Along with Prosciutto, he's probably the most likely to just accept and be calm about the whole hut stand situation.
He understands your hobbies immediately, and although he doesn't share the same passions he still offers to help. Sometimes.
Risotto finds it fascinating how your stand just seem to be one with you, even though it's clearly sentient. He respects how well you know yourself and likes that you understand your own powers. This is something he has always valued in others.
He never asks questions he knows you wouldn't want to answer, instead opts to observe and collect information this way.
He likes to clean up after himself, something the hut is very grateful for. And after a while, your stand just starts to trust him and open its doors for him automatically.
You don't say it out loud, but he can sense your gratitude about not being a complete dickhead.
Prosciutto
Prosciutto would immediately understand the vibe, and not only that, but he'd follow your rules to a tee.
He doesn't say it outright, but he's grateful for your hospitality. Instead, he makes it show through his actions.
He is absolutely the type to thank the hut, and the type to help maintain cleanliness. He doesn't give any reasons for the hut to mistrust him, and so your stand immediately approves of him.
Before he enters, he wipes his shoes as not to dirty the floors, and he never brings something in that could damage something.
Prosciutto doesn't snoop. If there's something you want him to see, he believes you would show him, not the other way around.
The questions he asks would be centered on you, and not the hut, which honestly you found strange at first. But when you realize he is just more curious about your ethics and ways, and not so much the mechanics of your stand, you relax more around him.
Pesci
Poor guy is easily startled, so when the hut moves for the first time, he almost panics.
"It's okay. That just how the hut moves." That whole sentence sounded wrong to him, but he was afraid to question it further.
The hut sees him struggle, and so it rearranges to try and help him relax more. It doesn't help, and you don't say anything.
As more time passes, he starts to get comfortable in the hut, even offering to help gathering materials you might need, materials he's seen you use before.
Mushrooms, herbs, roots and insects, he really does try his best. He asks all kinds of questions about each item you pick up, and although you keep answering each question, he still doesn't understand. But that doesn't stop him from smiling when you laugh at one of his ridiculous questions, the sound ringing through the hut like a melody.
He becomes so familiar with the house, it starts to feel like a second home to him.
Ghiaccio
Ghiaccio can't get it through his head how your house is alive. He demands an explanation immediately.
"It's a stand. I don't make the rules." You say.
"Yes, I know what a stand is I'm not stupid. But it's not just a stand, it's a house." He argues back, looking way too smug for someone who's standing in a building that could throw him out immediately.
"Suit yourself. Like I said, it's out of my control how my stand works." You sigh, leaving him to wonder on his own.
He becomes rather obsessed with finding out the mechanics of your hut, but he refuses to cooperate with it and thus, creating a difficult time for himself.
"If you keep working against it, you'll just make it worse for yourself." He heard your voice say. Why didn't you just say that from the beginning?
He starts to ease up, and somehow, life just gets that much more easy.
Illuso
He can't bring himself to trust your hut, not even in the slightest. It's like every turn and tiny movement it does goes against everything he already knows, and don't get him started on the mirrors.
"Your mirrors are broken. You need to get them fixed." He sighed heavily.
"They're fine. You're just being dramatic." You rolled your eyes.
"Dramatic my ass... your stand is dramatic."
Although he constantly complains, he does try his best to communicate with the hut. Most often than not, he gets frustrated and gives up, leaving you smiling in amusement.
The hut is absolutely done with his attitude, and one day as he refuses to clean his cup because your hut can "do it itself", he's promptly kicked out.
He learns his lesson after this, and starts to clean his own things.
Formaggio
He is the most curious of the bunch when it comes to your hut.
He snoops, touches everything, and asks several questions while muttering little comments under his breath.
Out of everyone, he's the one who actually tries to test your stands limits.
Since it seems somewhat sentient, he will try to rearrange your stuff or will place new decor around, just to see how the hut will react. When it rearranges the things he has touched by itself, he chuckles in amusement.
Another way he'll test the limits is by stealing things. He'll try to take a crystal with him as he leaves, only to be stopped by you.
"Give me back my crystal." Your voice was stern, more so than he had ever heard from you.
"What crystal?" He tries his luck.
"The one in your pocket." Busted. He gives it back, and is immediately kicked out by the hut.
Melone
He isn't as curious about the functionality of the hut as he is of the anatomy of it, and every time he tries to investigate he is punished for it.
Melone isn't the type to know when he's being rude or intrusive, and so you figure it's good for him to be taught a lesson here and there, even if it does come from your stand.
When he tried to touch its legs, he was promptly kicked as a result.
"Incredible... did you do that or does the house just know?" He asks in heightened curiosity.
You don't answer, but he wouldn't have heard it anyway.
As he begins to understand that the mechanics are tied to its emotions, he begins to calm down a bit. Sensing the change in aggressiveness, your stand reacts in tandem.
If he ever gets creepy with you though, he too will be kicked out.
can i please request risotto x doctor reader that works for passione? fem or gn
reader is usually cool and collected, even in very stressful situations, but ends up freaking out, hands shaking, crying when she sees the condition risotto is in after his battle with doppio. in this scenario risotto survives ofc, she manages to save his life, and they have an emotional moment, because they had feelings for each other for the longest time, but due to work and having to stay professional, they both kinda went: nah it's never gonna happen BUT NOW ITS HAPPENING SCREW CANON EVENTS I LOVE THIS MAN SM I NEED HIM ALIVE AND WELL
thanks a bunch maestro ur the goat!!!
✃𓄧꒷꒦🩸 “I’ll Keep You From Sinking (Will You Keep Me Too?)” Risotto Nero x Gen Reader ✃𓄧꒷꒦🩸
ദ്ദി •⩊• ) AAAAAAAA I love rice man so much you have no idea but i want him to be written accurately which is so hard ;-; i looooove men who dont say anything. Also yes I have an “everyone survived” AU for one of my OC stories so I am ALWAYS game for changing the narrative esp when it comes to my favorites, I love love love Risotto
I hope you don’t mind I added a Stand! Please enjoy x
Notes: gore, mentions of violence, medical themes, La Squadra survives because I said so
Stand: Fade Into You
Ability: Can meld together anything it wraps itself around, has tiny thread like tendrils. Strong pieces can be removed from the user at the cost of body parts that will have the same strength as the main body.
Before it comes out, you must retrieve as much shrapnel as you can.
If the flesh seals around a scrap it can cause lifetime complications. Migraines. Mood issues if it’s lodged in the brain. Hands move without a thought behind them, forceps pinching tiny pieces of metal and retracting from flesh that’s bloody, too bloody, where the wounds end and flesh begins starts to blur, he’s absolutely shredded--
He will die if you don’t keep going. You can prevent that.
Right. Right. That’s what you can do. You take a shaky breath, shaking your head and returning your hand to his torso. Listen to the EKG. Slow, steady beeps remind you; he’s alive. He’s still… alive. There’s brain and heart activity, right there. And this is your job. Your damn job.
And he isn’t gone yet.
He can’t be.
Nero’s limp form is stretched on the makeshift silver operating table, your colleague opposite you with their own tools diving into the muscles riddled with bullet holes. Sterile light makes him pale, peaked, eyes closed and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. Blood cakes his hair, staining the white a deep crimson. His brows were finally relaxed. Why was this the first time… Why?
It had been a nightmare getting his clothes off, your hands shaking so badly you nearly nicked him twice as you cut the fabric away. It was difficult to discern any body at all. Fabric melting into flesh. Many fibers of his cotton coat clung to the bullets that you retrieved. That he was even alive….
He won’t be if you can’t fucking stay focused.
You can feel the glances your coworker gives you as you make yourself treat him like any other patient and silently drop tiny bits of metal onto the folding table’s dish. That, and the wandering gaze down to your non dominant hand, where your ring and index fingers were strangely stiff, bending just enough to look human, but not clenching very well on the long swab you use to daub the blood out of the way.
She really shouldn’t have been in today. Priscilla had walked in when you were already thirty minutes into picking apart the goddamn Assassination team captain and, without a word, gloved up, masked up, and started tearing through the shabby cabinet you called your medical supplies stash for forceps, cotton, and a scalpel.
Beep. Beep.
His breathing is quiet, fogging the mask just slightly at his lips. Eyes twitch under the lids, a movement that makes your heart squeeze-- surely he couldn’t feel anything, right? Silently you apologize to him. Sweat beads your brow as you wrench a twisted piece of metal from the muscle fibers, wincing. Gods. Whatever he wanted as a meal after this, you’d pay for it.
You’d pay for anything he wanted, after this. He just… he just had to make it to after this.
Minute silver beads wiggle weakly in the blood droplets. You can barely make out a little black face with a woeful expression, focusing on you. You hold the eye contact. Just for a moment.
-
“Do they have their own emotions?”
The man raised a brow. On your gloved hand, in the small drop of blood, a few silvery figures wiggled and almost hummed with energy, leaning towards their user like they were literally magnetized to him— or like they were sheep to a shepherd.
Briefly, you imagined Risotto holding a shepherd’s staff, Metallica clinging to it.
You smiled faintly. Cute. What a cute Stand, whose devastation potential had ended many a life.
Fade Into You leaned over your shoulder, skin like a spool of multicolor thread, with its gaze on the tiny drops of metal.
The man’s red irises followed the Stand carefully. The sling cradled his right arm in front of him, a shabby thing that was really supposed to be thrown out of the hospital it was stolen from. Though he didn’t whine or shout like some did, it could be jarring to have your broken arm so quickly stuck back together, like it was glueing a plate back together, and it was nice to not have to drag out the bottle of whiskey. The most emotion you’d gotten out of him was gritted teeth.
You answered your own question. “I suppose that might be a lot to handle. Some Stands already have enough personality with one brain. Er…” Would that be correct? You wondered. Well, close enough. Boss wasn’t paying you to heal Stands. “Sure, lets call it a brain.”
“Conscioussness?” He asked. You shrugged.
“That’s probably a better word.”
He inclined his head, as if considering you. Then, he slid off the bed.
Good god he was tall. Well, probably not that tall, but the others who made it to your table weren’t nearly as imposing— even without being particularly broad, you think, noting a slight bit of swelling where the humerus had snapped.
He’d better ice that. Pretty impressive that someone managed such a brutal hit on him. Thankfully he was honest about it being a bad break. His Stand could cover a lot of the team’s superficial injuries, but you filled the gaps. Bones, concussions, diseases that seemed to go beyond a hangover or a cold.
Damn man was devilishly handsome, too... Too often you’d found your mind wandering to him and how he and his men were doing while sipping tea in the morning before your first client of the day; likely some new kid who didn’t understand that a Stand didn’t mean they were invincible, especially if they had no combat sense in the damn first place. Dark sclera, grey lashes and pale hair, often clad in black that clung to his lean muscle. Olive skin that was cool to the touch, even in the summer.
And you couldn’t get a damn bead on him to save your life. Case in point: he completely avoided your question, and his eyes were still completely glued to your Stand. You tilted your head at him.
“Were you curious about something?” You asked.
“Your Stand. It can’t penetrate the skin.”
For who he was, it made sense. Couldn’t help the little bit of disappointment you felt; You shook your head. “When wrapped up like that, it can land a dull punch, but it isn’t sharp,” you explained.
“Mm.” He looked at his sling again.
“You can take that off after a few days. You just ought to let your arm rest for a moment, ice it plenty, and you’ll be right as rain,” you reassured him, and tossed the slightly bloody cotton and paper covering the tray into the trash bin in the corner. “It was very clean. No fragments to pick out. Sometimes car doors can shatter bones, and I don’t like fishing for the pieces.”
Still quiet. His gaze roamed over your hands, and instinctively, your fists clenched.
“Did you have any other concerns at this time? Everyone doing okay?” You strove to keep your voice casual.
Risotto nodded.
“Illuso’s allergy season is coming up, right? Keeping Formaggio away from too much alcohol?”
His eyes flickered. Slowly, he nodded again, eyes narrowing, more curious than irritated. You smiled.
“It’s my job to know, Risotto. Please don’t read into it.”
“You see lots of patients, don’t you? It would be rather impressive if you memorized all of them,” he retaliated, without any malice.
“Well…” You hesitated, before continuing. “If I’m right, I’ve worked with your group for the longest period.”
“Is that so?”
You nodded, and slipped off the used gloves to toss as well. “I’ve bounced around quite a bit, but I’ve been assigned here particularly long. Your group has the most members in the area, and due to the variety of chronic health issues, I’ve seen them a bit.”
He didn’t reply to that. But his brow twitched, and Metallica wiggled towards him. You watched the Stand leap in a weirdly liquid-smooth way onto their user, melting into the skin. That was interesting. So his Stand could casually raise from his body like that and reabsorb? Could he do that to others?
Even with your position, though, you felt you’d pried enough. It was weirdly rude to demand details like that-- like asking about his sex life, even though technically that would have bearing--
Shut up. Move on. And definitely don’t show how the blood warmed your face.
“Not just here. Outside,” you remarked, leaning against the wall. It was cold; the office was in a stone walled basement, secure, hidden under a pawn business that the gang also ran and only accessible by a secret entrance you, Priscilla, and the local members knew. Occasionally merchandise that was ultimately worthless could get handed off to you and other doctors, items left in antique drawers and suitcases. You’d found a few things to hang in your apartment, to listen to-- nothing of help for the clinic.
Exaggerated term for the space, really.
It got dank and muggy in the summer unless you brought in the standing fan, and could be downright freezing in the winter without the portable heater. Over and over you’d hinted at a better location— one that, you know, didn’t potentially expose sick patients to conditions that would worsen their state. At any complaint, however, you were met with cold, tense faces. It was clear.
Don’t bitch about it, unless you really want a reason to complain.
“Picking up groceries and the like. Might have seen Formaggio at a few bars, and that’s why I say so.” You hesitated; maybe it wasn’t your place, but— “Actually… a little more than usual, over the past year or change,” you said.
His expression tightened. You raised your hands in surrender.
“I’m not implying anything. Only doing my due diligence-- if I was there to see him, you can guess what I was also doing.”
Realistically you had already run out of your chances to get any information from him. Asking him directly seemed, ironically, the worst option, given how well it had gone the last few times.
But… you couldn’t help it. It felt like a veil had settled over your favorite patients, something you couldn’t get through. Your hand hovered around his arm; Fade Into You’s was settled on your wrist.
You smiled. “I hope saying it as a colleague, too, is not a bad thing.”
Silence. He stood there, not saying a word, merely looking over you again. Perhaps you said too much. Who could blame you for trying to fill the space, though?
As you opened your mouth— without an idea, really, of how to continue this— he declined his head.
“I appreciate… your concern,” he said. His voice still possessed that emotionless rigidity, and yet how quietly he said it made it feel strangely intimate. Enough to warm your face. Your lips snapped shut.
“But you might not see us much longer.”
“What?”
Your eyes widened on him. But his mind was clearly somewhere else, while he strode towards the door. As you reached out, in the corner of your vision, you caught onto something thin and brightly hued.
Fade Into You’s strand trembled in the air, behind his shoulder. He stopped with his hand on the knob.
Shit. What could you say? “Much longer”-- what did that mean? Were they going on a suicide mission? What could the Boss… he…
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Damn the Boss. Stingy fuck who couldn’t care less for the condition of his men, like plastic toy soldiers-- how many had gone on your table too late? How many had come back from missions that were far more dangerous than what had been told to them? How many mothers and fathers had you seen… walking in the street, weeping for their son, wondering how, why would someone kill their boy?
And… had the Boss given some similar sentence to them?
“Don’t do anything I can’t bring you back from. That’s not a lot, but--”
“You shouldn’t ask me to make promises in my line of work,” Risotto interrupted.
You raised a brow at him. He looked back at you, impassive, yet you couldn’t help the twinge in your chest.
Damn it all.
“I’m not putting your name on a body bag. Or any of your men’s.” your fist clenched. “At least wait until I have a real shop. Somewhere I don’t feel bad about you dying in.”
His eyes flickered. For a moment, your chest lightened. Had you gotten through to him?
But you couldn’t get a word out, before he replied again, even quieter than before.
“If I had it my way, that is how I’d see the end too.”
Blood rushed to your ears, your head. The end? No, no. You’d kill the Boss yourself. At this rate, even with your meager ability, you would torture him to the brink if he… he couldn’t…
Not them. Please.
“In the meantime, then--”
Your gaze snapped to your Stand. As if you had planned all along, you exhaled, and placed the clean cotton on the thing into your mouth to bite, taking one more deep inhale. This would be the worst.
His brow furrowed.
“W--”
Then, Fade Into You rapidly unraveled the thread of its--and your-- index and ring fingers.
With a hissing screech you ground your teeth into the clean fiber of the bandage as the flesh and bone disappeared, turning to shimmering rainbow thread. Shit. God damn, maybe you’d have to stop complaining about how big of babies the guys who came in without fingers were. Breathe. Breathe. Shock would keep you from feeling too much, you needed to ride it.
You inhaled deeply through your nose and relaxed your jaw. The cloth fell out. Risotto didn’t say anything for a second, before exhaling the word, awestruck.
“You…”
“Don’t.” you commanded. If he commented, you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the pain, and you needed to cauterize the wounds soon. Chest heaving, you silently demanded Fade Into You to unravel the thread of its lost fingers further, until it was two long strands that it snapped apart into smaller pieces.
One, two, three… nine. That covered everyone. Each one floated in front of the black-clad man whose face had finally shifted just a bit: shock widening his eyes almost imperceptibly.
Your hand scrabbled for the rest of the clean bandage on the table, and pressed it to your bleeding stumps.
Get it together.
Swallowing, you met his eyes calmly.
“Keep a strand with you and tell each of them to do it too. Consider it an on-site quick fix. Or something to keep you from death, just on the brink. Bones, muscles, blood vessels, skin. Keep your intent clear, and you should be able to prevent life-threatening injury.”
Risotto eyed each one, then, plucked each one out of the air and clasped them. It tightened just a hair more than it probably needed to.
“I can tell something serious is on your mind. I don’t need you to tell me about it. But I would prefer you come back alive from it.” Blood started to seep through the cloth around your hand, wet, the smell of copper drifting towards your nostrils. Fade Into You couldn’t fix your own wounds, and you were now painfully aware of it. “So go do it.”
He observed you, the iridescent strands of your Stand twitching in his fist.
Then, suddenly, the flow of blood down your hand stopped-- rather, the pulsing seemed to stop, the pain down to a dull throb. Curious, you blinked and pulled back the cloth.
From the little stumps you had ripped your finger down to, grew mechanical, stiff little fingers that looked just the same as real ones, save the gears and hinges.
How the…
Impressed, your ears growing hot, you admired them. You couldn’t manipulate them at all, but they bent and held their shape when you moved them with your other hand. Absorbed in them, you barely heard the door open.
“Save the self sacrifice.”
-
The scent of antiseptic and metal. Cold, sterile air. The lingering of your Stand: you’d felt it the second that Formaggio had shown up with the half dead body, dropping your coffee cup and practically heaving the body off of him without another thought.
Fade Into You was looped around his brain, lungs and heart, its power just enough to keep the organs from tearing with any more movement and repair some of the little tears. It did exactly what you told him… what you said…
Clink. Clink. You set a few more scraps in the dish. Down to his shins, which were really superficial… almost done. Almost
Your eyes begin to blur. How long had you been here? It would be as long as you needed. You were a professional, damn it.
But how many times… your shoulders shake. How many times in the last week had you said that…?
Over, and over. The dread had sunken in that you were right all along: that the Boss was done with them now.
All coming back to you, like you had recalled your Stand, in varying states of injury. Melone’s tongue had been cut off to end the spread of some kind of poison. Ghiaccio’s throat was completely stabbed through. Illuso half dissolved, Formaggio shredded, Prosciutto missing an arm, and Pesci… You didn’t sleep for thirty six hours, hands cramping by the end of it, while Prosciutto sat in the corner, eyes locked on the pieces of his junior that had only just managed to link together at the important parts. It seemed Risotto had given him three pieces of the Stand-- where had Sorbet and Gelato…?
“The boss,” Prosciutto rasped, accepting the cup of coffee you gave him right before slumping against the wall, heaving deep breaths and trying to steady yourself. “Did… they tell you?”
Nodding, you rubbed your temple. God, if you could have a cigarette, or something to relax, you would, but there wasn’t time.
“It’s not… smart to stay at the same hotel as them. I’ll find another one…”
“I can do it. Focus on your own task.” his voice went strangely soft. “Maybe… rest.”
“At this rate, I won’t… I need to be ready. Melone and Ghiaccio… don’t tell me…”
Your muscles trembled with exhaustion as you sat down. Eyes fluttering shut, you pinched your thigh to keep yourself awake. You had to hear what he was saying.
“They’ll handle it. If not, Risotto.”
That was a shot of adrenaline. Your eyes shot open as you looked at the blond man: upper torso bare and wrapped in bandages. Strands of Fade Into You slowly wove into the stump of his arm slowly, melting into flesh bit by bit. His gaze was still firmly focused on the body of his partner on the table; Pesci’s chest rising and falling steadily, as your Stand held its hands over him and threads of it steadily sewed between the pieces of his body.
“What?”
“He’s meeting them in Sardinia.” He said it through gritted teeth.
If it were possible, your heart froze over.
“Ris…Risotto is going after them…?” Your voice cracked.
His eye roamed to you. Tired, wary, and yet, determined. “He will do it. We have to believe he will.”
Believe? What would believing… What could it do against an entire team? Against the Boss? Even though you had seen the power of his Stand, it couldn’t… you…
Nausea, hysteria, the damn fatigue-- it all threatened to bend you in half and upend what meager food you’d been able to make yourself consume while you worked on the entire team. You swallowed it. Careful. You had to be careful. Your mind raced.
“Fade Into You…”
The Stand made a soft shhk noise, like snapping fabric. It faded away, retracting back into you, leaving threads of itself still building up Pesci’s lost flesh. Your head tilted back.
“Wake me in two hours, please… if you need to lay down, there’s the patient bed in the back, more coffee, water, a little… some leftovers, I think, in the fridge. Only let Priscilla in. Say there’s a contagious disease outbreak if anyone else comes to the door.”
“Understood.”
As you started to slip into unconsciousness, you heard the blond man’s breath crack when he tried to take a deep breath.
“Use your Stand, now.”
Finally. Finally. Your body feels like it’ll fall apart, shaking, exhausted, and it can’t do that now. You’re that close to the finish line.
Carefully, you drop the forceps on the dish and Fade Into You instantly starts to slide its thin threads down Risotto’s body: Despite how bad the wounds looked, ultimately, they could be brought back together. Even the ones in his head, because of the thread you gave to him. They would be-- and this close, you didn’t need to chop off any more fingers. Priscilla sighs.
“You… you’re really something else,” she murmurs, shaking her head. Her Stand was far more specialized, better for diseases-- you didn’t see it nearly as much as yours. And even now, its shimmery purple form didn’t appear behind her.
“You should leave.”
“Huh?” her brow furrows. With one hand she gestures up and down towards you, saying, “I should leave?”
“Listen,” you command, putting as much energy into it as you have remaining. She blinks.
“Thank you for helping. For being a good colleague too. Don’t read into this too much, but I need you to pretend you only stuck to treating the other squads this last week, that you haven’t seen the Assassination team since… fuck, I think it was… It was Risotto’s broken arm.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your voice shakes as you continue.
“There was an infectious disease in my ward. I’m quarantining at my house until I’m sure it’s safe.”
“Y/N…” The tremble in Priscilla’s voice begins to match yours, her eyes widening and hands pulling back from Risotto’s torso.
A rattling breath leaves his chest. Both of your gazes snap to it before you force yourself to look back at her.
“I want you to be safe. So to do that, please forget everything we’ve just done. Okay?”
There’s a pause. She steps back from the table, slow, and pulls off her gloves. She nods.
“I’m… going home for the day. There’s no more patients.”
You nod. Her eyes shine.
“You… be careful, okay? There’s a lot of contagions around here… one of those… lowlife newbies brought it in…”
You nod again. She backs towards the door without another word, still glancing towards the still form on the table. Her last look at you is desperate, worried: Are you really doing this?
Your eyes lock onto your Stand. It stays steady, over the top of his torso, slipping between his flesh. It would work. It would.
The coffeemaker beeps with another pot. You stride over to it for another cup.
“Keep this with us?”
“...don’t mean…”
“They already consider you a pathetic enemy.”
Why… why was there still pain…?
“....died with honor.”
So clearly, he had heard that. But then, what should have followed was the passage into the dark: death. And where he deserved after.
Hell shouldn’t have clean cotton sheets. It shouldn’t smell like coffee, maybe metal, but not bergamot or lavender. You shouldn’t be wrapped in bandages.
And there absolutely should not be the sound of someone snoring.
Risotto’s eyes shoot open.
The room is airy and personal: posters, framed photographs are hung with the hope of covering just enough stains on the wallpaper, but he can barely catch the corners that aren’t covered. Floor length sage green curtains let in plenty of light even without the large ceiling lamp. Soft music plays from a boombox in the corner. Clothes, coffee cups, notebooks are scattered around the bed. It’s not his, and not a hospital one’s either, thin, and covered in cutely patterned sheets. And next to it:
His heart skips.
The soft flesh of your cheek bunches against your arms, folded, on top of his shin. Behind you he sees a bloody labcoat. But you’re dressed in casual, clean clothes, the weight of spring attire. Hair disheveled, the space below your eyes carved out and shadowed, how soundly you laid on top of him speaking to your exhaustion.
He’d seen it, just… not on you.
“Is Ghiaccio’s rib acting up?”
“You ever try the local honey? Bully Illuso into trying it so he doesn’t suffer as much in the spring.”
“Would you ever try it? I mean, it’s good for the iron levels.”
His heart thuds. That was a miracle. He felt himself start to die, there was no way that he… he couldn’t have made it back to you. It was more than he deserved. To see you again….
Presence like an anchor. The moment he couldn’t do something, you could.
The first time he met you, bringing a pissed off Illuso in for a check up when he hadn’t stopped sneezing for three damn days; you looked at each of them plainly, and told him to go to an allergist and not waste your time.
Then, Melone’s broken wrist.
Formaggio’s flu.
Rarely had he needed to go. But at any instance, there you were: calm, composed, sweet as could be-- how could you have gotten brought into all of this? He’d never gotten to ask.
And now, you were entangled far worse than he would have ever wished. Sleeping on his leg like a cat in a sun spot.
Every muscle of his is sore. No blood on any of his bandages, but there’s ice packs half-melted looped in with them around the muscles-- there’s one that slips down his head, as he winces. Damn.
“Mm…” you stir on his leg. He seizes.
One eye cracks open, and rolls over to him. Then it widens.
“Y-you’re awake….”
You sit up a little harshly. But the sting of your muscles is negligible, hell, you could probably get shot in the thigh and not feel it, the pure emotion that floods you the second you see him sit up could make you cry, laugh, or throw up. And, somehow, you swallow it all. With a trembling hand you reach up towards his jaw.
“Risotto…”
“Alive… tell me.” Voice pleading. The most terrified you’ve heard it. “How many of them.”
“All of them,” you reply firmly. As firm as it could be, given the circumstances. But gods, you’re tired and he knows it.
His fist shakes on the blanket.
“I shouldn’t—“
“Don’t say it. Don’t waste my work.”
The man’s eyes meet yours. As they do, you let yourself do it— and place your hand on his cheek.
He stiffens for a second. The skin is cool, smooth, save for the patches Fade Into You scarred over. Your eyes well up.
“Did… did you do what you sought to do?”
“Not at all.”
And with that, his shoulders crumple, and he slumps forward. Panicking, you loop your arms around him and use your weight to gently press him back-- shit, this wasn’t good for his muscles, he was getting too stressed too quickly.
“Lay back down, it’s okay—“
“I need to leave.”
“We both do.”
Still beautiful, how is he still beautiful like this? Were you a bad person for still thinking that right now, even when he was in recovery? Hair crumpled, whitish pink scarring across his cheeks. Lips heart shaped, pressed together in thought. Red eyes on you like a sniper dot.
“And don’t you dare feel guilty. I chose this. All your men did too.” Your voice tapers towards the end. Take a deep breath. Don’t let it show. Don’t… you can’t keep the tears away when you say, “I’d rather lose all my fingers than have you die on my watch. Okay?”
Risotto eyes you for a moment before cupping your cheek, his hand surprisingly soft, a finger brushing away a stray teardrop.
“I’ll do everything so you don’t have to.”
With that, it’s as though the bubble has burst. You’re careful, but still, you collapse, laying your head on his chest, taking gasping, desperate breaths to try to quell the trembling of your body. Crying, clutching to him, listening intently to that heartbeat that you had protected. Alive. He was alive.
His hand rests on the back of your neck. Gentle pressure, careful, full of all the emotion he couldn’t say.
ever heard an assassin sing? rapidfire La Squadra karaoke HCs for sleepover event! :)
(the promps will close tonight!)
<𝟑 .ᐟ Couldn’t drag them on a stage even if you were stronger than them
Risotto does not sing. Nope, he doesn’t, don’t give him that look. Refuses to even look at the microphone when you attempt to hand it to him. He has an image, damn it and even speaking too much drains him. At least, until everyone has either fallen asleep or gotten distracted: sings softly, perhaps just for you, in bass tones that are just pleasant enough.
Once you make him get over the weirdness of how karaoke is spelled (why do the English get to import words? Tch) every time, Ghiaccio will sit and sullenly tap his foot in the corner. He doesn’t play game unless it’s an old Italian song, maybe from a movie that he likes. Fine voice, would be better if he wasn’t annoyed while he sang, but would hum along with you if you were up to bat. Just don’t let the others onto the fact he does.
Illuso’s, funnily enough, probably going to be one of the more shy ones. For all the shit he gives Formaggio, the idea of messing up a lyric makes him freeze up. Probably does one or two songs he knows extremely well, acting like he sang an opera afterwards. Karaoke stresses him to a degree but if you’re with him he might relax a bit.
Pesci too is a little insecure about heading up to the mike, just because he doesn’t think of himself as a suave man. But it doesn’t get in the way too much, especially if there’s a song in the lineup he really likes. Not a bad voice, just not one he puts effort into training and if anyone is too much of a dick Prosciutto puts them in their place.
And even if he won’t admit it, Prosciutto is the karaoke king. I firmly believe he has the best singing voice in La Squadra. He doesn’t go up to bat a ton, maybe just one song a night, but everyone is damn quiet for it. I could see him doing it especially if Pesci is getting too much in his head about it. Would sing a duet with you to get it out of your system but prefers it in private so his comrades don’t gawk.
Do not let Formaggio near the mike after a drink. He won’t let go of it, frankly, and barely follows the prompter half the time in his cackling tenor. Sober he’s a bit more composed, is a bit hyper aware of what songs he’s picking so he doesn’t come off as even more pathetic than someone like Illuso thinks he is. Knows all the fighting songs for soccer though, so he shines better there.
Melone is probably the most into it, not because I think he adores karaoke but because it’s a good expression of energy and he likes getting the information on his comrades from the sessions. Whispery, crooning voice that he could put into use if he wasn’t so data driven, and has absolutely dragged Ghiaccio up to duet with him, the latter sputtering.
<𝟑 .ᐟ Has a membership card to a specific club with too many points on it
<𝟑 .ᐟ like this post? check the rules here for sleepover event <3
I hope this goes along with the sleepover if not just iiggnore loool :') oookk hear me out LA Squadra who is more likely to date(or more so tolerate) a s/o with adhd. XD
I mean a partner bouncing off the walls and bouncing off their bal- ...im sorry... I shall see myself out now...
HAHA tbh I think all of them could handle it :p it’s all about how you interact with em specifically buuuut (also im grabbing you by the scruff yr not leaving, i would so do a La Squadra libido post)
<𝟑 .ᐟThey probably have ADHD too don’t worry
You and Pesci are just the same, so it’s a miracle anything gets done. Similar to Formaggio, you’re cutting each other off and darting back and forth between places of interest, glancing back at each other in a panic and hoping you’re not forgetting something. He may suggest figuring out a mutual system: he doesn’t want to be a burden, or have you feel you may be one either.
Formaggio is able to match your energy levels the closest, though still bemused at any ways in which you surpass him. He doesn’t fixate on anything, but I could see him as more inattentive type: you may each be cutting each other off and then forgetting the topic of conversation you each started on. Laugh about it with him: lots of other stuff to take seriously, by any means.
If you’re bouncing off the walls, Melone joins you briefly before settling back down and observing you lovingly. One of the more energetic of the bunch, and he has endless patience from dealing with…. Kids. He could easily find some treatment plan if you were interested, but if not, he’ll listen to your rambles and remind you of anything that slips your mind. Admittedly, he may enjoy you relying on him a little too much sometimes.
Risotto is the epitome of patience, but it’s a patience that relies on (at the very least) your attempt to follow his instructions. As long as things are done, he doesn’t mind any shortcuts or diversions. Lets you bounce around and exhaust yourself, looking at you plainly while you detail for the fifteenth time your current fixation. He could get a little irritable having to remind you of things on occasion but it’s more symptomatic of how stressed he is rather than you bothering him.
Oddly Prosciutto can tolerate it well. He’s used to Pesci’s drabble and distractibility so he may take a more “focus dammit” approach, but it’s well intended. As long as it’s not during a mission too, he can sit and listen to you talk for as long as you want about a fixation or subject on your mind. Looks at you kind of intensely during, but his silent hope is his focus on you will help you do the same. During a mission, especially if you tease him, he shuts it down ASAP.
Illuso isn’t the best at handling it, just because he’s a bit self centered so he struggles to deal when you can’t acquiesce to what he’s asking. Less so that he hates your energy. Especially on the job, if you mix that with some sadism, he’s right there with you. But in your off time he’ll let you exhaust yourself and all but ignore you. Maybe this time you’ll learn (you won’t) but regardless he will sigh and drag you to bed after a while.
Ghiaccio admittedly doesn’t handle it well, I’m afraid. Not that behaviors like forgetting things or distractibility are unique to you, he’s dealt with the others— not the best, but unless it becomes an issue on a mission he just “tch”s and rolls his eyes. But if you are the type to dance around difficult or time consuming tasks, he does them himself and snaps at you for delaying them. Decent listener though when you wanna talk about a fixation.
<𝟑 .ᐟ Needs to get out of their own damn head about it
<𝟑 .ᐟ like this post? check the rules here for sleepover event <3
Wait omg can i get the la squadra version of that one??? Or is that too much i hope im not sending too many requests!
🦹♂️
not at all! I have one more immediate one and then a friend sent in 3 so i will make a few quick posts :)
<𝟑 .ᐟ Sleep Conversationalist
Formaggio snores like a motherfucker. He doesn’t speak at all, not coherently, but he genuinely could use some sleep apnea treatment. The cause of several arguments, only for you to record him for proof and those times he’s almost dead silent. Has trapped you with his arm in place for a loud, sleepless night. Refuses to say it’s on purpose. But if it’s clear he’s having a nightmares terror it’s better to be his teddy bear.
I can’t get past the idea of Pesci kind of snuffling like a puppy in his sleep (blaming it on the folds of flesh around his chin and twice broken nose). He will make out some sentences where half the words are audible, often “Prosciutto”, “Risotto”, your name, and snores just a hair. It’s nowhere near as unbearable as Formaggio though and he apologizes. Actually does look into sleep apnea stuff at your and Prosciutto’s suggestion and happily snuggles you, much quieter, when you rest after.
Prosciutto can and does make out full sentences in his sleep. “Formaggio, if you do that again I’ll cut your dick off.” When you’re standing in the doorway with a cup of water or tea, mouth agape. He doesn’t remember what Formaggio did in his dream. But he doesn’t snore, at least not horrifically; despite his smoking habit, Pesci really does hate the smell so the repercussions aren’t as bad as they could be, for his lungs. Nightmares make him seize and pant a little, speaking through gritted teeth. You have to be extra careful retrieving him from them.
Perhaps he really just needs his beauty sleep. Ghiaccio has likely gotten out whatever it is that has bothered him during the day— and there’s a lot that can do that to him— and he’s only saying your name, targets’ names, and occasionally a curse or two, nose twitching, no snores. Rarely gets nightmares either, his arm slung across your chest. He’ll remember things in the morning, and barks at you to shut up when you laugh about Illuso eating the cookie version of him in a weird dream.
Melone has a soft snore and a murmur, never loud enough to rouse you but enough that if you’re awake and he isn’t (extremely rare occasion) you have to look over and make sure he wasn’t talking to you. Dreamy look on his face when he’s asleep. He sounds almost like a white noise machine, so he’s actually very pleasant to sleep next to even just platonically. Rarely thrashes or moves. It’s kind of annoying how easy he is to sleep with.
Deathly quiet during the day, perhaps that’s why the leader of the team, Risotto, lets out just a little bit at night. Doesn’t snore, but can occasionally let out a command so clearly that you jump. “Don’t sit there.” Where? On your bed? He won’t reply. Nightmares make him seize, trembling, wheezing breaths that you have to carefully ride out and wake him from. When you ask, if he remembers (it’s 50/50), he’ll explain softly, in his trademark sparse manner.
It’s expected that Risotto would be the quietest, but I’d posit it’s Illuso. He yammers all day, so that when it’s time to go to bed, he’s mostly gotten it out of his system. Mouths things in his sleep, maybe murmurs them. Light snorer, especially when his allergies act up in the fall and spring. He will deny it to hell and back, but if he’s having nightmares, hold him until the whimpering stops.
Hiiii im glad to see requests open!!! May i request La Squadra x reader with how they'd deal with a partner that is a noob in italian? I love language headcanons and this was inspired by some twitter poll about which member of bucciarati's team spoke the worst english or sumn. Anyway i speak a few languages just not italian and omg im gonna try not to talk so much. How would the la squadra characters act with someone who freezes up and forgets words or is too afraid of getting something wrong to even try? This is too many words for LANGUAGE BARRIER! Im sorry. This is my first request 😭
Yeah i think this is best as like headcanons or little scene with each? Idk cause i'd like to know your thoughts on what languages they'd know and shi.
⌖ La Squadra x Multilingual Reader ⌖
ദ്ദി •⩊• ) Thank you for the request!! I hope I did it justice <3 Please never worry about being specific or long in describing your vision for the prompt. It helps me a lot when you do. And I think I know the poll you mentioned, lmao
HOOOOOO BOY okay so I did enjoy this but definitely am gonna close requests quicker when I see La Squadra in the box haha, bc doing this many characters is too much for the level of detail I want to give everyone.
ALSO I LOOKED SO LONG FOR A GHIACCIO GIF THAT DOESNT MAKE HIM LOOK UGLY OR MAD AF IF ANYONE HAS ONE FROM THE ANIME IM FOREVER IN UR DEBT ;-;
✃𓄧꒷꒦🩸 Risotto ✃𓄧꒷꒦🩸
𓌜Far from the most proficient of the group but capable. Siciliano, Italian, English— enough to succeed where he is.
𓌜Stuttered way more when younger when swapping between, but as he’s grown, he thinks way more about what he’s saying and it comes out much more fluid.
𓌜Likely one of the better ones to stutter around if you’re anxious of being made fun of. Patient, expression unchanging (which is anxiety inducing in its own right but he’s trying)
𓌜Asks clarifying questions in a quiet voice, to make sure he’s hearing you right without trying to embarrass you. When you affirm something incorrectly, he will correct you without making it sound like your fault.
𓌜Might elect to do the majority of talking in public if you’re worried about messing up in front of others. With his demeanor, no one would mess with you if you want to practice though, and he encourages it.
𓌜Overall, 10/10.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪💻 Melone ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪💻
𓌜Italian, French, Spanish, English. Very articulate in each, but French and Italian in particular.
𓌜Also patient (he does technically have. Kids??), he might come off a bit patronizing though. Whereas Risotto wants to minimize your stress by asserting you already know what you were saying, Melone seeks to minimize your stress by increasing your fluency.
𓌜How do you learn best? Workbooks? Videos? Practice conversations with him, you need to up your audial skills. Praises you frequently, ruffling your hair and pecking your cheek.
𓌜Likewise with Risotto, he’ll probably lead conversations, but also try to invite you in when you’re feeling more comfortable.
🧀༺☆♡ Formaggio 🧀༺☆♡
𓌜Italian, some scraps of English from watching football. Probably lowest multilingual potential of all of them, so he has NO right to tease you how he does.
𓌜Absolutely gives you hard time, I’m sorry, because he’s unable to take anything seriously. He’s the one to joke, “Oh, you mean this?” Or “Ah, right, here you go” and pass along the very wrong item when you use the wrong word for a tool or food.
𓌜When you freeze up, he does feel worse. He gives some bs about how it’s only a joke, but ultimately will apologize, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, to reassure you he means it.
𓌜After that, he starts looking at what to do— maybe breaks down and asks Melone for help on how to make you comfortable without patronizing you.
𓌜He makes some self deprecating jabs to get you laughing, and tells you to remember them: the crass shit is what makes you look fluent, even if you aren’t.
⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️ Prosciutto ⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️
𓌜Italian, English, Russian. He enjoys learning languages, but the regular upkeep is difficult due to his occupation. Keeps a small dictionary for Russian specifically and can puzzle out some Greek due to the similar alphabets (discussed more in Ghiaccio below).
𓌜I’m gonna hold your hand, because he isn’t. He’s a little bit of a dick about it.
𓌜Not in the way Formaggio is, but more in his sternness. Pros wants you to thrive, but has a little bit less patience than Melone or Ris in his help.
𓌜Pushes you to make orders at restaurants, ask directions from strangers, real life drills that might make you dizzy with anxiety. If you clam up, he’s admittedly frustrated— getting upset won’t do anything to fix your problem (in his eyes).
𓌜But he really does believe in you. He will briefly apologize, but looks you in the eyes and calmly explains himself, how he has heard you when you nail your pronunciation.
𓌜He wants the best, even if he can’t say it outright.
⋆⁺₊❅. Ghiaccio ⋆⁺₊❅.
𓌜Star linguist: Italian, Greek, French, Spanish, Arabic, a tiny bit of Farsi, and progressing on Mandarin. He and Prosciutto collaborate to understand Greek and Russian, both having Cyrillic characters.
𓌜Surprisingly only a hair meaner than Prosciutto, but more in a stern teacher way. He doesn’t force you into social practice, and instead has a needle like focus on the basics.
𓌜Stuttering in conversation with him, he sighs exasperatedly and makes you repeat it until you don’t.
𓌜Writing drills, then makes you read them aloud. He’s stubborn and doesn’t care too much when you get upset, but it does annoy him if you seek out consolation from someone else and he checks himself.
𓌜If you freeze up, he takes over and in his own head is berating you— when he sees your relief, though, he softens and escorts you along with a blush.
˙✧˖°🪞 ༘ Illuso ˙✧˖°🪞 ༘
𓌜Italian, Catalan, decent enough English he can guide pretty tourists but doesn’t care too much to learn.
𓌜He’s so confident in his own abilities, he forgets what it’s like to be nervous sometimes (not good for his position tbh).
𓌜When you’re speaking overly slowly and using the wrong word, he raises an eyebrow and tries to hide his scoff the best he can. But that’s not well, and he does bite the inside of his cheek if you get upset.
𓌜Conversation partner mostly, smiles easily when you do well and points out words you could add to make you sound more fluent.
𓌜THE guy to speak for you, if your lips zip with nerves. Speaks a little slower when describing what’s happening too so you can pick up on it. It fuels his ego to see you appreciate him like that.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ Pesci 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
𓌜Italian and mediocre English, but still better than Formaggio because he’s more of a people pleaser.
𓌜He also worries about stuttering, and definitely wants to practice conversations together. He will talk in English and you in Italian, and occasionally you both stop and look in your respective dictionaries.
𓌜Oh god, going out with him you’re likely supervised to a degree by Prosciutto in case there’s any issues. He looks at you both like an exhausted teacher and refuses to do much more unless you both sharpen up.
𓌜Absolutely pipes up for you in public, if you can’t find the words. He asks you later what you meant and tells you how to say it, eager and too supportive for his own good.
ദ്ദി •⩊• ) Ehehehehehehehe one of my favorites <3 YALL COULDNT HAVE NOT PREDICTED THIS AJSJDKDKKF
He’s such a wonderful foil to Bucciarati, and I think about that Araki interview where he described both of them as beautiful men with strong moral codes every day. He deserved to kill Diavolo.
I have so many pages invested into a x OC fic w him for a reason ^^
⛧✃ Pesci asked him once to pierce his ear with Metallica. He did it, but Pesci neglected the care routine and it rejected.
⛧✃ Experimented with petty thievery when Metallica awakened, but it ultimately didn’t make him any happier.
⛧✃ Night terrors. Worst way too, paralyzed, sweating, huffing, his whole body shaking. Waking brings little comfort.
⛧✃Another low body temp king. In the winter he’s glued to wool and dense cotton.
⛧✃ Actually met Bucciarati a few times prior to the murder of Sorbet and Gelato, and they had a cordial relationship; after the murders he hardened and grew away from anyone that wasn’t in his own group.
⛧✃ Had a habit of tilting his head when intrigued, until Formaggio pointed it out and he forced himself not to.
⛧✃I mentioned a game he keeps with Prosciutto. The win record is 55-45 in his favor.
⛧✃Frequently uses his Stand to manifest coins in beggars’ hats.
⛧✃Another one who was mute from trauma for a moment. It was the injustice of his cousin’s murderer’s sentencing making him catatonic. His hatred festered as he couldn’t speak; no justice would be found by the hands that existed at the helm of the law. So why protest?
⛧✃Overachiever as a child. He had high marks in school and crazy good coordination in any sport he tried, probably best at tennis for being lithe and anticipating his opponents’ moves.
⛧✃Yeah, his eyes are Like That. JoJo universe.
⛧✃But I do believe he used Metallica to give himself some piercings, he only wears plastic retainer studs 99% of the time or goes without. Battle liability.
⛧✃Awful at keeping his hair untangled. He’s not one for tending to his appearance at all beside the lean muscle, but he stays clean.
⛧✃Hyper scent neutral soap. He will occasionally swap it to cater to where he’s destined for a mission, to better suit the character he’s playing or area he’s camouflaged in.
⛧✃Has a softness for round features. He likes pinching round cheeks or cupping a heart shaped face.
⛧✃Doesn’t take well to overly savory or umami dishes and needs a hint of acid so he doesn’t feel overwhelmed.
⛧✃Favorite color is violet, but doesn’t get to wear it too often; it’s somewhat obvious.
⛧✃I wouldn’t be one to count out him having folk magic beliefs, offerings, etc. Italian Catholic folk magic is interesting.
⛧✃Say it with me folks, he doesn’t peck, he doesn’t kiss casually, but he BRUSHES his damn lips across you like he wants a taste but doesn’t think he deserves it. Your knuckles in passing, he catches your arm and refuses to let go. Your temple as you read. Your shoulder all alone. Your collarbone when he knows for absolute certain no one else is around, callused hands holding you with shaky need. He doesn’t like the idea of others seeing you like this.
⛧✃Self flagellating by means of putting himself in danger for every mistake he’s made. It’s somewhat passive suicidal nature; while he prefers to, and most likely will, win, the only true foe he can’t stand losing against is the Boss.
⛧✃Only wears the outfit he’s depicted in when he’s extremely serious. The contrast is hilarious when he steps out in a band t shirt and pants.
⛧✃Never engages in PDA, you’re an easy target if he so much as suggests you and him are friendly. It doesn’t matter that the public at large doesn’t know who he is.
⛧✃Makes up for it by being the softest man behind your closed doors, little words, just his strong arms wrapped around you. Read, listen to music, whatever you want. Just don’t move.
⛧✃Orders any take out you want during these dates, will suggest setting it up nicely at the chipped wood table in the corner to make it feel more “date like”. He’s as unhappy as you to not do real dates, but pragmatism rules over all.
⛧✃Perhaps one day, when he retires, you two will disappear hundreds of miles away, curled in each others’ arms on a beach in Japan, memories of metal and blood faded to nothing.
⛧✃Apart from classic rock, enjoys prog rock, prog metal. System of a Down makes its way onto his playlist.
⛧✃Melone makes him CDs. 100%
⛧✃Hates being in cars, tolerates it but prefers any other mode of transport. Even buses. The most frequent mode he ends up using is a motorcycle or Vespa.
⛧✃Biter. Not out of possessiveness, or something like that. He just needs to hold you on his lap, teeth sinking into your collarbone, as a means of relaxation. Let him chew on you a little. He’ll always kiss it better.
hi if you want to can u pls do some hc’s for la squadra with a s/o who just got their braces on? :D
hi, sure!! thank you for requesting ^^
Risotto
Risotto would notice immediately, even if you didn’t draw attention to it. The first few days after getting braces, you'd probably be speaking a little differently, eating more carefully, and occasionally making tiny faces whenever your teeth started hurting. Risotto is observant enough to catch all of that.
He wouldn't tease you about it, though. In fact, he'd probably be surprisingly considerate. If the two of you went out to eat, he'd subtly make sure you had softer foods available without making a big deal out of it.
The funniest part is that he'd become weirdly protective whenever other people started joking about your braces. He doesn't care about the braces themselves, but if he notices you're genuinely embarrassed, suddenly the joking isn't funny anymore. He'd also secretly think they're kind of cute. Every now and then you'd catch him looking at your smile a little longer than usual when the light catches the metal.
Formaggio
Formaggio is absolutely making fun of you. Not maliciously. But he's making fun of you. The moment you open your mouth to show everyone your new braces, he's already grinning. "Whoa, they installed a whole security system in there." You immediately regret telling him.
For the first week he keeps coming up with new jokes. Can you pick up radio signals now? Are airport metal detectors going to go off? Did the orthodontist install secret weapons in your mouth? The jokes are endless. However, if you actually start feeling insecure, he backs off. He likes getting reactions, not genuinely hurting your feelings. If he notices you're avoiding smiling or covering your mouth while laughing, he'll be the first person telling you to knock it off.
According to him, your smile was cute before braces and it's cute now. Then he'll immediately ruin the moment by asking if he can stick a refrigerator magnet to your face.
Melone
Melone becomes fascinated in the most Melone way imaginable. You mention your braces. Huge mistake. Now he wants details. What kind are they? Which teeth needed the most correction? How much pressure are they applying? How often do they get adjusted?
At some point you realize he's treating your orthodontic treatment like a scientific case study. He'd probably end up researching braces online just so he can understand exactly what's happening inside your mouth.
The weird thing is that he'd actually be very sympathetic about the discomfort. Every time you complain that your teeth hurt after an adjustment, he's immediately launching into a detailed explanation of why that pain is occurring biologically. It's surprisingly helpful, even if you didn't ask. He'd also find himself weirdly charmed whenever you smile. Not because of the braces specifically, but because they make your expressions look slightly different, and Melone notices tiny details like that.
Ghiaccio
"So you let them put metal in your mouth and then charge you for it" You accidentally trigger a twenty-minute rant about orthodontics. Now he's yelling about dentists. Then healthcare systems. Then capitalism. Then somehow he's yelling about language. Nobody knows how he got there.
The actual braces don't bother him at all. What bothers him is seeing you uncomfortable. Every time you complain about soreness, he acts personally offended on your behalf.
If you're having trouble eating certain foods, suddenly he's aggressively researching softer alternatives. He'll act irritated the entire time, but it's obvious he cares.
Illuso
Illuso would absolutely tease you, but unlike Formaggio, he'd make it dramatically theatrical. Every conversation somehow circles back to the braces. You smile? He notices. You laugh? He notices. You accidentally lisp one word? Oh, he's definitely noticing.
For a while, he finds your frustration hilarious. However, he also ends up becoming one of the biggest supporters of your new look. Illuso is a very appearance conscious person, and once he decides something looks good, he's stubborn about it.
If you start complaining that your braces make you look awkward, he'll immediately disagree. In fact, he might spend several minutes explaining exactly why you're wrong. He'd insist they make you look cute, unique, and memorable. Then he'd act annoyed when you point out that this speech sounds suspiciously supportive.
Prosciutto
Prosciutto would handle it like a responsible adult. A rarity within La Squadra.
When he notices you're struggling with soreness after getting them tightened, he simply adjusts around it. Softer meals. Less teasing. More patience. He'd listen when you complain about the discomfort without acting like you're overreacting.
If anything, he'd be slightly protective during the adjustment period because he knows dental pain can be genuinely miserable. The thing you'd appreciate most is that Prosciutto never treats your braces like a big deal. He doesn't stare at them or constantly bring them up. To him, it's just something you're dealing with right now.
If you're feeling insecure, his calm attitude ends up helping more than excessive reassurance would. He treats you exactly the same as before.
Pesci
Pesci would be so sweet about it. Probably too sweet. The moment you mention your teeth hurt, he's looking genuinely distressed on your behalf. You'd almost feel bad.
He asks how you're feeling constantly during the first few weeks. Are your teeth okay? Does it still hurt? Can you eat that? Are you sure you can eat that? Maybe don't eat that. He becomes convinced that every crunchy food in existence is now your mortal enemy.
If you tell him you're embarrassed about your braces, he'll immediately start listing things he likes about your smile. Unfortunately, he gets flustered halfway through and accidentally embarrasses both of you. Still, his sincerity makes it hard not to smile. Pesci loves seeing you smile. Even if that smile happens to be a little shinier than before.
