakunoda x reader #feitan x reader #yandere feitan #machi x reader #shalnark x reader #yandere shalnark #shizuku x reader #phinks x reader #uvogin x reader #chrollo #feitan #pakunoda #shalnark #machi #uvogin #shizuku #phinks

[lliminall]

fear will change us

[yandere!feitan x reader]

word count: 2.7k

tags: she/her reader, yandere, violent character death (not reader), kidnapping, feitan fucks shit up for you

You suppose it was only a matter of time before Feitan’s reputation bled into and infected your own life.

Well. Beyond what it had done to you already. You were hoping the first time you stepped out of his home in months would be under much different circumstances. Maybe you would finally outsmart him, or maybe some brave hero would come and scoop you up out of his hold, like one of those Hunters you hear about.

Feitan had reminded you more than once that your luck just wasn’t enough for wishful thinking like that.

The night is hot, sticky. Your thin nightclothes cling to your skin as you try fretfully to sleep, with little success. You had only just started to drift off when the sound of a heavy boot splintering the front door rips you from your sleep. Bolting upright in your bed, skin prickling despite the heat, you listen as those heavy boots and more make their way to your room and throw open your door as well, shining lights in your face, pinning your arms behind your back, asking you in a grating voice what a bitch like you is doing with a monster like him.

Feitan is not home. He was supposed to be, sometime tonight, but there are men in your room with hands fisted around your wrists who Feitan would not have hesitated to kill, and the fact that they are standing means that you’re alone in this. It’s a cruel testament to your horrible, horrible luck that the one time you want him he is nowhere to be found.

The man holding your wrists pulls you to your feet in front of him and pushes you out of your room, through the house where there’s another man waiting in the hallway, another by the hole where the front door used to be, and another waiting in a car outside. Four in total. They shove you into the waiting car and the locks click into place behind you, leaving you alone with the man behind the wheel. In the rearview mirror, your eyes meet his, and they do not quite have the same cold edge that Feitan’s have. You think that they’ve underestimated him. You think that, if he were here, he would have all of their heads. But he isn’t, and you’re locked in a strange car, and the other three men outside are deliberating over something while you shake in the backseat.

It occurs to you then that they didn’t come for Feitan at all. They had come for you. It makes sense, you suppose. You must be one of the only constants in the man’s life, soft and weak and easily broken. For someone as powerful as him, as intimidating to approach, it would be a fruitless endeavor to even try to cause him harm.

To hurt you instead must be the next best thing.

The passenger door swings open and one of the men slides into the seat.

“Chris wants to check the basement,” he says to the other. “See if there’s anything left from Ash.” The man in the driver’s seat scoffs.

“Like that prick would bother to keep anything from his victims. You know how many people these guys kill?”

The passenger raises a hand in surrender. “Chris’s vendetta, not mine. And besides, the spider won’t be back for another few days. I’ve had my guy keeping tabs on him.”

At that, your breathe hitches. Days until Feitan gets back? Are they wrong? Did Feitan lie to you about his return date? It wouldn’t be the first time. You think of all the things these men could do to you in that time, the distance they could take you, further from Feitan, further from your own only hope. Wet heat prickles behind your eyes and you bite your cheek to keep it from spilling over.

“Tell him to hurry up at least,” the driver grumbles. “I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to be.”

And maybe your luck isn’t so terrible after all, because the moment the man closes his mouth, he and his partner are sitting bolt straight in their seats, eyes trained on the house, sensing something you can’t see, as if they’ve felt a shift in the energy around them. Whatever is there, they don’t like it, and the enemy of your enemy is probably your friend, right?

“Is that Chris?” the driver asks.

“Fuck no, I know his aura.”

“Then it’s Rick?”

“There’s two signatures and I only recognize one of them.” Panic has begun to bleed into the men’s voices, the driver’s hands tightening around the wheel.

“I thought you said you had tabs on the spider?!”

A window shatters, the sloppy figure of a man scrambling through. His focus is locked on something inside, and you watch as he rips a gun from the holster on his hip and unloads it into the house. Faster than your eyes can track, something small and dark flies through window and connects with the man’s hand, and he drops the gun with a shout as blood sprays.

He leaps away from the window, moving faster than any normal human should be capable of, and plants his bleeding palm on the ground. The earth around him shifts and breaks, and your breathe seizes as you watch three dark shapes claw out of the dirt, inky black and snarling with sharp teeth. They look like dogs, you think, and at an order from their master they growl like them, too.

Through the splintered front entrance, another figure emerges, stalking through with the nonchalance of a predator whose victory is ensured. You recognize the bandana around his neck, the eyes with the steel-cold edge your captors lack, and your heart races with hope. You’ve never been happier to see him. You’ve never been happy to see him at all, until now.

He steps into the glow of the headlights. There is blood on hands.

The car lurches. The men in front of you who’ve made no movement or sound are finally driven to action, driven by their fear, and your gut twists with nerves again as the car reverses down the driveway at reckless speed. Feitan’s gaze flicks to yours, and you plead with him, beg him with your eyes to please, please help me.

The dogs lunge at him and the car swerves onto the road. Feitan disappears behind the tree line. You are alone again.

“What the fuck are you doing!” the passenger cries. The driver’s hands are white-knuckled on the wheel. He doesn’t respond.

“I said what do you think you’re doing?! Turn around!”

“Like you were jumping out to fight him?!” the driver responds. “They’re dead, Sean, I’m not getting murdered for some other guy’s revenge scheme!”

“So you’re leaving him to fight that guy alone? We agreed to do all this together.”

“If you’re so eager to get your head chopped off, why don’t you jump out and run back to him?” the driver spits. Sean bristles, and his mouth snaps shut. His eyes betray his every thought as he considers it, considers running back to his friend who is certainly in a losing fight, and risking his own life for it. You watch the guilt settle in as he realizes he isn’t going to do it.

The drive is quiet for miles, save only for the rumble of the car flying down the dirt roads, and you are trembling with fear. Will Feitan find you? Are you even worth the effort to him? If your captors believe their friends are dead, how much more reason will they have to take all of their grief out on you? That prickling heat from before begins to build in your eyes again, but you don’t dare make a sound. If you sob, they will hear you, and if they hear you they’ll remember that you’re there, waiting for them to exact their retribution on.

The glow of the headlights casts a road sign into view ahead. TWENTY MILES TO SAVANNAH, it reads. It’s the first you’ve heard of the town. Feitan had never allowed you even the slightest idea of where he’d taken you. Now you know that he’d hidden you in the middle of nowhere, in the thick of the darkest woods, and it still had not been enough to keep you there. You had always assumed it was more to keep you from getting out than to keep anyone else from coming in.

You are halfway across the distance to the town when the silence is broken.

“Pull over,” Sean says.

“You’re joking. You want to go back now?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Sean says, his voice beginning to waver. “God, we just left them there. We’re fucking nen users and we ran like pussies. Pull over.”

“I’m not turning around just to die with the rest of them,” the driver growls.

“I said pull over!” Sean reaches for the steering wheel and the car swerves as they grapple for control. The driver slams the breaks, grinding the car to a halt in the middle of the road, your arms flying out in front of you to brace against the front seat.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think you can take that guy!”

“We all agreed to this, we all knew the risk going in! That was your friend and you don’t care that you left him?!”

“I care that I’m alive and not strapped down in that motherfucker’s basement, and I’m not about to let that change!”

The arguing continues, and not once does either man glance back at you. You wonder if you could leave now. Throw the door open, take off running, make it to that town 10 miles down the pitch black road. You think again of the man who pulled dogs out of the dirt, of the way the men in front of you sensed Feitan before you could see or hear him, and you think that you would never stand a chance against them. A single bad move could be the tipping point that convinces them you’re not worth the trouble of being kept alive.

As if sensing your thoughts, Sean’s eyes flick to yours. They are frantic with adrenaline, and your blood chills as you freeze in your seat.

“Fine, stay here,” he growls. “I’m going back for that prick and I’m bringing this bitch with me. We’ll see how much he cares about her when I cut her fucking throat in front of-“

The words die on his tongue, and both men whip their heads to the driver’s window for only a second before something collides with the driver’s door, crashing into the car with enough force to send it rocking onto its side wheels. The door dents under the pressure before it’s ripped off the hinges altogether.

There is no time to react. A hand slices through the dark, plunging through the drivers neck with a sickening wet noise, crunching through bone and tendons. Behind the dying body, your eyes meet the gaze of his killer, piercing straight through you above the hem of his bandana. They are wild, frenzied, spattered with blood. It drips from his head, soaking through his clothes, the remnants of the man in front of you and his two dead friends. You don’t dare move.

The passenger seat collapses back and Sean lunges for you, catching you by the arm and yanking you into his chest as he dives into the back seat. The sharp edge of a blade presses into your neck.

“I’ll kill her,” he says, and his voice shakes. “I swear to god, I kill her right here. Just get out and don’t move, or I’ll-“

Before you even register him moving, Feitan is on top of you, fingers curled around the blade at your throat, his other hand disappearing behind your head as that sick crunching noise comes again, this time from directly behind you. As soon as you’ve heard it, liquid heat pours no down your back, soaking through your clothes and dripping down your spine. You gasp and press yourself into Feitan, away from the bloody spray, but you’re met with more blood as your face meets the soaked fabric of his shirt. The smell is sharp and metallic. His chest heaves under your cheek.

You look up at him, and his eyes are fixed firmly on yours. They’re wild still, and his breathing is ragged and heavy. There is no other car outside. You realize, with no small amount of wonder, that he ran to you.

The knife clatters to the floor, and you catch sight of thin red lines along his fingers before he grips your chin between them and turns your head from side to side, eyes trailing over your cheeks, your neck, every inch of you. Inspecting you.

“They-they didn’t hurt me,” you say in a wavering voice.

His eyes have locked onto your lap, and you glance down to see what’s caught his attention. Bruises on your wrists. The men had dragged you out of the house.

You begin to cover them up, hands rubbing over them and feeling the ache you hadn’t noticed before. Feitan nudges them away, fingers ghosting over the purpling marks. He leaves bloody smears behind, traces from the cuts in his hand where he blocked the blade threatening your life. You let out a shaky breathe.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve sustained no other injuries, he nods towards the other end of the seats. You crawl past him obediently, not once turning to look at the body slumped against the window behind you.

You hear the door open and the thud of something solid hitting the ground, and the noise repeats on the driver’s side in front of you. When he’s cleared the bodies out, Feitan comes to stand in front of your window. You sit on your heels as he opens the door and move to get out, swinging your legs over the edge of the seat, but he doesn’t step aside to let you pass. Your face is level with his chest again. His eyes are calmer now, meeting yours with the dull hint of something you can’t quite recognize. Fatigue? Frustration? No.

…Relief?

Mindlessly, you collapse forward into his chest again. You realize you have not stopped trembling. Your breathing is too shallow, your legs too boneless to stand. His fingers card through your hair, and your mind blanks as you realize that he’s petting you. Comforting you.

Tears sting at your eyes for the third time that night, and your hands come up to fist in his shirt. This time, you don’t bother to stifle them down. You sob, openly, into his chest, feeling his sticky fingers catch and stumble through your hair. He’s getting you dirty. There’s blood drying down your spine, soaking into your clothes that cling uncomfortably to your skin. You don’t care. You cry and he doesn’t mock you for it.

His hand comes to rest on your back and you take that as your cue to pull yourself together. You sniffle one last time and take deep breathes into the metallic scent of his clothes.

“Can-can we go home now?” you ask quietly. He nods above you and moves to let you out. You don’t stop to think that the home you’re asking for is the locked box you’ve been praying for escape from.

Home, not prison. Home, not hell.

You climb into the passenger seat, the only one not soaked with blood, and Feitan slides in next to you. His phone is in his hand, and you see the name Shizuku at the top of his messages before he shuts it off. He turns around, starts back in the direction of his house, away from that town waiting miles away, and away from the bodies behind you. You look back at them then.

They are piled in the ditch by the road. He hasn’t bothered to hide them, and you wonder how he can be so confident that they won’t be found and investigated. Your thoughts are cut short when you notice the bloody stumps of their arms in the grass.

Your hands grip the marks on your wrists again, reigniting that dull ache.

Their hands have been severed. Lying several feet away from their bodies are the hands that touched you, hurt you, took you.

You turn back around in your seat and say nothing. The ride home will be quiet. Feitan will not look at you, and when you get home, neither of you will mention the bodies or their missing hands.

You’ll both be happy to leave certain things unsaid.

#I wrote this whole thing in like one long feverish haze I was possessed #sometimes u are a horrible man who stabs people for fun until your girlfriend gets snatched #and then you become a horrible man who stabs people for /necessity/ and that is ok #simp feitan is still in the works I just had to get this out of my brain #feitan.ll #hxh.ll #feitan #hxh #feitan x reader #yandere feitan #my works.ll

[lliminall]

psssst... do you have any spicy feitan head cannons? 👁️ like him eating you out during your period ones or in general lmao

the way I have been foaming at the mouth waiting for someone to ask me about this 💀 god bless u for this ask lol. I was just going to do some headcanons but this ended up turning into a whole scenario, I am so fucking whipped for this man 😭

🚨MDNI GIANT RED ALERT WARNING FOR PERIOD PUSSY EATING THIS IS MY KINK I AM NOT HOLDING BACK🚨

feitan ain’t no bitch. he will absolutely eat it all times of the month, provided you can behave well enough and get him riled up

I feel like he uses oral as a reward for good behavior. it’s something he wouldn’t be willing to do unless you’d been with him for a while (because I imagine he sees it as something intimate and it makes him a wittle bit shy 👉👈). it’s a little treat. for you AND for him but you don’t need to know that second part

if you’re on your period and you’ve been a little shit, he will absolutely leave you there to suffer. but if he’s satisfied with how you’ve been acting recently, it’s a perfect opportunity to reward you, ease your pain, and satisfy his period sex kink which I’ve already covered in unnecessary detail lmao.

to make a long fuckin story short he likes blood, and you don’t have to put in that much work to convince him he’d even be ok with having some in his mouth

the situation I’m thinking of goes like this: he’s been fingering you for a while. you’re so sensitive and wet and he can already feel the blood stringing across his fingers and smell a little bit of that sharp, metallic scent permeating the air.

it’s not something he’s unfamiliar with. feitan has been a fighter for his entire life. it’s a favorite pastime of his. and to smell it in this context, coming off of you, while you look so slutted out and desperate underneath him…it gets him excited. bricked up PAINFULLY in his children’s size medium pants lmao

your lips part, mouth hanging open uselessly while he’s working between your legs, and the sight is too tempting for him. without stopping to think, he reefs his fingers from your cunt and holds them up to your lips. you only hesitate for a second, eyes widening as you realize what he wants you to do, before you lean forward and suck his fingers into your mouth.

his breath hitches. the wet heat of your mouth has his dick twitching in his pants. your tongue is running over the pads his fingers, eyes slipping closed, the softest moan vibrating through his hand as you do exactly what’s asked of you. you’re being so, so good for him, and you’re enjoying it.

the taste is tart, metallic, and tinged with the savory undertones of your slick. he lets you suck gently until he can’t hold himself back anymore.

when his lips crash into yours, his tongue follows immediately after, sliding across yours and taking that taste for himself. of course, he’s tasted blood before. his own, plenty of times. an enemy’s, a few unfortunate times. but never yours. not like this.

his thoughts go back to the space between your legs, and before he can think, he’s dragging his mouth down your neck, your chest, your belly…hovering over your messy slit.

your tummy tenses when you feel his breath between your legs. no one’s ever taken you into their mouth like this before, not when you’re bleeding and needy and cramping and-

he places a tentative kiss onto your clit. just testing the waters. he’s never done this before, either.

and then he kisses you again, a bit more openly, a bit more forcefully, tasting more of that iron and slick on his tongue, and now his mind is made up. he licks a long, slow stripe from the bottom of your entrance to the top of your clit, and you keen. back arching. fingers curling into his hair. it makes him groan into your heat.

from there, he’s completely without shame. no hesitation as he goes in on your weeping pussy, every sob and gasp from your lips egging him on. it feels good to be the only one making you feel like this. it feels good to be the cure for your pain. it feels fucking amazing to see you come right up to that edge and beg him to please, please push you over.

when you come, he’s thankful for the way your eyes squeeze shut and your head tips back. you can’t see his own expression, obsessed and damn near adoring, as you fall apart under his mouth. he’s going to work you until you’re fisting his hair and shoving his head away. he’s going to kiss your mouth bloody and fuck you raw into the red-stained mattress. he’s going to pull out just to empty onto your sloppy pussy, mixing his cum, your cum, your blood.

it’s the first time for both of you, but it’s sure not going to be the last

maybe next time he’ll find a way to get his own blood mixed in there, too

#i MAY #have gotten a bit carried away #feitan.ll #hxh.ll #asks.ll #my works.ll

[lliminall]

Hello hello I am the same feitan loving anon from before!! I just had to let you know that the line “power wash 3000 sloppy toppy” absolutely killed me and I was reading this in the car with my mom 💀 I forced myself to read it multiple times because it made me giggle so damn much 😭😭😭 also loved Paku and Machi 🥺 they wouldn't treat me right but I love them anyways 💙

I figured since I'm here I might as well ask this too: how tf would yanderes deal with a darling during their period 😔 feel like feitan would just be so mean about it! Mocking my pain and pawing at my boobs even though they hurt 😭😰 mean, mean man right there

Anyways, periods are homophobic and I hate them but lovely writing as always!!

anon!! thank you for the kind words, I’m glad my dumbass sense of humor landed well with you lol 😭

the power this question holds…our brains must be syncing because I’ve been thinking about period sex with the yans lately, so I had to take this as an opportunity to write out some headcanons for some of my faves hehe

Feitan is absolutely an asshole about it but he’s also very, very into it. Firstly because it allows him to indulge his sadistic side a bit more, given how sensitive your body is. You’re absolutely right about the boob thing, he’d be kneading the tender fat on your chest and pinching your tits just to see how your face twists up underneath him.

He also loves how needy you become during that time of the month. You can try your hardest not to show it, but he’s more than aware of how good an orgasm feels when you’ve been miserable in bed with cramps all day. Maybe he can even pat himself on the back for it later, when you’ve come three times and the endorphins have numbed your poor body enough that you can finally drift off to sleep. Good boyfriend behavior if he says so himself, you should show a little more gratitude to him for it tbh. (not that he’d ever EVER call himself something as sappy as your boyfriend but you get the point lol)

And of course the blood is nothing he’d shy away from, if anything it’s an added bonus. Not only because it works as a natural lube, but also because it creates such a raw, carnivorous experience for him. Cutting people down is a hobby of his. He’s done it for long enough that the smell of blood becomes exhilarating, and to smell it while he’s driving his hips into yours only gets him that much more worked up. It paints such a striking mess across your torsos, smearing down your thighs, the sheets, and everywhere his hands touch after he fingers you to climax. It’s Feitan lmao I hope y’all weren’t expecting it to be wholesome 😭

can I be extra gross and say that he’d even be willing to eat you out, if you got him riled up enough? hm maybe another time lmao

Chrollo doesn’t mind the blood. It isn’t particularly off-putting or attractive to him. What he loves about period sex is the opportunity it gives him to prove how well he can take care of you. Your cramps are keeping you up? And the painkillers aren’t working? How unfortunate. Lucky for you, he knows just the thing that will take your mind off of it :)

You just don’t have the energy to talk back and refuse him when you’re like this. And…it does make you feel better. He’s so gentle with your body, asking you what feels good, what hurts, bringing you to climax as many times as you’ll allow him. He’s basically a dream boyfriend through all of it. It’s confusing and frustrating, and 100% intentional on his part. He wants to show you how good he could be to you, how prepared he is to give you everything you want (minus a few minor things like, uhh your freedom) if you’d just behave for him.

He’ll take care of you in any way you’ll let him. Ordering in comfort foods, bathing you, throwing a heating pad in the microwave, putting on any dumb show you want to watch and cuddling on the couch. In the beginning I think he would offer all of this himself, but after you two have been through it a few times and you get used to it, I can see him being a little shit and making you ask for it yourself. You’re looking at him all expectantly and he just plays dumb. You’re going to have to ask for it and he wants you to be very specific. Tell him you want him to fuck you or it’s not happening. Ugh

Machi feels a little bad about it, but she comes to almost look forward to your periods. She’s a high-level nen user and hers don’t bother her much, but the same sure can’t be said about you. You just look so pitiful lying on the bed with your heating pad clutched to your belly. So when she comes to offer you help, she can act like she’s doing it for your benefit, obviously. If it’ll get you to stop moping around then fine, she’ll finger you a bit, if she must 🙄✋

It lets her feel like she’s doing something good for you. Getting you painkillers, bringing you a hot pad, refilling your pads and tampons without being asked. She feels more guilt than she’d like to over forcing you to be here with her, and providing for you like this soothes that ache a bit. Of course, she’ll never admit any of it. You’ll probably feel like you’re a burden to her, like she does it all out of begrudging obligation. Maybe someday you’ll be familiar enough to see through the act.

Don’t call her bluff though. It’s humiliating enough to be so wrapped around your finger, but for you to become aware of that fact…it might be more than she can gracefully handle.

#thanks for the question this was so fun to think about!! #mwah kiss for you #hxh.ll #chrollo.ll #feitan.ll #machi.ll #asks.ll #my works.ll