Poison Desire in My Mind (Giorno Giovanna X Female!Reader)
TW: Yandere!Giorno, Blood, Nightmares, Anxiety
It was a dark and stormy night. [Y/N] frowned as she looked outside. It had been raining for at least three hours nonstop today and she hoped that it would lessen by tomorrow morning. She sighed as she turned around and smiled softly at who was sleeping soundly on the bed.
Giorno Giovanna was the Don of Passione, so a lot of work was to be expected. However, even before that, it was shown that he was a natural-born workaholic, therefore he would push himself to finish given tasks with all his effort. But there was one thing that he’d almost forgotten: he was a human. And humans were a limited bunch, so he was almost forced to retire to bed early.
[Y/N] gave a soft caress on his cheek before she decided to read for a bit. There weren’t enough hours in the day for her to read. So, she sat, occasionally giving a glance to her sleeping boyfriend. For a few moments, there was nothing but a peaceful, blissful silence.
Then it began.
His [Y/N] was so beautiful, so mesmerizing that it felt like such a pity to treat her this way. She was currently struggling in his grasp, her beautiful face stained. It was a mixture of tears and blood running down it and her (e/c) orbs were angry and filled with tears. It was...It was...Giorno frowned as a new feeling took place and he tightened his hold on her wrists.
No...This isn’t right...This is all wrong...Why...Why is she crying?
“What, got nothing to say to me,” [Y/N] snapped as she continued to struggle. “I can’t believe that you used to be such a good person!” There was venom in her words. “But now! Now, you’ve changed into someone else! Someone who I can never bring to love!”
W...What? No...No...This can’t be real...This can’t be real at all...
“What are you saying, mi bella,” His voice purred. Ugh, it sounded so slimy and horrible in his ears. Kind of like... “You should’ve have thought about that before becoming involved with me.”
What...?! No! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!
“But look at what you made me do, mi amore,” His voice continued. “And now, mi tesoro, you must pay the price...” So saying, he pulled her somewhere. His own mind was screaming at him not to hurt her, not to harm her. As he looked over to [Y/N], his heart was breaking into two.
“I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry...!”
[Y/N] looked up from her book in worry as she turned to Giorno. From his moans and pleadings, it sounded like he was having an awful nightmare on his hands. A quick peek at his knuckles all but confirmed it as they turned white from gripping the blanket tightly. His face was coated with sweat and he tossed and turned.
Moving closer, she leaned down towards him and gripped his face gently as she closed her eyes and used her stand E.T. to prod into his subconscious and help him wake up.
“Wake up, GioGio,” She said. “Please. Wake up!”
“Shh, shh, shh,” She gently cooed, rocking him back and forth. Oh no, he was a few breaths away from hyperventilating. “It’s okay...It’s okay...I’m here...I’m here. Try to follow my lead, okay?” She took in a few deep breaths to help him and he followed along quite well. “There we go. How are you feeling right now...?”
“I...I feel awful,” Oops. That was a side effect of E.T. Unfiltered feelings. “When I became the Don, I knew that it would be a hard job to take. But every night...I...I feel myself slip into what the previous Boss was like before. It’s horrifying. I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not you. You’re everything to me...”
“Oh, GioGio.” She gave a loving kiss on his head before slowly lulling him. “Don’t you worry your pretty head off. I know that it will never come to that. I promise...!”
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Meet The Parents. Fugo x F Reader x Mista 🎀
Word count: 2.8k.
Note: HERE WE ARE !!! i. had so much fun. writing this. i’m sure you can tell. everything in italics is meant to be spoken in english!
[Scarlet Ribbons description]
“The time of reckoning draws near,” you whisper, drawing your phone to your chest and gulping. “Yes… I can feel it. I can sense it in my veins, overwhelming despair unlike any other. This is it. Armageddon. The final hours. An eclipse, a solstice—”
“Arma-who? What’s that?” Mista scratches his cheek. Why were you speaking gibberish?
You swat his shoulder lightly for interrupting your requiem. “There’s no time for explanations, Mista! Get it together!”
“M-me? I’ve got it together, you’re the one that needs to calm down, [First]. You sound like one of those wackos who stand on the street corner saying that the world is ending. All you’re missing is a sign and megaphone.”
Mista’s comment earns a weak chuckle from you, much to his delight. The melodious sound has got to be one of the best things he’s ever heard. Why did you have to be so unfairly cute?
“Being dramatic is my coping mechanism,” you puff your cheeks out.
Ah! Even cuter! It’s like cupid personally descended from the heavens above and shot Mista in the heart every time you did or said anything. From the blush dusting over Fugo’s cheeks and ears, he must believe the same. All the more reason for Mista to prove himself superior to win your most prized affections.
Yes, it was true. Today was the day that Guido Mista… was to propose. Sort of. He hadn’t bought a ring, but he daydreamed about the potential venue and honeymoon (it’s going to be in Los Angeles), now all he needs is your parent’s approval. His interactions with them today would be the seed that if carefully tended to, would blossom into a respectable son-in-law relationship. Fugo might have the advantage of speaking your native tongue, yet that was not enough to discourage the gunslinger; his suave charm would transcend language. Tower of Babel be damned.
(Mista did ‘borrow’ Narancia’s copy of How to Speak English for Dummies, but that’s beside the point).
“Honestly, you defy all logic,” Fugo runs a hand through his hair, the day young but his limits almost surpassed. The stress was apparent from how his jaw was clenched tightly. “I can’t believe you tried to get me to draft up a will with you last night.”
“She what?” Mista almost chokes on thin air. Why were you preparing for this moment like it was the final battle sequence in an action movie? You don’t deny the claim, instead, nodding your head as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“If you were wondering, I left most of my mortal possessions to Narancia,” you stare wistfully into the distance, the wind rustling your hair as if you were a wife waiting for her lover to return from the war. Sniffling, you wipe a nonexistent tear from the corner of your eye. “Not that it matters. Nothing matters. Life is but a stage and I, the unwilling actor, tugged along by God's cruel hand for his amusement.”
Fugo rolls his eyes. “Christ, calm down already. You sound like a great value version of Shakespeare. Everything is going to be fine.”
“If Shakespeare was so great, then why is he dead—”
Your phone buzzes, cutting off what was surely going to be a heated clash between stubborn personalities. Shakily, you lift it to your face, an aura of unrivaled terror permeating around you like a fog. Just as quickly as you brought your phone up to examine the screen, you shove it against Mista’s chest.
“It’s from my mom! I can’t read it, I think my soul will leave my body and never return.”
Fugo plucks your phone from Mista’s grasp lax. “Did you forget which one of us was fluent and which one of us is Mista?”
“Oh, right! My bad.”
Mista’s shoulders slump. You didn’t have to dismiss him that easily…!
“What’s your password?” Fugo prompts.
Swifter than a flash of lightning, a bright grin spreads on your face, accompanied by giggling. “Remember that scene from Spaceballs? That’s the hint.”
“I think you’re just making words up at this point,” Mista makes a mental note to start writing down the obscure references you make to look up later.
“I swear to fucking god [Last], if your password is one two three four...” Fugo creases his eyebrows together, fingers deftly working away to type in the respective code. And voila. Just like that, it opens up, revealing your home screen’s photo to be a selfie of you and Narancia. “Security concerns aside, you missed a text before the latest one saying that they landed.”
You swallow thickly and lean forward in anticipation.
“Ah. Your mom said they’re already walking to get their luggage.”
“Shit! Fuck! Damn!”
A mother walking nearby with her two children in tow makes a point of shielding them from the uncouth scene.
“What stage of grief is this?” Mista whispers to Fugo, who is shaking his head once more.
“Bargaining, if I were to guess.”
You slap your face with enough force to make Mista wince. “Okay, now that I’ve got that out of my system, I’m all set. Into purgatory we go.”
Leading your men into battle, you march into the airport, glass sliding doors automatically removing themselves from your path. The anxiety that the pair had been teasing you over becomes contagious in a cruel twist of fate. Fugo starts fiddling with his tie, whereas Mista is glancing around looking for two [First]-like individuals. What direction would they come from? North? South?
“There they are!” You exclaim in a whisper-shout, pointing in the direction of the escalator that connects to the airport’s upper floor. Waving with both your arms over your head, you sprint like a madman to the base of the escalator, leaving a befuddled Mista and Fugo in the dust. The pair share a glance of solemn solidarity.
“Just so you know, Mista,” Fugo straightens his shoulders out and cracks his neck. “I won’t be doing you any favors. I will be walking away from this with [First]’s parent’s approval, not you.”
Mista rolls his shoulder and grins good-naturedly. “You say that like it’s already been decided. Try not to fall all the way up on your high horse, you might break something.”
“This is not a matter of me bragging, it’s a matter of stating the facts. Surrender now and perhaps I might show a sliver of mercy and translate a thing or two for you.”
“Let’s allow fate to decide, college dropout.”
“Whatever you say, ex-convict.”
Now it’s Mista’s turn to laugh. “Look at us. We’ve got to be the most prime bachelors on this side of the hemisphere.”
Fugo tuts and corrects his companion with a growing smirk. “You won’t be able to claim me as a bachelor for much longer.”
They put a temporary halt to the shit-talking contest to observe your heartwarming reunion. You tackle hugged your parent’s the moment they were on solid ground, to which they responded with equal fervor. Mista wonders why you were so paranoid in the first place. From how you’re beaming now, in a manner that would rival the sun, it appears to him that you’re overjoyed. What a sight it makes for too. Would you eventually run to hug him with adoration in your eyes? He’s certain you would.
Mista puts his elbow on Fugo’s shoulder and leans down. “That one there’s gonna be my wife someday. Surrender now and I’ll consider inviting you to our wedding as a sign of mercy.”
Fugo shrugs Mista’s hand off and scoffs. “As if. Your unfounded claims come as no surprise to me. Giorno may have healed your head injuries in the past, but concussions can lead to delusions of grandeur.”
“Fugo! Mista! Come say hi!” You unknowingly interrupt the tense exchange by beckoning them over.
Meeting up with them halfway, you motion in your friend’s direction to your parents. “The guy with the hat on despite it being late spring is Mista, if you remember from my phone calls.”
You just said his name! Mista hasn’t the slightest inkling as to what the rest of your sentence means, but he prays you gave him a glowing introduction or at least didn’t make a funny joke that he’s going to miss out on. Your parent’s gentle laughter squashes those hopes like an ant underneath a boot, with him as the ant. He’ll ask for specifics later.
“Of course, you’re already familiar with Fugo. He’s had to put up with me for the longest. Er, second longest? Whatever the case, that alone is an achievement worth a standing ovation.”
“Please, you exaggerate, [First]. It is a pleasure to finally meet you both. How was your flight? I trust everything went well?” Fugo speaks with both precision and confidence. Now this was the part that Mista was dreading. He had overheard Fugo practicing his English while walking down the long halls of Giorno’s estate, the advantage this gave not easily remedied. However, Mista did not dwell on it, as he never tends to do. He’d continue going with the flow as he has done his entire life.
“It went better than well,” your mother says, her arm still around you in a half hug. “We were randomly selected to be upgraded to first-class seats. Who would have thought extra legroom could make such a difference?”
Your jaw drops. “R-randomly selected? Wow, what are the chances of that!”
Damn you, Giovanna, Fugo seethes internally. No matter. Giorno was too humble a man to claim ownership over this deed to them, so it was little more than an altruistic gesture than a threat. Did he intend to throw Fugo off-kilter by taking the risk your parents would mention it? That was a plausible theory, knowing the conniving Don as well as Fugo does. You also appear none the wiser to the lovesick fool’s plot.
What if Giorno takes you aside later? Sweeps you off your feet, whispering sweet nothings into your ear like the charismatic bastard he is? Fugo could picture it now.
“Everything was intended for you, amore mio. I did it from the goodness of my heart. After all… it’s important to take care of my future in-laws, is it not?”
Fugo almost throws up on the spot. He’s got to recover from this, there’s still work to be done. Opportunities to seize. Mista is an unreliable spectator at the moment, so he’s on his own for this one. Your parents are regaling you with tales of the fine champagne they were offered in first class. The longer this goes on, the more gratitude you’ll feel to Giorno should he reveal his involvement. Like Fugo would allow that so easily.
“I apologize for interrupting, but the airport security will only allow our car to remain parked outside for a limited window of time. I’d hate to make you wait any longer with how exhausted the journey must have left you both.”
Fugo had an IQ of 152 for a good reason. With this, you would successfully put the conversation in the past, as you often did once a new topic was brought up. He knew you like the back of his hand.
You clap your hands together. “I totally forgot. Nice one, Fugo. GioGio told me not to trust the taxi drivers around the airport, something about them trying to scam foreigners…”
“GioGio? Which one’s that again? I’m starting to lose track, [First] catches new friends like she’s a fisher.” Your dad questions. To be honest, he has a good point. Fugo can’t deny your ability to attract people with your friendly, glowing aura. If you were likable enough to sneak into Abbacchio’s heart, you were likable enough to do just about anything.
“That’s [First]’s latest friend, dear. The one that sent us that edible arrangement a few months back,” your mother responds in kind.
“I gotta thank him for that. Those chocolate-covered bananas had to be the best I’d ever tasted.”
That damn blonde. Bruno, you did this. This is all your fault. Fugo knew his doubts were valid the moment he laid eyes on Giorno Giovanna years ago in Libeccio. Abbacchio may have been onto something with that teacup.
In the midst of Fugo’s lamenting, Mista had changed the tides. The bullet magnet had run off to collect your parent’s luggage all by himself. A dirty trick, yet undeniably clever, Fugo decides. His friend-turned-rival was quick to use any opening to his advantage. Wait, that means Fugo is alone with you and your parents. This is it! His chance to prove himself worthy of you!
He parts his lips, only to be interrupted by your mom. “Fugo, [First] has told us all about you.”
Uh oh. When Bruno first introduced you as the latest team addition to the young, struggling with his hormones Fugo, he had been rather abrasive with you. Fugo made it apparent that he didn’t see what happy-go-lucky you could bring to the table other than being a human meat shield. While he’s since changed his tune since then, with how frequently you spoke to your parents and updated them on your life happenings, is it possible that you included that detail…? It was all an immature way to handle his fledgling crush on you, not that he’d die before admitting that.
Bracing himself for the worst, he’s pleasantly surprised with what your dad says instead.
“She says you’re the smartest person she knows and that you’ve helped her a lot. We’re indebted to you, young man. Thanks for taking care of our little girl.”
“Ah, dad, that’s embarrassing… you promised not to be embarrassing,” you squeak out.
He laughs and ruffles your hair. “Sorry, I may have gotten a bit carried away there.”
“You got a lot carried away, not a bit! Ah, hold on, that doesn’t sound right. Is my grasp on the English language fading away?”
“Sounds like it to me. You’ve gotten rusty enough to warrant a tetanus shot should anyone come into contact with you.”
The back and forth banter carries on and fades into the background. It’s a comforting, surreal experience. Pannacotta Fugo had always wondered what it would be like to have a family of his own. To have inside jokes, famed stories reserved for special occasions, everything that his clinical childhood deprived him of. This was a dream that he believed to have successfully sealed away in his heart, where it would no longer see the light of day again.
“So making Godfather jokes is still off the table?” Your father asks, much to your horror.
“Absolutely, one-hundred percent off the table. Oh, dad, you’ll be proud to know I made a Spaceballs reference earlier.”
“Comb the desert or the password scene?”
“That’s my girl.”
In a way only you allow to be possible, Pannacotta Fugo laughs. It’s a hearty, straight from the chest sound, incessant enough to even take you by surprise. He doubles over, his stomach hurting and shoulders shaking. He faintly registers your sweet voice asking if he suddenly went mad due to secondhand embarrassment.
All the worries of the week ahead disappear at that moment. Mista, who was arguing with an old lady about that luggage definitely not belonging to her. Your parents, who went to stare at the scenery outside, oohing and aahing over the moderate temperature. Even you, the love of his life, who normally held all of his attention in the palm of your hand seemed so far away.
You poke his cheek. “Fugo, I didn’t think you’d lose your mind so fast. That’s gotta be a world record.”
“That’s not it,” he takes a deep breath to get a hold of himself, only to break out into another faint fit of laughter. “Just… I’d like to be a part of your family someday.”
Holy shit. Did he just say that out loud? He just said that out loud. There’s no way, no way, no way—
“What are you talking about?” Your voice is knife-like, piercing past the many layers he’s built up throughout his harsh life. Arms crossed over your chest, you shake your head in disbelief like his accidental confession was a personal insult. Did he overstep his boundaries? Would you call him creepy? Maybe he was a bit creepy when it came to you, now that he thinks about it. He thought he covered those tracks well…
You brush your knuckles over his shoulder and give a smile that makes him weak in the knees. “You already are my family, silly!”
He loves you so, so much.
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