#jjba x reader

[strawburryfields]

Could I maybe request fem!reader x mista who has a sort of Cupid stand that shoots arrows but also hears heartbeats. Mista, Narancia and fugo are walking up the hill teasing mista about his crush. At the top of the hill is the rest of the gang and reader. When he sees her bathing in the evening sunlight he gets all heart eyes. She then just asks him why his heartbeat is so fast😭 That man just tries to explain how he’s exhausted from walking up the hill while his friends chuckle behind him

English isn’t my first language, so sorry if it’s weird

Guido Mista x reader whose stand can detect heartbeats

-

Of course! What a fun concept let's do it :3 I hope you like this and feel free to tell me if you want anything changed!

Your english is perfectly good! My first language isn't english either, so don't even worry about it love 🫶

Mista had always been the type to complain about the mode of transformation, but today it hit a new low he never thought was possible. He was used to sitting in vans with annoying music, crowded seats or someone snoring too loudly, but walking up a hill? How absurd. They were stand users for Italy's biggest crime syndicate, how was walking even an option? He sucked it up kept walking, and once again started to complain. It wasn't that he had bad stamina, he just hated how long it took when a car or even a simple Vespa could've sufficed.

He looked up to see how far everyone else had gone, and saw how you and half of the team had already reached the top. At least he wasn't alone though, as Fugo and Narancia were right behind him, walking at the same exact pace as him which he found lucky. At least he wasn't alone.

"Keep going any slower and your girlfriend might shoot you." Narancia said, accentuating the word. He heard the boy snicker, and rolled his eyes as he sighed deeply. His heartbeat quickened by the mention of you alone, and he thanked the stars that you were nowhere near him at that exact moment, knowing you'd sense it and team up with the boys to tease him.

"She's not my girlfriend. And she wouldn't shoot me... I think." He replied, not even sparing them a glance. Narancia laughed, indicating to Mista exactly where this was going.

"You think? Well I think you want her to shoot you. I'm fairly sure I've seen you almost stumbled once just because you heard her laugh." Fugo added, joining in on the harmless fun for once. "It's honestly a little embarrassing." He added, nudging Narancia's arm with his elbow as the shorter boy laughed.

"Oh yeah, and you're awful at hiding it. Like you want her to realize it just so you don't have to say it outright." He heard Narancia next, making his face turn the slightest hue of pink.

"Yeah totally. Or maybe we should just tell her for you, saves you the embarrassment and effort." Fugo winked at Narancia, as the two of them looked at Mista expectantly. Right on cue, Mista turned around with furrowed brows and a slight frown on his lips, the tips of his ears pink and his jaw tightened ever so sightly.

"You wouldn't." He simply answered, his tone nothing but a warning. He had planned on telling you, but every time you got close to him his palms would start to sweat and his grin became almost unbearable. He tried to be smooth, but knowing you could likely hear his heartbeat quickening felt akin to a punch in the guts. The words would get stuck in his throat, and as all he could focus on were your eyes and your movements, making his mind go blank.

If only you could see yourself through his eyes. If you could you'd immediately understand why his heart felt so full every time you smiled at him.

"Says who? I think it's about time she knew. Poor girl probably thinks you're scared of her." Mista's thoughts were cut short by the sound of Fugo's voice, and he forced himself to turn back around and ignore the snickers and giggles as he resumed walking upwards.

"I'm not scared of her. If you felt what I felt you'd understand. But I forgot morons like you can't empathize with love." He said proudly, ready to defend his feelings like they were in a fortress of absolute protection and fortitude.

"Oh, love huh? Admitting it now?" Narancia smiled smugly, doing his best to keep down the laughter as he wiggled his eyebrows. "Doesn't help how you always get heart eyes every time you see her. I bet even she feels bad for you."

"Would you cut it out? You're not even funny. She would never feel bad for me, she's actually a nice person unlike some people here." Mista's words were shields, designed to keep his feeble heart standing and his wavering dignity intact.

"I wonder what she thinks of you... have you ever thought about that?" Fugo asked, his voice changing from a pure teasing tone to a more sincere and thoughtful one, until he absolutely had to ruin it with one more comment. "She can't be as bad as you, though. You're absolutely helpless. Like a puppy following its owner, tail wagging like crazy every time she talks to you."

They were nearing the top of the hill, when Mista had to loudly and rather dramatically shush the two just so you wouldn't hear their embarrassingly accurate words. When he finally reached the top, his eyes immediately darted round looking for you, and when they found you, he felt his breath hitch.

You were sitting on the bench overlooking the view, Abbacchio silently brooding and leaning on a tree, while Giorno and Bruno were standing further away having a talk about the mission at hand. But Mista's eyes were glued on you and how the last moments of the sun bathed you in its golden hues, giving your complexion the perfect warmth and shine, complimenting your very being. He felt it again, his heartbeat was growing more and more rapid by the second, and when you turned your head towards him, the tiny and soft smile you wore and your seemingly angelic eyes strummed his heartstrings perfectly.

He could've sworn he heard angels sing. He had always had an eye for beauty, he thought, but this was just on another level. It really was unfair, and as he felt heat creep up to his face and his lips turning into a smile involuntarily, he opted to grin at you unapologetically.

The moment one of your eyebrows lifted and your head tilted in curiosity and confusion, he knew it was over. Whatever you were about to say next would forever be etched into his soul. He was dramatic like that, and little did he know it was one of your favorite features of his.

"Why is your heartbeat going so fast?" You asked, your voice almost playful with the tiniest glint in your eyes.

The moment you said this, Fugo and Narancia doubled over, fighting for their lives to hold in laughter as they saw Mista's confidence physically falter.

"Oh it was just the hill. It was a fight and a half to climb." He said, his grin turning too animated as he rolled his shoulder to signify exhaustion.

"The hill was fine-" Narancia started but was promptly cut off by Mista's booming voice.

"THE HILL WAS HARD TO CLIMB." He said through clenced teeth, his eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed to hopefully send the right message. The near humiliation he felt dissipated the moment he heard your quiet chuckle, his attention snapping back to you.

"I can tell you're exhausted. Your heartbeat is fluttering like a caged bird." You approached, making him swallow in a lack of a good enough response as his brain scrambled to come up with an acceptable line.

"Come on... the others are waiting." You gently took his hand in yours, leading him away from the chuckling boys with a gentleness about you he could rarely ignore. "Yeah. Okay." Was his only response, his eyes turning gentle and careful as he willingly went with you, his fingers tightening around your hand.

He swiftly looked back at Fugo and Narancia, who were both giving him thumbs up and wiggling their eyebrows, but Mista had nothing to offer them except a simple middle finger. Although in the end, their teasing didn't mean anything.

As his attention once again returned to you, he thought to himself how he would gladly endure as much teasing the others threw at him, if it meant he got to hold your hand like this. He was nothing but a big sucker when it came to you, and he wouldn't change it for the world.

[maestroinheaven]

My dumbass foesnt kbow if i sent a request yet. Risotto x reader plsss. like okay reader was part of la squadra, died with sorbet and gelato but somehow is now alive and is a cyborg that was meant to kill them but the power of risotto's pecs made them snap out of it lmao just kidding but they do sort of snap out of it right as they were boutta kill risotto and is like "what in the fuck happened to me??" It had to be risotto because not only is he hot but the metal thing. I hope this isn't too stupid!

-🦹‍♂️

✃𓄧꒷꒦🩸“choking on my bones” Risotto Nero x Gen Reader ✃𓄧꒷꒦🩸

ദ്ദി •⩊• ) Heyo!! I hope you enjoy, was kinda puzzling over the cyborg aspect bc I wasn’t sure if you meant something akin to Stroheim? The Stand attack you suffer basically makes you into one with uh. Well you’ll see ajsjdkdkf

Maybe I do need to write the Risotto threesome fic, he’s only gotten angst lmao

Notes: possession/robotification to a degree, implied limb amputation, mentions of gore and blood, on the brink of death Cioccolate siccs a pretty freaky Stand on you and sends you after your former leader.

Stand: Lunatic Fringe

Ability: metallic organisms bury into and manipulate nerve endings to “rewire the brain”, building new limbs in cases of amputation and sealing over wounds.

In spite of his calculating nature, Nero did believe in ghosts.

They simply didn’t manifest as bloody-eyed specters or tugs at your limbs. Rather, they appeared in the lines of a song that sounded louder than usual— wearing a sweater that you swore still had their body heat lingering on it, eyes that didn’t match the person you were talking to. They were real. Real enough to whoever saw them that they hurt.

How terribly, painfully real you were.

Smoke and salt line his tastebuds. Once again, he tilts his head to the side, as a fist whirs past his cheekbone fast enough to stir the air.

A few minutes ago the alley had been quiet, empty save for him slinking across the shadows with Metallica carefully concealing him from the possibility of passersby on the main street enjoying a lovely afternoon sun. Wet garbage and wilted plants cling to the exterior walls in splatters.

A crash at the entrance twenty meters behind him drew his attention there. And a ghost stared back.

Without uncloaking he slips to the side, out of your swing’s range. Again. Again. Each move is precise, and if he were any slower he might have trouble, which wasn’t right. Gravel skitters and dust barely reveals a corner of his foot. His upper lip curls over his teeth.

“Hhh…..”

No blue lips. And the tug of iron in your veins. Though those clothes weren’t what he last saw you in, had he ever seen you in those…?

Your eyes are glazed, glassy like camera lenses.

“No Stand can resurrect the dead.”

“Where the fuck are they?”

“There’s hundreds of gutters in Naples…”

“That doesn’t make sense! Why let us find…. Find Sorbet and Gelato then?”

“An empty casket costs the same.”

“Y/N.”

Silently, you lunge for him, and his shoulder nearly grazes the wall when he steps back.

Shit. His mind races: focus. Focus.

One of your other senses must be in overdrive to get so close. That, or some kind of other ability. That had to be what was moving you like that, too. You weren’t much of a slugger, but here you were, trying to deck him like a professional boxer.

Someone else’s ability?

It had to be, or else you would certainly have brought out your Stand by now. Even if it did, it wasn’t as though he couldn’t counter it. How many times had you… had…

Bile burns his throat.

That isn’t you.

“Y/N.”

No response. Only a blank stare. But you do pause, your hands limp by your sides.

Soft mechanical whirring. The contours of your shirt are unnatural; a strangely shaped bulge sits at your hip, around your stomach. Metallica pulls towards you, but not… not just in the way it should. What?

“Out of all of you? You’re an idiot if you would fight Risotto over Ghiaccio. If he used his Stand on me…. Ugh, ugh, I’m not thinking about that.”

His heart twinges. Even as knuckles graze the side of his face and land against the wall with enough force to crack the brick.

Your hand bends unnaturally at the wrist. Bones crunch and the flesh splits, spilling blood that drops to the ground. You don’t even hesitate, swinging your leg out in a kick that he sidesteps.

He exhales. Whatever shit you gave him later, he’d take it. Please give him hell.

You stop half movement. A strange gurgle leaves your throat. Uncannily, you step back, arms shaking, and a burst of blood and razors tears open your shirt at the waist, exposing the true extent of the thing manipulating you.

That flesh shouldn’t exist. No, it wasn’t flesh at all, with that sheen and hue. It still shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t. Metallic growths, textured almost like tree bark, spread across your torso, from your hips up your waist. The pattern though, it isn’t random, he realizes with a chill.

They follow the path of a vivisection’s cut.

“Risotto, is it weird I can’t stand blood?”

Red. Everything is hued red.

You step further back, trembling, eerily quiet, your face contorting but not in pain. Blood soaks your pant leg, the skin shredded along with the thin cotton-- the two practically blended together. He could almost see bone. He’d tried his best to aim away from the organs: tracing the flow of iron in your blood, he could tell they were still there. Something was keeping them going. The Stand attack on your torso. But there was no flow of blood to your legs.

There was, however, the same pull he felt when he manipulated stop signs. What the hell… what the hell had they done to you?

From your throat comes a high-pitched, keening sound. Nero grits his teeth.

Come on.

In one quick move, you clutch your temples and crumple to the ground. He kneels beside you without hesitating.

“H…Hah… ach…” Spit and blood drip from your lips. The itch in your veins-- could you even feel it? He wonders. His own nerves are alight. Leaping from his fingertips and into your wound, Metallica begins its march up and down your blood vessels towards the growths across your torso and your legs.

Long range, remote perhaps. But the strength still wasn’t the best. They knew, of course they did. He wouldn’t kill you.

But were they stupid enough to think that he wouldn’t be able to do something about you?

You fall onto your back, writhing, gurgling, the silver on your torso glinting. Risotto can’t help it-- he tilts your head up so you don’t choke, as if you had come home from a night out with the rest of the team. Eyes squeezed shut, your expression… it’s the most human thing he’s seen from you in the last ten minutes. Cold sweat dots your face.

Forgive him. He rips your shirt open down the middle to see the full surgical incision that the metal follows, gleaming and shimmering, and more clustered at your hips. He catches a glimpse of a metallic ankle peeking out of your pant leg, in his periphery, his fears confirmed and hands shaking.

He leans over your convulsing body to get a better look.

Between the scars of the cut, what look like minute silver snakes curl around each other and latch into your skin. It was fused into your body: under your skin he makes out the curl of what look like wires spreading down your limbs, to whatever metal prostheses were under your pants.

If it was metal, even if it was a Stand ability…

Whatever. It had to work. He’d make it work. If you were alive, you were alive.

Admittedly, there’s a guilty part of him that is grateful that you aren’t aware enough to see his face, as he sheds the dust of iron to focus all of his energy into pushing his Stand into the enemy’s.

The second he feels the contact, his muscles tense, and your back arches.

“Ach--hagh!” Your voice is strangled, arms thrashing. The side of your bloodied, broken fist smashes into his thigh and he forces the wrist back down. Concentrate. Concentrate.

But he’s staring at you, the red of your blood beginning to stain the white parts of his pants, your pained face, the shake of your head back and forth, and it hurts. God it hurts.

“Risotto?”

In that moment he hears the ghost, he’s thrown back onto the dirt by you with strength you shouldn’t have.

He hisses and grabs your other wrist to hold you up and off of him. Your knees on either side of his hips, the blood from your wounds dips onto his bare chest. His hood almost falls off, loosens as he’s pressed back.

In the shock, he almost unfocuses his Stand. Don’t. Don’t stop. Nero clenches his jaw.

He can feel it, the twinge of each bead of Metallica melding and overwhelming the things in your torso. Pressure grows in his chest. Every fiber of his being is tense, concentrating on the task at hand.

Whoever’s Stand it was, it wasn’t too strong-- or perhaps he was too focused. More than ever.

“Y/N.”

What else could he say? It was all you: it was you, it really was after all, you were close enough to one piece that he could fix it, he had to fix it. He hadn’t heard his own voice shake so much since…

“Y/N, please,” he says, soft. You likely wouldn’t even hear it through the Stand manipulating your system, like a damn puppet. And really, he hopes you don’t hear it. This wasn’t how he wanted you to hear him.

His ears ring. His arms are beginning to twitch, your inhuman strength testing him, as his ribs feel they’re about to break. Nero’s eyes burn. No.

Don’t.

Suddenly, you stop resisting. And the weight on him lightens.

Metallica forms staples to hitch together your flesh where you had been cut open, and weaves into your skin to form a strange mesh to hold you together. It would do. Just for a while.

Your heart begins to pump regularly. And finally, your eyes shoot open.

When they do, Risotto’s heart squeezes; they’re clear. Confusion turns to shock, to pain, to fear, back to confusion again. You frown slowly, brows furrowing. A bird calls behind you.

“Ris…Risotto?”

He exhales. It takes everything in him to not let you collapse on his chest and hold you, but he holds back, sitting up and letting you sit back on your heels. Your mouth opens, but before you can say anything, you wince.

“What… ow…”

Without a second thought he rips off a corner of his coat. Squinting at the mangled skin, his vision blurs as he wraps it in the fabric carefully. You wince again.

“We’ll go to the doctor’s.”

“Risotto, what? I don’t--” you shake your head, as he takes your other hand and pulls you up, carefully. You’re sluggish, shaky. And, his heart squeezing, he watches as your gaze trails down your torso. How your eyes widen at the sight of yourself.

“What happened?” your voice cracks. “Where are we?”

“What about you?” he asks. “What was the last thing you remember?”

“I…” you start, and swallow a deep breath. He follows your look, but you’re just staring at a random stone. “I was on… an operating table, and…”

As your voice starts to shake, he clutches your hand. In a voice just barely held together, you ask, “Where are Sorbet and Gelato?”

“We’re going to the doctor’s,” he repeats, and wraps his arm around your waist. You stumble a little as you’re pulled flush to him. Grief welling in his ribcage quells any tension he could feel from having you so close to him. He can’t let you hear it.

Terror shakes your shoulders as you lean into him; his pace is impatient, though he holds you close with a tenderness you’d never felt from him. And you know.

Tears prick your eyes, and you squeeze them shut. Damn it. Damn it all.

Rusted silver, the smell of antiseptic, the iridescent curve of a lens…. Low giggling and strangled screams overwhelms your senses and you gasp, choking on your own breath and holding a hand to your barely put together torso. Your legs… why did it feel like they were heavier? Dread threatens the meager contents of your stomach. When was the last time you ate?

But before you can spiral, Risotto stops his stride just before the shadows in the alley end and presses his cheek to your forehead.

Your heart lurches. Silently, he holds you firm. Steady. The strange coolness of his skin against yours all you can notice for a second.

A thin coat of iron dust lands on your shoulders. The light starts to flicker across your form and turn you both invisible. As you disappear, you feel his head leave yours.

With it, you feel a weight lift and your body is allowed to feel the fatigue of whatever the hell happened since you last surfaced, your legs numb and heavy: striding into the daylight and beginning to weave through the crowd, your shoulders slump, and you whisper it to him.

“I’m so happy to see you again.”

Though he says nothing, you feel it: the squeeze of his arm around you: as if in reply, I am too.

[starryfandomsx]

Here me out. Platonic Jotaro and oldersister!reader hcs who is an idol or ex-idol. I wanna know how he feels about the type of attention his older sister is getting :3

A/N: Kinda had to do some research for this one because I only knew the bare minimum/ kinda bad side to idol culture ╥﹏╥ buuut anyways enjoy. 🫶

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Idol

☆Headcanons☆

Jotaro Kujo x Sister reader

Not proofread ignore any mistakes pls haha, also sorry if anything seems ooc :)

────────•°☆.★.☆°•────────

★ When you first bring up wanting to be an idol, he tries to avoid the conversation, he sees it as a nuisance. 'Why would you want people to know who you are and be looking at you all the time?' You want people to know your private life? Are there at least some boundaries in place to keep you safe? He's definitely not a fan of your choice but he's also not going to stop you if you really want to do it.

☆ He is not one to keep up with trends, or pop culture like ever. But since you want to be a part of that lifestyle, he's doing what he does best. Research. Articles after articles, idol after idol. What they are. What they do. What they promote and stand for. He's definitely shocked that you would want to be a part of something like this but nonetheless. He's simply going to stand behind you and support you.

★ One day you bring up wanting to sign with an agency so you can get into some auditions. He so casually and nonchalantly suggests a specific agency. In reality he's already done his research and heard about other agency's being shady. His protective self, especially as your brother, is determined to make sure you're at least with a good team.

★ He's not a person who ever likes attention or to be looked at, but he likes it even less when it's his sister everyone is gawking at. So when walking in public together, Jotaro purposely walks in front of you as if he's a body guard. His giant frame blocking you from paparazzi and eager fans trying to worm their way through your actual body guards.

☆ The only time he let's it slide is if you are simply out somewhere eating with the family, or on a walk and a small group of fans stop you to ask for pictures. He'll simply sigh, hit you with "good grief", (what can I say it's his favorite line), tilt his hat and step back letting them fangirl over you. But if it goes on for too long he'll just state "It's time to go." Grabbing your arm and dragging you away from your fans. He knows he has to watch his words and temper around your fans, he doesn't want to give you a bad image.

★ If a crowd swarms you unexpectedly while you're out with him, he'll look for your reaction. He knows if he says anything wrong it could ruin your image. So if he notices you're slightly overwhelmed and caught off guard by the interaction he's using star platinum, and stopping time to get you out of there. Rushing into a nearby building or alley.

On the other hand if he sees you smiling and encouraging the interaction he basically stands there making sure no fans are crossing any boundaries, or grabbing at you. Since he is pretty intimidating to most people who don't know him, the fans do back off slightly, giving you some space. He's definitely annoyed with all the screaming fangirls. Once he's at his limit he's using star platinum to clear a path through the crowd, dragging you through the fans as they're stopped by some invisible force they can't see.

☆ At any handshake events, if he has time to make it he's there sitting next to you, hat tilted down minding his business while you meet with fans. In truth he doesn't like the idea of fans, specifically older fans being hysterical and star-struck over you, it makes him tense and feel a little off about the interaction. If a fan is giving off weird vibes or lingers a little too long. He mutters something about "times up, next one." Making the line of fans keep moving.

Another thing he's not a fan of is the routines they put you in. The diets they set you on. And the grueling dance routines they make you rehearse hours after hours. When you come home tired and ready for bed, hes already made you some food and asks if you've had enough water for the day. If you question it he'll just act like it's nothing. "If you want to pass out from exhaustion be my guest." Really you know it's coming from a place of love with him but he's never gonna say that.

★ Something else he's not ever gonna let you or anyone know is this tsundere brother of yours is probably one of your biggest fans behind closed doors. He's been supporting you since the beginning of your idol career, secretly collecting your vinyls/records, posters, any collectables, or merch. He has it all tucked away in a storage box in the back of his closet.

If you ever find it, he's definitely denying it til he dies or he's throwing someone else under the bus. (Talking about Joseph) "Those are for the old man, he was asking about you." or "Good grief. I was saving those for our mother... Now, stay out of my damn stuff." He tilts his hat to cover his face that shows his embarrassment.

★Jotaro tells you how he finds the loud, high-pitched, screaming fans incredibly annoying. Yet he works around his schedule and is almost always at your concerts. He'll mostly be sitting off to the side somewhere with noise cancelling headphones because he really is not one for the music either. (Or so he claims, yet somehow he knows the lyrics to all your songs.)

☆ At the end of the day he's going to accept the good and the bad that comes with idol culture. He knows you well enough to know his sister can handle herself. But he is always going to keep tabs on you even when he's away on whatever business. If you call him while he's away saying you need help, or need him as a guard he clears his schedule to go help you immediately. He's always going to support you even if he despises the fame, the fans, and the dark side to it.

★☆★ Bonus hc: Your actual number 1 fan is your mom, Holy. Jotaro will sit on the couch, and watch Holy cheer, and scream for you like a fan girl when they watch your concert on the TV together. The tiniest smile appears on Jotaros face for only a second as he sees his mom wave around a glowing wand she has from attending one of your previous concerts with him.

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[julsfire555]

Can I request a Mista fluff fic with a f!reader who likes him but is too shy to tell him but she's always around him and always kind to his stand like offering them some of her food and stuff. :) if you do this one thank you!!!

MISTAAAAAAAAAAA MY FAV IN PART 5 AAHAHAHAAAAAAAA

Fandom: Jojo Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Pairing: Guido Mista x reader

Genre: Fluff

The Way You Treat Them

Guido Mista was not usually someone who had trouble noticing attention.

He noticed when people looked at him. He noticed when someone was impressed by his shooting skills. He noticed when someone laughed at his jokes. He even noticed when someone was obviously trying to flirt with him.

What he did not notice, apparently, was someone quietly falling in love with him right in front of his face.

At least, not at first.

Because you were not the type to make it obvious.

You were not bold. You were not the kind of person who would walk up to him and confidently tell him exactly how you felt.

Instead, you showed it in small ways.

Tiny things you probably thought no one noticed.

Mista noticed eventually.

Just… not immediately.

It started with the Sex Pistols.

Or rather, it started with the fact that you treated them like they were actual people.

Which, to Mista, was already unusual.

Most people either ignored his Stand completely or looked at them with confusion. Even some of the others in Passione had needed time to get used to the tiny creatures running around and constantly demanding food.

But you?

You had accepted them almost immediately.

The first time you saw them arguing over food, you had simply crouched down and smiled.

“Are they hungry?”

Mista blinked. “Uh… yeah.”

You looked at the little Stands, then at the snack in your hand.

“You can have some.”

Mista stared.

The Sex Pistols stared.

Then Number Five practically launched himself toward you.

“NO WAY!”

“FOOD!”

“She’s amazing!”

Mista immediately looked offended. “Hey, what about me?”

You laughed softly.

“You can have some too, Mista.”

And somehow, that was the moment he remembered you.

Not because you gave him food.

Because you gave them food first.

After that, it became a habit.

Whenever the group stopped somewhere, you always seemed to have something extra.

A piece of bread. Some fruit. A small treat you had bought while passing through town.

And somehow, the Sex Pistols always ended up with their share.

“Number Three likes this one better.” “Number Two says this tastes weird.” “Number Five says he deserves the biggest piece because he’s the cutest.”

“You told him that?” Mista looked at you.

You shrugged innocently. “He seemed convinced.”

Mista crossed his arms. “That little guy has too much confidence.”

You smiled. “He gets it from you.”

He froze.

You froze too, realizing what you had said.

Then your face immediately warmed.

“I-I mean—”

Mista grinned. “Oh?”

You looked away. “Forget it.”

“No, no. Keep going.”

“I’m not.”

“You said I’m confident.”

“I said he gets it from you.”

“Exactly.”

You could practically see the pride growing in him.

Mista was impossible.

But somehow, you didn’t mind.

The thing was… you were always there.

Not in an annoying way. Not in a way that demanded his attention.

You were just there.

When he was cleaning his guns, you sat nearby and talked with him. When he was arguing with the Sex Pistols, you laughed. When he complained about bad luck, you listened. When he got hurt after a mission, you were always one of the first people checking if he was okay.

And Mista started noticing something.

You never treated him like he was just a funny guy.

Everyone loved his jokes. Everyone knew he was energetic and dramatic and sometimes ridiculous.

But you noticed the quieter things.

You noticed when he was tired. When he was nervous. When he was pretending not to be worried.

And that was strange.

Because Mista was used to people reacting to the loud parts of him.

You paid attention to everything else.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting mission, Mista found you sitting outside with the Sex Pistols.

The tiny Stands were happily eating something you had brought.

Again.

Mista stopped in the doorway and watched for a moment.

You were smiling at them.

Not the kind of smile people gave because they thought something was cute.

A real one. Warm. Gentle.

The kind that made the little creatures adore you.

“Hey.”

You looked up. “Mista.”

He walked over, hands in his pockets.

“You know you don’t have to keep feeding them, right?”

You glanced at the Sex Pistols.

They immediately looked offended.

“What?!” “She’s our favorite!” “Traitor!”

Mista sighed. “See? You spoiled them.”

You laughed. “I don’t mind.”

He looked at you. “Why?”

The question caught you off guard.

You tilted your head. “Why what?”

“Why are you always so nice to them?”

You looked at the Sex Pistols, then back at him.

The answer seemed obvious to you.

“Because they matter to you.”

Mista went quiet.

For once. Actually quiet.

You seemed to realize what you had said and immediately started panicking.

“I mean— they’re part of you, and they help you, and I know you care about them, so I thought—”

“Mista?”

He wasn’t listening anymore.

Because something had just clicked.

You didn’t just like his Stand.

You liked him.

The realization hit him slowly.

Almost embarrassingly slowly.

All the little things suddenly lined up.

The extra food. The way you always sat beside him. The way you smiled whenever he walked into a room. The way you remembered things about him that even he forgot.

He stared at you.

And you started looking increasingly nervous.

“Did I say something weird?”

“No.”

“You’re staring.”

“I know.”

“That’s not helping.”

Mista blinked.

Then suddenly laughed.

Not because he was making fun of you.

Because he was genuinely happy.

You looked even more confused.

“What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“You know, for someone who’s always around me, you’re really bad at making your feelings obvious.”

Your eyes widened. “...What?”

He smiled.

“You like me.”

Your entire face went red.

“I—”

“And before you deny it—”

“I wasn’t going to.”

That surprised him.

You looked down, embarrassed.

“I just… didn’t think you’d notice.”

Mista stared at you.

Then pointed at himself. “Me?”

You nodded.

He laughed again.

“Come on. I’m not that stupid.”

A pause.

Then:

“Okay, maybe sometimes.”

You smiled. “There it is.”

“What?”

“The confidence.”

He immediately grinned.

“You like that about me.”

You looked away. “Maybe.”

Mista’s smile softened.

The Sex Pistols, unfortunately, had been listening the entire time.

“FINALLY!” “ABOUT TIME!” “We knew!”

Mista jumped. “Wait, you knew?”

Number Five crossed his tiny arms.

“Of course we knew.”

“You’re terrible at hiding it.”

“Everyone knew except you.”

Mista looked personally betrayed.

“Are you all saying I’m the last one to figure this out?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

You covered your face, laughing quietly.

Mista looked at you, and something about seeing you laugh made his expression soften.

Because suddenly, he realized something.

He had spent so much time thinking about whether people found him funny. Whether they thought he was lucky. Whether they respected him.

But you?

You never cared about any of that.

You just liked him.

The annoying parts. The dramatic parts. The unlucky parts. The parts that came with six tiny, demanding Stands who constantly stole his food.

You liked all of it.

And honestly?

That felt better than any compliment he had ever received.

Mista leaned closer, smiling.

“So… does this mean you’re still going to bring food for them?”

You looked at the Sex Pistols.

Then at him.

“Maybe.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“Because they like you.”

A small pause.

Then he added:

“And I do too.”

Your smile softened.

And for once, Mista didn’t need to make a joke.

He just sat beside you, letting the Sex Pistols happily eat their snacks while the two of you stayed together.

A little closer than before.

And this time, it wasn’t just a habit.

It was a choice.

A quiet one but real.

And maybe, from then on, you stopped being the person who was always quietly standing beside him.

Maybe you became the person he started looking for first.

Not because of luck or coincidence.

But because he wanted to.

[thelastghoul]

Don! Giorno having a case of baby fever especially bc reader is BAD and curvy

baby fever — don!giorno giovanna x fem!reader

tags 🏷️ : suggestive, slight groping, reader is curvy, baby fever, cuddling, SLIGHT grinding.

a/n: this was so lazy, so sorry 😭😭

Giorno glanced at you with a smile, God.. you were perfect, everything that he wanted. He noticed every curve of your body, your beautiful hips, they were heavy and luscious, every time you wore a skirt or anything tight, it made him a bit hard to be honest.

Maybe a bit too hard. There you were,sitting on the couch with him, he kept glancing down and up in silence. You turn your head away from the TV to look cat Giorno, he had a weird look on his face, when I mean weird I mean.. he was flustered, almost as if he was holding back something.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, he clenched his jaw, he really REALLY did want to lunge at you and give you a kiss attack. He cleared his throat. “[Name].. I can’t hold back anymore.” right before you could respond to him, he lunged at you, pounced.

He pinned you down on the couch, he glazed his view all over your body and face, he began smothering his kisses all over your body, where your hips were, your abdomen. “G-Giorno? what’s this?” you chuckled shyly.

He grounded his clothed hardness in between your thighs, letting it slide up and down. “You make me feel things, things that I’ve never felt before [Name]..” he stammered as he pressed harder down.

You gasp at the pressure, you wrapped your soft arms around his neck, letting him do whatever he was doing to you, “Like w..what?” you looked away, it was too intimate, too much for your poor body to handle.

“I-I keep thinking of you.. will our baby inside your belly, swollen.. with your sore tits in view..” he whimpered as he held onto you tightly, you let out a whimper as well, quiet but high pitched.

“G-Giorno.. you can’t say that!?” you whined, blush covered your whole face, he opened his eyes at your whine, “I know [Name].. I know we aren’t ready yet.. but can’t I dream of it?” he said. You frowned your eyes, “I-I never said you couldn’t.. I..” your voice left with a stutter.

He grasped his hands onto your thick hips, soft, plush. He went lower, gripping onto your cheeks, you couldn’t help but giggle.. it tickled a bit.

“Maybe one day, Giorno..” you kissed his cheek, he let out a quiet whine and nodded.

[julsfire555]

Hii! Can you do a Jotaro x f! reader fluff fic where reader is into marine biology and they end up on a date together. :3 thank you!

Ohhhh so cute! i like marine creatures and i think Jotaro would be glad to share his passion with someone else who is into that too! (I set this in part 6, since Jotaro is busy with Kira and Josuke...)

Fandom: Jojo Bizarre Adventure: Stone Ocean

Pairing: Jotaro Kujo x fem reader

Genre: Fluff

Tides and Quiet Things

Jotaro Kujo was not the kind of man who seemed naturally suited to dates.

At least, that was what you had assumed when the idea first came up.

He was quiet. Reserved. The kind of person who looked like he had already decided whether he liked a place within the first ten seconds of standing in it. He did not fidget much, did not waste words, and did not give away much in the way of reaction unless something really managed to interest him.

Which, as it turned out, marine biology absolutely did.

You had learned that by accident.

It had started with a conversation about a documentary, then another about ocean currents, then another about deep-sea creatures and the strange, beautiful ways life adapted to pressure. You had been talking with your hands, eyes bright, fully immersed in the topic the way you always were when something genuinely fascinated you, and Jotaro had just stood there listening with that same unreadable expression of his.

Except he had asked a question.

Then another.

Then, after a pause that had felt almost like an admission, “How do they survive that deep down?”

You had blinked at him and smiled.

That was how the date happened.

Not with a grand gesture. Not with roses or dramatic declarations or anything remotely subtle enough to feel normal.

Just a quiet offer from Jotaro, who had looked at you for a moment after your last conversation and said, “There’s an aquarium near the waterfront. We could go.”

The fact that it sounded more like a practical decision than a romantic invitation did not fool you for a second.

You had said yes immediately.

The aquarium was not crowded when the two of you arrived.

That made it easier to breathe.

The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of salt and clean water and something soft and artificial, the kind of place that tried very hard to imitate the ocean while still remaining safely indoors. The lighting was dim and blue-tinted, casting everything in a dreamlike glow.

You had already started smiling before you made it past the first exhibit.

Jotaro, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets, glanced at your face.

“You’re happy.”

It was not a question.

You looked at him, surprised by how directly he said it, then laughed softly.

“Yeah.”

He nodded once, as if that had been enough.

You glanced into the first tank, where a school of silver fish moved together like a single thought.

“They’re so pretty,” you murmured.

Jotaro looked at them briefly, then at you.

“Mm.”

You immediately turned to him. “You know, you don’t have to pretend to be interested.”

His eyes shifted to yours.

“I’m not pretending.”

That stopped you for half a second.

Then he nodded toward the glass.

“You said marine biology was important to you.”

You blinked.

He said it so matter-of-factly that it took you a moment to process the warmth underneath it.

Your chest tightened a little.

“Oh.”

Jotaro’s expression did not change much, but his eyes softened just enough to tell you he had noticed the effect.

You smiled to yourself and led him to the next exhibit.

The deeper you went into the aquarium, the more you talked.

And the more you talked, the more Jotaro listened.

That was the strange, wonderful thing about being with him. He never interrupted just to hear himself speak. He never rushed you when you were excited. He let you explain things properly, even if your enthusiasm made you move too quickly from one idea to the next.

At one tank, you stopped and pointed at a jellyfish drifting slowly through the water.

“See those? Their bodies are mostly water. They move by contracting and relaxing their bell. It’s so simple, but they’re incredibly efficient.”

Jotaro stood beside you, watching the pale glow of the jellyfish pulse through the tank.

“Simple,” he repeated.

You nodded. “In a way.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “You sound like you like the fact that it’s simple.”

You looked at him.

He had not taken his eyes off the tank.

You smiled slowly.

“Maybe I do.”

Jotaro turned slightly toward you.

His cap shadowed his eyes, but not enough to hide the fact that he was paying attention more closely than he let on.

“You like that kind of thing?” he asked. “The ocean?”

You leaned a little closer to the glass.

“I love it.”

There was no hesitation in your voice.

The answer came so quickly it sounded like truth before it sounded like speech.

You kept looking at the jellyfish and added, “It’s enormous and quiet and kind of terrifying if you think about it too much, but it’s full of life. Whole ecosystems that people barely see. Things surviving in darkness, adapting, changing. It’s honestly kind of beautiful.”

Jotaro did not answer right away.

You glanced up and found him looking at you instead of the tank.

“What?”

He looked away only after a second.

“Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not ‘nothing.’”

His mouth twitched faintly.

“Your face changed when you were talking about it.”

You blinked.

“My face?”

Jotaro nodded once.

“You looked like you were in a better mood.”

That made you go quiet for a second.

It was such a Jotaro thing to say: direct, understated, and somehow far more affectionate than if he had tried to make it sound sweet.

You smiled, softer this time.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I was.”

He looked at you then, the corner of his expression easing.

“Good.”

That one word did far too much damage to your heart.

By the time you reached the larger ocean tunnel, you were already having a difficult time keeping your smile under control.

The wide glass arch stretched overhead, filled with darkness and drifting movement. Rays passed lazily through the water above, their wings like shadows with edges of light. Schools of fish flashed past in silver bursts. The whole place felt like stepping under the sea without getting wet.

You stopped in the middle of the tunnel and looked up in open awe.

Jotaro, standing beside you, glanced between you and the creatures above.

“You like this one.”

You looked at him. “Obviously.”

He gave the faintest huff through his nose, almost a laugh.

You leaned closer to the glass and pointed upward. “Look at the way they move together.”

Jotaro followed your gesture.

You were so focused on the creatures overhead that you did not notice the way he was watching you more than the fish.

“You’re really into this,” he said.

You turned to him with a grin. “That obvious?”

“Yes.”

You laughed softly.

Jotaro stood there for a second longer, then said, “It’s good.”

You blinked. “The aquarium?”

He looked at you.

“You,” he said simply.

Your face warmed so quickly it was almost embarrassing.

Jotaro did not seem bothered by the reaction.

If anything, he looked quietly satisfied, which made it even harder to recover.

You looked away first, pretending to be fascinated by the tank again while your heart did something unreasonably stupid in your chest.

He had said it so casually.

So naturally.

As if the fact that you were happy was something he had been paying attention to for the whole date.

Because he probably had.

Eventually, the aquarium path opened into a small outdoor deck overlooking the harbor.

The air outside was colder than inside, but it smelled more like the sea now. Real salt. Real wind. Real water moving somewhere beyond the lights of the docks. The sound of waves reached you faintly in the distance, low and constant.

You walked toward the railing and rested your hands on it, looking out over the dark water.

Jotaro stopped beside you.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

The silence between you was not awkward. It never seemed to be with him. It was the sort of quiet that made space for thoughts instead of pushing them away.

Eventually you said, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

Jotaro looked at you.

“You said marine biology dates had to include water.”

You laughed under your breath. “I did say that.”

He nodded once.

“Then it seemed correct.”

You turned toward him, smiling despite yourself. “You planned this.”

“It wasn’t complicated.”

“That is not an answer.”

His mouth twitched again.

“You talked about it like you cared about it.”

You blinked.

Jotaro looked back out toward the harbor.

“So I listened.”

The words were simple enough to fit in the space between the two of you, but they still hit softly and deeply all the same.

You looked at him for a long moment, then smiled in a way that made Jotaro glance back at you immediately, as if he’d realized he had said too much and wanted to know the effect.

It had worked.

You stepped a little closer to the railing, shoulder almost brushing his.

“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re actually really good at dates.”

Jotaro’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “I am.”

You laughed.

He looked mildly offended at your amusement.

That only made you smile wider.

“You are,” you said. “Just not in the normal way people usually are.”

He stared at you.

You continued, warm now with fondness. “You listen. You remember things. You don’t make a big deal out of it, but you pay attention.”

Jotaro looked away.

The tips of his ears were faintly pink under the harbor lights, and that alone nearly made you melt.

“That’s all,” he muttered.

You turned fully toward him. “No, it isn’t.”

He glanced at you.

You smiled gently.

“It matters.”

That made him quiet.

Very quiet.

For a second, the only sound was the distant water below and the soft murmur of the city beyond the aquarium walls.

Then Jotaro exhaled slowly and looked out at the harbor again.

“You’re easier to be around when you’re talking about things you like,” he said.

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

He continued, voice low.

“You look different.”

You studied his face.

The words were not polished, but they were sincere in the way only Jotaro could manage. You could tell he meant it exactly as he said it.

Your chest felt too warm.

“Different how?”

He turned slightly toward you.

“Happy.”

The answer was so quiet that for a second you forgot to breathe.

You smiled, a little shyly this time.

Jotaro’s expression softened.

Then, after a brief pause that made your pulse stumble because it felt like a decision being made, he reached over and took your hand.

You looked down at your joined hands.

Then back at him.

His face stayed calm, but his thumb moved once over your knuckles, a small, grounding touch that somehow felt more intimate than anything else on the pier.

“Come on,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Where?”

He looked toward the dark line of the shore beyond the harbor.

“Down by the water.”

You smiled immediately and let him lead you.

The beach was almost empty by the time you got there.

The city lights were behind you now, and the waves were louder. The wind moved coolly over the sand, carrying the scent of salt and wet stone. The ocean looked darker here, broader, endless in the way it always was when there were no walls left around it.

You stopped at the edge of the shore and looked out, your fingers still wrapped around Jotaro’s hand.

The tide rolled in slowly.

You could hear it breathing.

Jotaro stood beside you, silent as always, and yet his presence felt warm against the open night.

You glanced at him.

He was looking at the water.

Then, without turning, he said, “You’re smiling again.”

You laughed softly. “You’re observant.”

He looked at you then.

“You make it easy.”

That made your heart jump.

You smiled at him, slower now, and he stayed looking at you in that steady, unreadable way that was becoming less unreadable the longer you knew him.

The moonlight caught the edge of his face.

The ocean moved below.

And suddenly the whole world felt very large and very calm.

You squeezed his hand gently.

Jotaro glanced down at the motion, then back at you.

You tilted your head. “I think this is my favorite date.”

He seemed to consider that very carefully.

Then he said, “Good.”

You smiled.

He paused.

Then, almost as if it had taken him a little more effort than the rest of his words, he added, “I wanted it to be.”

Your breath caught.

The wind moved between you.

The surf rolled onto the sand in a soft, steady rhythm.

You looked at Jotaro.

He looked at you.

And because he was Jotaro, because he never said more than he meant, the simplicity of it felt more meaningful than any grand romantic speech could have.

You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder.

He went still for a brief second.

Then, slowly, as if deciding this was okay after all, he shifted just enough to let you rest there comfortably.

His hand stayed in yours.

The sea kept moving.

The night kept breathing.

And for a little while, the two of you stood together at the edge of the water while you talked quietly about sharks, coral, migration patterns, the deepest parts of the ocean, and every strange, beautiful thing you loved enough to light up when you mentioned it.

Jotaro listened the whole time.

And every so often, when you looked at him, he was already looking at you.

As if the date had become, somewhere along the way, not just about the ocean.

But about how happy he liked you when you talked about it.

[julsfire555]

Could I pretty pls req polnareff x reader who's very similar to him, as in acts as the "comedic relief" to the group just bc she's been through a lot? Like the type to crack jokes most of the time and just try to keep everyone else smiling but at the end of the day, she's too tired to keep the facade up. Ik I just used she but it can be gender neutral too :D I love his character sm he's literally me

Ohhh come here! gives hugs and kisses in the forehead

Fandom: Jojo Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders

Pairing: Jean Pierre Polnareff x reader

Genre: Fluff/Angst

The Joke Gets Quiet

Polnareff had always been able to spot a performance.

It was part of what made him so annoyingly good at reading a room. He knew how to tell when someone was putting on a brave face, when a smile was a shield, when laughter was being used like armor because the alternative was letting the truth show through.

That was why, eventually, he started noticing the way you did it too.

It was subtle at first. Easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely.

You were always the one making everyone laugh at the worst possible moments.

When the mood in the group got too heavy, you were the one who broke the silence with some absurd comment that made Joseph snort, made Kakyoin look up from his book with an actual smile, made even Jotaro’s expression shift by half a degree in a way that suggested he had, unfortunately, found you funny.

When the road got too long, when tempers got too short, when the day had been cruel enough to leave everyone quiet and wary, you were the one who turned it into a joke.

You were the comedic relief.

Or at least, that was what everyone else called it.

Polnareff knew better.

Because he had started to notice the cracks.

The way your grin stayed just a little too fixed sometimes.

The way your laughs came a little faster when the room got too still.

The way you could keep everyone else smiling for hours, and then the second no one was looking, your shoulders would sag like the weight you’d been carrying had finally remembered it was there.

It bothered him more than he liked to admit.

And because he was Polnareff, that meant it bothered him enough to act on it.

The others had been laughing around the fire for most of the evening.

It had started with one of Joseph’s stories, gone completely off the rails by the time Polnareff added his own exaggerated version of the events, and then somehow turned into you building the whole thing into something even funnier by pretending to be an entirely different person and narrating the story like a terrible stage play.

It was, in all fairness, very funny.

Kakyoin had actually laughed.

Avdol had smiled.

Jotaro had muttered, “Good grief,” in a tone that suggested he was not actually annoyed.

And Polnareff had been laughing so hard at one point that he nearly fell backward into the dirt.

You had grinned at the whole group with that same bright, easy expression of yours, tossing in another joke whenever the energy began to dip.

By the time the fire burned lower and the others started drifting toward sleep, everyone looked lighter.

Thanks to you.

Polnareff noticed that too.

He also noticed the moment your smile began to fade.

It happened slowly.

A little at a time.

The sharpness in your eyes softened. Your posture loosened. The jokes came less often. You still laughed when someone else said something amusing, still offered one more quip to keep the mood from dipping too low, but the effort in it was becoming visible if you knew where to look.

Polnareff knew where to look.

So when the rest of the group finally settled down, he did not head straight to bed like he usually did.

Instead, he waited.

And when you stood up a few minutes later and stretched like you were trying to wake the tiredness out of your bones, he fell into step beside you.

“You’re unusually quiet,” he said.

You glanced at him, immediately adjusting your expression into something lighter.

“Wow. Didn’t know you noticed.”

Polnareff raised an eyebrow.

That got the smallest smile out of you.

“There it is,” he said.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything.”

“You are absolutely starting something.”

He grinned. “I simply said you were quiet.”

“That counts.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

You gave him a look, but your expression was already softer than it had been by the fire.

Polnareff noticed that too.

Of course he did.

The two of you walked a little farther from camp until the firelight was just a warm glow behind you. The desert night had gone still around the camp, all cooling air and distant stars and the quiet feeling that came only after a long day had worn itself down to nothing.

You stopped near a low rise and folded your arms.

“What?”

Polnareff crossed his own arms.

“What do you mean, what?”

“You’ve been following me.”

He put a hand over his heart. “Following? That sounds so suspicious.”

You snorted softly. “It is suspicious.”

He smiled, but it faded when he looked at your face properly.

You were still trying to make the moment casual.

He could see how hard you were working at it, but the exhaustion underneath it had begun to show through the seams.

Polnareff’s voice softened a little “You do that a lot, you know.”

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Make everyone laugh.”

You looked away instantly.

He watched the shift.

Then he went on, quieter now “You’ve been doing it all night.”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Someone has to.”

Polnareff studied you for a long second.

That answer was too quick.

It sounded like something you’d said so often it had become automatic.

He recognized that kind of automatic. He knew it well enough himself, though he used bravado instead of humor.

So he tilted his head and asked, “And when do you get to stop?”

The question landed softly.

You looked at him, then away again, your expression still lightly amused but more tired now around the edges.

“I’m fine.”

Polnareff blinked once.

Then gave you the same look he might have given Joseph for saying something ridiculous.

“That was a very bad lie.”

You let out a small breath that almost became a laugh.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t ‘excuse me’ me.”

He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice “You’re allowed to be tired.”

You looked at him, the smile slipping just enough to show the weariness underneath it.

“I know.”

Polnareff’s expression softened “No, I don’t think you do.”

That made you go still.

Not because you were angry. The way he said it was too gentle to brush aside.

He continued, carefully this time.

“You keep making jokes like you’re the only thing standing between everyone and a bad day.”

You tried to smile again but you failed miserably.

Polnareff saw that too.

“It’s very impressive,” he said. “But also very stupid.”

That finally got a faint, reluctant laugh out of you.

He smiled back, though less brightly now.

“You don’t have to be the light every second,” he said quietly. “Not for us.”

Your eyes lowered.

The night was cool enough now that the fire’s warmth only reached them in faint waves. The stars above were sharp and bright, too far away to offer anything except silence. Around the camp, everyone else was asleep, or nearly so.

The two of you stood alone in the dark while the rest of the world did what it always did—went on, whether you had the energy for it or not.

You finally spoke, and when you did, your voice was smaller than Polnareff had heard all day.

“It’s easier than being quiet.”

The honesty in it made his chest tighten.

He nodded slowly “Yeah.”

You looked at him then.

There was a kind of exhausted recognition in your eyes that made Polnareff understand something important all at once.

You weren’t joking because you were shallow.

You were joking because you had gotten good at keeping the room from collapsing around everyone else.

Because you’d been through enough to know what it felt like to sit too long inside pain with no one else there to interrupt it.

Because if you kept the others smiling, maybe no one would notice how tired you were too.

Polnareff’s expression changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough to make the moment feel more serious than the two of you had started with.

He reached up and gently nudged your shoulder with the back of his hand.

“You know,” he said, “you’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

That got a faint, tired snort out of you.

“Rude.”

“Honest.”

He smiled when you finally looked at him again.

Then, after a pause, he said, “You can stop performing now.”

Your brows lifted slightly.

Polnareff smiled, but there was something warm and steady behind it now.

“With me, at least.”

That landed somewhere deep.

You looked at him, caught off guard by the softness of it.

The others had all gotten the jokes, the smiles, the easy version of you. Polnareff had seen through it and, instead of pulling the mask off too quickly, had simply stood there long enough for you to feel safe taking it down yourself.

That, somehow, was worse than pity would have been.

Because it was kindness.

The kind that made your throat ache.

You let out a slow breath and looked down at the ground.

“Am I that obvious?”

Polnareff’s grin returned, gentler this time.

“Only to people who are paying attention.”

You huffed a tiny laugh.

“There’s that dramatic nonsense again.”

“Careful,” he said. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll think you’re trying to make me blush.”

You looked up at him properly.

For once, there was no immediate joke waiting at your lips.

Polnareff’s expression softened instantly at the sight of it.

“There you are,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

He seemed to realize he had said something too sincere and immediately covered it with a smaller smile.

“Honestly,” he said, “you do enough smiling for everyone. I think you’re allowed to be tired in peace.”

Your eyes warmed.

Polnareff looked away first this time, as if he didn’t want you to see how much he meant it.

Then he sighed and tilted his head toward the camp.

“Come on.”

You blinked. “Where?”

“Back.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“Because if you’re going to sit there pretending you’re fine all night, I’d rather be nearby to make fun of you for it.”

That startled a real laugh out of you.

Polnareff grinned immediately, pleased with himself.

“There,” he said. “That’s better.”

You gave him a look, but the exhaustion had eased just enough for the smile to stay this time.

Then, after a beat, you muttered, “You’re annoying.”

“Mm,” he said. “And yet?”

You shook your head, laughing softly as he fell into step beside you.

The two of you walked back toward the fire together, the night quiet around your shoulders and the burden in your chest feeling a little lighter than it had before.

And as you sat down beside him again, Polnareff made a point of staying close enough that, for once, you didn’t have to be the one keeping everyone smiling.

He’d do it for a while.

He’d let you rest.

And if you started cracking jokes again later, he would probably laugh.

But not before making sure you had a little room to stop pretending first.

[starryfandomsx]

Helloo! Can you do Narancia x f!reader, how he comforts her when she has to get glasses cause she hates em. Thank you!

A/N: Hey anon, sorry it took a while to get to. Y'all work/life outside of Tumblr just gets so busy haha. Buuut I have more hc requests done I'll probably post tomorrow. But for now, anon I hope you like it. :) <3

•°. Sight to see.°•

°•. Narancia x Fem Reader .•°

~°.Headcanons.°~

CW: none, fluff, established relationship

Not proofread so ignore any mistakes pls :')

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• Golden retriever boyfriend energy with this one. The second he sees you with your glasses he stops everything he's doing and looks at you with super wide, yet adoring eyes, speechless for a moment. Definitely let's out an exaggerated gasp too before smiling at you. He's complimenting you immediately, before you can even hate on them, but let's remember he's also kinda horrible at compliments/flirting. "Woah! My girl looks so hot, and smart! Hell yeah!" He's a person who sees glasses as a sign of maturity, and high IQ for some reason.

• Give it ten minutes...maybe five, and he's already snatching them off your face to try them on. Treating them like a fun new toy to play with. "Let me see how blind you are!" He's dizzy after two minutes and almost falling over because your prescription is too strong for him. "Damn babe, how were you even able to see before getting these?"

• If you say you look ugly with them or hate on them in any way, he's genuinely so defensive and mad about it. He huffs and crosses his arms, raising his voice even without meaning to. Also accidentally insulting you just a little in the process. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT! YOU'RE CRAZY! YOU LOOK AMAZING!" He's also probably gonna compare you to a couple of cool characters he's seen on the TV that had glasses.

• It takes one Mista joke about your glasses and Narancia is blowing a fuse. He already knows you're insecure about them so his protective instinct kicks in immediately..and his anger issues. He snaps at him without a second thought. "Shut up Mista! Maybe YOU need glasses to see how trash your jokes are!"

• If you start tearing up or crying about them he instantly panics about what to do. He's definitely 50/50. One of the times he's being extra loving, cupping your face and telling you how beautiful you are to him, and how they make you look mature and cool. Other times he'll panic before trying to make you laugh or suggesting that you two sit and listen to your favorite songs together, while eating snacks to cheer you up.

• Definitely gonna force you to look at yourself with your glasses in the mirror, even if he has to drag you there himself. He'll stand there with you and aggressively start telling you everything he loves about you, how amazing you are, how beautiful you are. He's not gonna stop until you're smiling at yourself. (The aggressiveness is out of pure love for you.)

• If you're refusing to wear them out in public, he's bribing you.. But with his own likes. Lol. "If you wear them, we'll go eat at that one pizza parlor you like." Silence. "Nara, that's your favorite place to eat..."

If you do wear them out and he notices you're anxious, he's like a little guard dog. He holds your hand tighter than usual, he's walking in front of you slightly, blocking you from peoples view so you feel less insecure about stares, even if no one is looking. He also has his arm around your shoulders a lot, when walking, and sitting. Gently giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze. Also giving you compliments every 5 minutes, he's definitely your hype man. (He's also just a very physical person, he assumes his touch will help you relax even if he doesn't say anything. )

• He's secretly going to take a picture of you without you knowing (I mean until you find it of course) and he's going to keep it in his wallet or even save it as his wallpaper on his phone. He truly thinks the world of you, glasses and all. To him you're the most beautiful girl he's seen he doesn't care about something so small.

"Nara, delete that photo now."

"Absolutely not! My girl looks so good here with her cute glasses. You can't make me!"

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