I'm a 23 year old virgin and I want Bruno to ~teach me~ how to please him - handjobs, blowjobs, PIV sex and so on. In return, I want to feel his hands all over me... When we move on to PIV I want him to move me gently to where he wants me and hold my hand when he starts to sink in
I just know that Bruno would be so so patient and understanding with you. ♡ He finds it precious and endearing that you are inexperienced at your age. But that's okay, because Bruno loves you and is more than happy to teach you how to please him. Or rather, teach you about sex in general. Introducing you to a world of pleasures you've never known is an honor to him!
nsfw under the cut. 18+ only ☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ
He loves seeing the wonder on your face and the arousal in your eyes when he touches you for the first time. The lovely sounds you emit when his mouth meets your sex encourage him to push you further, to undo you in the dirtiest of ways.
He honestly finds himself on a power trip after the first time he shows you his cock. Your eyes are wide and interested, your shaky hands coming up to grip his hard shaft cautiously at first. After you hear a soft sigh of pleasure slip from his lips, you become more confident. With soft words and gentle instruction from him, you begin to get the hang of jerking him off. You're so excited that you ask him to teach you blowjobs in the same session.
A bead of sweat clings to Bruno's face as he tries to reason with you. "I wouldn't want to overwhelm you."
“You’re not going to,” you argue with a little pout. To convince him, you stick out your tongue just a little and drag it over his sticky cockhead. When his salty taste hits your mouth, you jolt at the flavor.
He hisses in a breath as he watches you, desire shining in his eyes. Yes, you’re undoing him with your charms, but Bruno doesn’t forget himself.
“Very well. Suck it just a bit more, amore,” he instructs you. "Go slowly."
You draw in a shaky breath and eye his length before acting. Leaning in, you drag your tongue over the tip once again. The taste of his precum was different, but certainly not bad. Trusting him, you draw the head of his cock between your lips, bobbing your head. Bruno groans, the sound reverberating in his chest. His tan cheeks are a lovely pink as he looks down at you, his hand resting on the back of your head.
"You're doing so well, bambina. Take a little bit more whenever you're ready."
A shiver moves down your spine at the praise. With enthusiasm, you open your throat, letting his hot shaft slide in. It feels strange having something in your throat, but you try to keep breathing and moving your head.
"Breathe through your nose," he reminds you lovingly, watching you struggle for air. It's cute, watching your emotions and facial expressions change with every moment passing in the encounter.
It does not take long for your sweet, earnest mouth to bring Bruno to orgasm. As much as he wants to press his cock to the back of your throat and make you gag on his cum, he pulls your head away as he starts to get close. "A-Almost there, amore," he warns. "Use y-your hands... both hands--" His breath stutters in his chest as you pump his cock vigorously. Laying a hand over his mouth, he shoots thick, sticky ropes across your face.
A tiny gasp escapes you as the first ribbon lands over your nose, then your cheek. Your brain begins to catch up with your body, ablaze from lust, and you think to stick your tongue out. Bruno lets out a purr-like moan at the sight of you so eagerly wanting to taste him. He dips the tip of his cock back between your lips, the last bit of his juices being spent in your mouth.
Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and Bruno continues to stroke your hair. His gentle voice and endless stream of praise only make you feel more eager for your next lesson.
"Go visit family in Oregon, they said. It'll be a blast, they said!" You hiss, hustling a little faster through the light rain with your arms ineffectively attempting to shield your thick hair.
What a crock of shit.
What they didn't tell you about this fucking place was that it rained every.
Fucking.
D a y.
...
Okay, you may be exaggerating juust a tad, you'll admit to that.
But still! The high humidity sucked for your already frizzed hair, and the rain usually rolled in out of nowhere!
As if to prove your point - or maybe even mock you, Oregon was a little bitch like that - the sky rumbles threateningly, darkening to a near black. The few drops that had been landing against your neck, speed up and you wail a dramatic curse.
Throwing your comfy coat over your head, you start hustling your step a little more.
Moving here hadn't been that much of a mistake, despite what you may complain. It was really pretty, with so many mountains that had good hiking spots, and rivers that provided you with relaxing swimming pools. Plus the always chilly water was a definite bonus, a complete step up from the metallic tang that always permeated the water in some of the hotter spots you've lived in.
The only problem you really had with Oregon was...
A low, clicking rumble from above. Your hair stands on end, and you take the steps up to your apartment three at a time, barely pausing to pull out your keys. You hear him click behind you, closer than you were comfortable with. It makes you miss the keyhole a few times, but the sound of him landing roughly on the metal railing behind you gives you small bit of extra coordination and you swiftly shove your door open.
Slamming it shut, a nervous eye peeks out of the peephole, flinching when it clashes with an overly wide, slightly compound, black eye.
God-damn-it.
Fucking... The bug beasts that liked to hang around were another factoid about Oregon that... Well, they didn't piss you off. It was just a huge leap from your last home.
Those guys weren't as prevalent in the other places you lived, most non-mountainous places only really having the arachnid-type beasts. In fact, when you lived in Texas with your cousins, the only insect based one you had ever seen was this one fluffy, brown and black... Caterpillar? He'll, he may be a fully grown butterfly at this point.
But he was a kid who had a nasty attitude, dyed his hair blue - according to rumours - and was always yelling at the humans he usually stuck around.
This place though? Practically crawling with them, no pun intended.
Beastfolk weren't new, but they were very few and very far inbetween. In fact, a lot of people had been questioning if they could really be considered "sentient"...
Well, they were swiftly shut down by a feisty tarantula, that looked kinda like an Arizona Blonde, that had become a lawyer and completely shut down a court case.
Another soft clicking makes you jump, shooting a look at the door. "Chill your thorax, fuzzbutt."
An offended click, and you smirk.
The only thing that kept a lot of people from considering most beasts as sentient and free thinking people was... Well...
You hear him jump over the railing. The heavy, almost lethargic sound of his wings flapping makes you hop to attention, darting through the house to swiftly shut your window with smug whoop.
He's gotten you like that too many times.
You see, beasts haven't fully gotten over their base instincts, and the month leading into spring was were all anti-beastfolk arguments got their evidence. Said that beasts clearly can't be sentient, they succumb to those based urges so easily!
Not because the folk felt any urge to fuck like rabbits, as was the common misconception.
He chitters at you through the window, feet thudding against either side of the - now shut - window for mere seconds before he kicks back off. His clicks fades as you grin giddily, dancing in place. You might actually win this one!
The only reason most speciests would give for being so against beastfolks was the fact that they were "too base instinct" and it made them "feel unsafe".
And in a way, they were right.
Your grin fades when you realize you can't hear him anymore.
It's dangerous to get between any spider-types and their chosen.
The hairs on your body raise, your mind scrambling to figure this out.
It's foolish to keep a centipede-type away from their loved ones.
A soft shuffle has you whipping around, hands up in a comical karate motion.
It's down right ridiculous to separate ant-types from their mates.
Suddenly, you remember: you didn't lock the bathroom up.
"You're asking for a death sentence if you get between a moth and his love." The voice slides between you shoulder blades, accompanied by four large arms wrapping around you.
Screaming in delight, you curse, "Oh you sneaky fuck!"
Bruno laughs, allowing you to whip around and hit his shoulder. His hand comes up, wringing out some of his neck fluff while he flashes you a smarmy grin. "What? It's not my fault you didn't check the bathroom first. I didn't even land at your window!"
You gasp, pushing him away with a look of mock horror. "Yo-you..."
He leans in, large black eyes shining teasingly. "Come on, you can say it."
"I can't!" You cry in the most over the top, Trans-Atlantic accent possible, draping yourself across the bed.
Bruno huffs a laugh, antenna flicking as he quickly shucks his slightly damp over shirt. With a quick hop, courtesy of his powerful legs, he lands on top of you, grinning at you scream. "What, is it a bad word?"
"Yes! You foul man, begone He-Who- Says-Bad-Words! Begone!" His eyes light up, a near maniacal grin stretching across his usually serious features.
(You'd never say it out loud for fear of emotionally wounding him: but you kinda liked how he acted pre-spring. He was so goofy... Although serious, intense Bruno is just as pleasant.)
His wings flare up, engulfing the room in a shadow of white, black speckled wings. His upper set of arm catch your hands and you're, quite rudely, made aware of your mistake of allowing him to straddle you.
"Bruno..." You warn, wiggling to pull away from his grasp.
His grin stretches wider, fangs hooking just slightly over his bottom lip as Bruno teases back, "(Y/N)..?"
Whatever threat you were gonna say is lost as his second pair of hands - the wicked claws clipped precisely for this reason - dive in, wiggling furiously against your ribs.
Screaming, you thrash, kicking out and laughing. His hands hold you steady, with just enough give that you're continuously given hope that you can escape, but you know better.
"Saaaay iiit~" He croons, slowing so you can speak.
Wheezing a few wet coughs, you smirk at him. "N-Nuh uh. I-I don't cuss like you do."
His antenna flick up, shivering as his grin gets wider. "Me? Cuss? Now that's just slanderous talk my dear."
"N' slander, cuz' it's true."
"Hmm, I think you can speak far too well my dear." A part of you immediately regrets talking back, especially when he shifts both of your hands into one of his, the other migrating down to hold your chest down.
Flashing you a smirk, he wiggles his fingers near your kneecap.
"Now, what am I?"
You keep stubbornly quiet. Humming, the large moth brushes his fingers down the back of your calf, chattering at the full body jerk you give.
"Once again, what am I?"
"A liar, because you lied!" You squawk mid-laugh, playfully gasping in mock horror. Bruno chirps in laughter, releasing you to flip over.
"Haha, now you're a filthy cusser like me!"
You groan, rolling over to nudge his wings so you can snuggle beneath. He lifts it without fuss, purring when you nuzzle your face into his chest fluff.
"Mmmn, love you B."
His chest vibrates with a fierce purr, and you grin. Grumbling past the motor in his chest, Bruno mumbles, "You only love me for my purring."
"Well, the fuzz is a nice addition."
"I will throw you off this bed, don't try me."
"Bet."
You found yourself face down n the floor less than two seconds later and not at all pissed.
Can I request some comforting motherly hugs from Bruno? I have a guilt complex that seriously messes with my mental health and I want him to tell me that not everyone hates me or is disgusted by me. Thank you, Author-sama!
Of course you can get some hugs from him, sweetheart!
Bruno’s gonna hug you so damn hard. You don’t even have to ask, as soon as he notices you’re not feeling 100%, his arms are wrapped around you. Mother’s intuition, maybe. He asks you what’s wrong as he sits you both down on the couch, still holding you gently. If you wanna talk, he’ll listen closely and discuss everything with you. If not, that’s okay, he’ll run his hands through your hair and down you back and tell you how much people care for you. Either way, he always knows just what to say to help you out. He wants you to know that you’re not disgusting, nor are you hated by everyone. No matter what, there is always someone who cares about you, someone willing to listen and support you through everything, and you are never a burden to them for needing that. He’ll give you kisses on your hair, ask if you need any hot chocolate or tea, see if you wanna watch a movie together to get your mind off things, or if you just wanna stay in his arms like this. He’s fine either way, whatever makes you feel better. Bruno’s hugs are some of the best, with his gentle hands on your hair or around your waist. He just has this soothing aura and loving demeanor that allows you to melt into him with abandon and believe every affirmation he gives you. Never feel guilty about asking him for help or for comfort, dear.
I want hugs from Bucciarati because I'm very sad rn
Bucciarati would love to comfort you when you’re sad. He would see that something’s wrong and immediately pull you into his body and ask you what’s up. He’ll let you talk it out and cry on his shoulder, or if you don’t feel like speaking, he’ll just hold you and tell you everything’s going to be okay.
His warm embrace and soft words help ground you. He presses kisses to your forehead and wipes away your stray tears. He looks at you like you’re his world, because you are, and he’ll promise to do whatever necessary to cheer you up/help you through this. He wants to see you smiling and laughing again, and if that means holding you for hours on end before you fall asleep on him, and then bringing you your favorite food and binging an old tv show together, thats what will happen.
if you wanna talk about anything, don’t hesitate to dm me! hope this helped >~<
May I request a fluffy little thing about reader asking either Giorno or Bruno for help with braiding before going for a dive? It's the most practical hairdo for a swim but I suck at doing them and I wonder if those two with their iconic hair would be up to help?
“You seem frustrated, mio amore.” Bruno drawls, his sleek silver and black spotted coat shifting as he rolls his neck to peer at you. He’s lying belly down on the pier, the thick of his massive seal half laying parallel to your knees, and his arms hanging lazily over the edge, fingertips touching the swaying surface. “Something wrong?”
You sigh loudly through your nose, hands dropping in defeat. Today was a full date day for the both of you - rare for both of you, despite the fact that you spent most of your time free-diving as an instructor. While you were fully dressed in your wet suit, for the past 15 minutes, you’d been struggling to pin your hair back into a braided bun.
Hell, at this point, a simple fucking braid would do!
You just needed it up and out of your fucking way, and when you tell him as much, with just as many expletives, Bruno sits up with a concerned sort of chuffing bark. He wriggles, tail rolling and flicking for a moment. You scoot back to give that thick limb extra room to move and balance him, the split flipper slapping loudly.
To be honest, it’s always a little funny to watch the seal move on land - in face, Bruno looked graceful, with high cheeks and a narrow face, along with slim, friendly eyes. Yet watching the hefty fat and muscle of his seal half bounce, and flex, you can’t help but giggle a little. The sound pulls a fond, yet mildly annoyed chuff from him as he moves, eventually falling flat on his belly to glare weakly over his shoulder with a low growling sound - a friendly noise, believe it or not. “I’m trying to roll over to help you, and you laugh?” He snips, though his tone is very sweet. Wriggling and flopping onto his back, he groans, “I’m in tears, honestly.” That makes you giggle even louder, hands smothered over your mouth to hide your teeth from his sight.
Fed up with his lack of horizontal capabilities and you snickers, Bruno finally just throws himself sideways into the water, splashing at you as he goes. You sputter out sea water and laughter, peeking over the dock to watch the sleek shadow of his body dart away, and then snap right back around. Capable of hitting 23 mph within seconds, Bruno is back at the dock before you can lean away, leaping out of the water with a strong flex of his tail. You shriek, crab walking backwards but Bruno is good at what he does, landing at the edge of the dock, tail curling to kill his momentum. His powerful flippers catch himself, pushing his body upright to tower above your more prone body.
“Hi.” You chirp, grinning with no teeth.
His head tilts, a laugh bubbling up in his chest along-side another somehow-friendly-despite-how-scary-it-sounds growl. “Hello.”
Tucking his tail to the side much like a cat going into loaf mode, Bruno motions for you to turn around. You blink mutely, and he makes a sound; a cricket-like trill that ripple from deep in his chest and rises into a soft, mammalian buzzing - the sound meaning something along the lines of “trusttrustlovetrustI’mhere” - before he manages actual words. “I can braid it for you, so come on.”
And you do as he asks.
His hands land on your shoulders, pulling you back to lean against his body as those wicked claws begin to separate strands of your hair. Tilting your head up, ignoring his annoyed trill and gentle swat at your shoulder, you quietly hum and watch him through half lidded eyes. Bruno keeps eye contact for a moment, pointedly tapping the flat of his fingertip at the back of your skull. “Bella, if you want your hair done anytime soon, you need to straighten up.”
Ignoring that - again - you nuzzle your head again his collarbones., “You can braid?”
Almost instantly, Bruno’s look of quiet bliss - he was always strange about having you nuzzle up against his neck - melts into a flat, sarcastic expression. One eyebrow raised at you - like you were a child chattering away about the most inane topics. Slowly, pointedly, Bruno tilts his head down to show you the neat little braid atop his hair. You flush, mumbling an embarrassed apology and settle back down to bare your head to him again. Bruno snickers at you, rarely shown mischief glittering in his eyes as he brushes it off.
You sigh as he goes back to your hair. His claws are soft, barely felt lines of pressure, the fine points making you shiver as he massages his hands through. Shifting, the leopard seal starts up a rumbling song beneath his breath, the notes strange yet familiar to your ears - the first song he’d ever sung for you, his courting song. You grin to yourself, a blush high on your cheeks as he sings for you, his chest rumbling against your back, a pleasant buzz that settles into your very bones.
Bruno murrs, interest piqued when you clear your throat, as smile on your lips as you begin singing back. The song feels off tune - comprised of notes too low for your own voice to accurate mimic, but Bruno seems to love it nonetheless. His body shakes with a rumbling purr, his wordless tune disrupted and vibrating and you giggle when he smothers his face into your hair, disrupting his own hard-work. You blurt his name, shoving blindly at his shoulders with a wild cackle in your throat.
He laughs back — soft, deep and rich, his voice a nearly subsonic grumble deep in his chest — leaning back to pull the now mussed braid apart. That soft song rumbles in his throat once more, his adorably goofy little fins slapping at the pier, smacking out a metronome for the tune. With his flirting set on the back burner, he’s fast, and gentle with the hair you’ve entrusted to him. Claws long enough to spear your hand clean through are soft on your scalp, ticklish almost, as he parts and weave your hair around itself.
You’d trust him with your life, if he so asked — your head lolls back and you start chattering.
Bruno hums where appropriate, “ooh”s and “aah”s and “oh, what a bitch”s all at the right time, and you find yourself engrossed in your complaint about some brat cutting you in line at your favourite seafood place. In the middle of your ranting, Bruno’s hand moves into your sight, held out and you absentmindedly offer him your wrist. With your other hand waving and gesturing, you hardly notice when he levers a claw beneath it, easing the hairband off of you and into his own hand.
Pulling the small brown hair band from your hand, Bruno murmurs his thanks, pressing a quick kiss to the veins under your skin — you flush, snapping back into the present.
At your mumbled apology, Bruno’s eyes are quick to roll, his fangs snapping playfully near the thin skin of your arm. “None of that now, I like listening to you talk and you know that.”
You wiggle your fingers at him in acknowledgement and his teeth make a mock snap at you. Jumping with a shrill and theatric gasp, you whine “Bruno!” and he scoffs with a gruff chuckle, shushing you for your antics. Mischief bubbles up in your veins and you swat near his face, playfully hissing through your teeth. Bruno’s arm slips around your waist, constricting in a a warning squeeze as he huffs, “If you want me to finish this, you have to sit still, silly thing.”
You stick your tongue out, knowing full well he can’t see you — he sighs, mumbles something under his breath with a fond level of exasperation, and pulls your hair out of your face.
“There,” He murmurs after a moment, shifting to the side on his tail to look at you from an almost head-on view. “Don’t you look stunning?”
