12. "Who did this? Who hurt you?" from the angst prompt list with creepy boi Kira?? (I read the tags, and if u don't feel comfortable with him, maybe Diavolo!)
i mean i’ll write kira but im gonna be thinking about his Mona Lisa monologue the whole time !!! that episode haunts me !!!!!!
this turned out a little more Tense than i’d intended/expected,,, but I hope you like it !! ^o^
12 - “Who did this? Who hurt you?”
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“I asked you what happened.”
You flinch at Kira’s tone, instinctively trying to withdraw your hand from his grasp. Wrong move.
Kira gripped your wrist even tighter, preventing you from moving the hand at all, so tight it was starting to hurt. You wince, staring down at the table instead of meeting Kira’s gaze, though you could feel his eyes on you.
Voice meek, you manage to stutter out another apology, “I-I’m sorry Kira, it was an accident. They… I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen…. Please, I was being careful… y-you’re hurting me.”
Kira flexes his grip on your hand at your excuses, breathing heavy as he looks back down at your hand.
Your right hand was bruised and swollen, your fingers felt stiff and sore. You’d been helping a friend move into their new apartment, but while you were helping move the desk up the stairs, you’d accidentally crushed your hand. It was nothing so serious that you needed to go to the hospital, but it hurt like a bitch and looked twice as bad, despite your desperate attempts to ice and soothe it all afternoon before Kira returned home.
When he got home today he’d been in a particularly good mood too, walking in the door humming the tune to a popular song, greeting you with an almost cheerful tone, a far cry from his usual subdued entrance. That had all quickly faded away when he walked into the kitchen to see you sitting at the table, hand in a bowl of ice water, face pale and eyes watering as you grew more and more nervous.
“They? Who is they? Who did this? Who hurt you?” Kira hissed, jerking your wrist, all but clutching the wounded hand to his chest, like it was him who owned your hand and not you.
You’re shaking now, not wanting to direct his anger at your friend, but unable to bear it yourself.
“It was an old friend, that’s all. I was helping her move. It was my fault. I’ll heal just fine, in a few days. In a few day’s it’ll be like it never happened.” Your voice sounds pathetic to your ears, but you meet his gaze, trying to soothe your fried nerves internally as best you could.
Kira stares down at you, meeting your gaze without wavering in the slightest. His eyes are so dark you can’t see where his pupils stop and his irises begin.
Finally, he looks away, glancing out the kitchen window for a moment before looking back down at you, his face much calmer now.
“You were just helping her. Of course. It was an accident. Of course.” He smiles, his tone neutral, then tilts his head down, looking at your hand, which he moves now to cradle in both of his larger hands.
“We’ll fix this right up, and you’ll be right as rain my darling.” His eyes don’t move from your injured hand as he leans down to press a soft kiss to the bruised knuckles, drawing a sharp gasp from you, equal parts pain and surprise. You never know how he’s going to act. He was usually calm, almost always keeping his cool. But the strangest things set him off, and seeing you hurt was one of them.
You offer him a tentative smile now, feeling like the worst of his anger was behind you.
“Thank you my love, I know you will always take care of me.”
Kira returns your smile, though it looks more like an empty reflection of yours than a genuine smile of his own.
Angst headcanons: S/O dying the same way as Caesar, while trying to protect Bruno's gang from an enemy stand/the boss?
I-
Uuuhhhhhh ç.ç
Here’s the angst, I hope you like iiittt ç.ç
Bruno’s gang’s s/o dies the same way as Caesar while trying to protect them
(Under the cut for length!)
Bruno Bucciarati
There was only one person that Bruno trusted with all his heart: his s/o. Together, they had faced everything; they were here when he was just at the beginning of his path into Passione, they were together when the boys joined their slowly growing gang, they were here when Bruno finally became Caporegime… they were not only his s/o; they were also his best friend, his adviser… his everything. He loved them more than anything else and now… and now they were gone.
It all happened in a confused blur: Bruno was holding Trish, with his s/o at his side, facing the Boss, who was hidden in the shadows. Both were ready to fight with all their strength for what was right: protecting Trish from her degenerated father. The Boss, however, hadn’t become the leader thanks to his mercy, but thanks to his immense power; a power that he used that time too. King Crimson activated his power, and the Boss, suddenly, wasn’t in front of them anymore.
Bruno didn’t even have the time to blink that he felt hastily pushed to a side. He turned around, in order to fall on his back and not on Trish, and he saw it: one of the enormous columns of the church was falling on the spot where, just a second before, he, Trish and his s/o were. Wait a minute… G/N! Why were they still there?! They had the chance to look at him one last time, a brief instant, before the column crushed them.
Bruno didn’t even have the time to realize what was just happened; he had to defend himself and Trish from the Boss. When Giorno arrived and the Boss retired, Bruno’s mind finally started to elaborate what was just happened. They… no, it couldn’t be… not now, not like this. He left Trish with Giorno and rushed to the point where he had seen his s/o for the last time, only to find a pool of blood that was expanding from under the column. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. His eyes were glued on the blood that now was staining his shoes. Mista, run inside a little after Giorno, had to forcefully tear Bruno from the scene, rushing outside with Giorno and a still unconscious Trish, and then on the boat, leaving that place of death.
Bruno seemed… dull. Dull and hollow, from then on. He moved, he went on, he led his boys, but without real motivation. If only, the only sparkle of motivation that still forced him not to just stop was that he had to protect Trish and to eliminate her father. His s/o had lost their life to allow him and Trish to come out alive from San Giorgio Maggiore; Bruno couldn’t allow anything to happen to Trish, or his s/o’s sacrifice would have been vain. He couldn’t permit it; he would have had time to cry for them once Trish was finally safe.
Leone Abbacchio
Abbacchio never thought to ever fall in love, not after what happened that terrible rainy night. But his s/o had proved him wrong; they managed to become his friend, they gently crawled under his skin, becoming important, fundamental to him, like water, like air. When he was feeling like the world was crushing him with its weight made of guilt and sorrow, they were here, with him, lifting that weight and carrying it with him. They were his fateful companion, his best friend, his confident, his lover… with them he felt safe and at ease. And, as they had a fighting stand, they were also perfect to go with him on missions, as, when Moody Blues was replaying, Abbacchio was basically defenseless. And this, in the end, led them to their end.
They were in a crippled tunnel, following Moody Blues, now in replay, to track a target’s actions. It all seemed normal, as usual; but, suddenly, Moody Blues stopped and Abbacchio fell on his knees, wheezing and panting. An enemy stand had grabbed Moody Blues on its throat and was tightening its grip, suffocating both user and stand. Abbacchio’s s/o was fast to act: they called out their stand, launching it to fight the enemy one and to free Moody Blues. They succeeded and they also managed to push Abbacchio out of the tight tunnel which, due to the fight, was starting to collapse. They had finally obliterated their enemy, but it was too late; the tunnel was crumbling. They still, however, tried to escape; they couldn’t give up so easily… Abbacchio, still dazed by the previous air loss, tried to come back, to help them, but it was all vain; the tunnel collapsed on his s/o when they were almost out.
Abbacchio stayed there all the night, digging and throwing aside debris, hour after hour, calling them, hoping beyond any possibility that they were still alive, somehow. He couldn’t accept their death, he didn’t want to; if they were dead, he… he would have died with them. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be… but, when a cloudy dawn brought a little more light, Abbacchio had to face the cruel reality: G/N was dead. He could just stand on the debris, his hands bloody and wounded, so still to seem a statue. Bruno and Fugo found him like this and a quick glance was enough to understand what had happened. The whole team grouped around Abbacchio, trying to help him not to crush down, now that he was totally lost. Bruno had already seen his friend like this one time, when he was on a self-destruction path; he managed to save him that time, he was willing to do it again. He just didn’t know if, this time, it would have been possible.
Guido Mista
Mista and his s/o shared a view of life focused on enjoying the little joys every day could give. This was valid also in their relationship; every misunderstanding they might have was resolved and left behind in a matter of hours, leaving them more mature and closer. Mista’s heart wasn’t easy to get, and what he felt for them was pure and sincere; he would have done everything for them, as they would have done everything for him. They weren’t just a formidable couple in daily life, but also a power couple on missions! Mista’s s/o’s stand was a long range stand, like the Pistols, so they could easily work in tandem; they were the perfect partner for missions. However, not even Mista’s carefulness, not even lady luck always at his side could prevent what happened that tragic day.
They were following from afar their target, silent and careful as always. They needed to be discreet, in order to do a good job. It was going all well, as always, but they didn’t know they were followed too by few of the target’s subordinates. When they noticed, it was too late; they couldn’t fight fairly, not against a whole group of enemies! They had to run, to try, at least, to save their life; they were behind him, just a meter behind, Mista remembered it well. The Pistols redirected few bullets behind, toward the targets. He didn’t see when it happened, but, at a certain point, one of the enemy stand activated its power, which was, basically, earthquakes. The ruined and tall walls of the alley they were running through started to dangerously shake; Mista felt a push on his back and he was propelled above, he fell on the ground, out of the alley. When he turned back, quickly, he saw just dust, so, so much dust, and debris, and heavy, heavy brick walls falling on his G/N, still in the alley. In a blink, everything was ended; the dust slowly settled down, and they weren’t at his side. They were still under the debris, under tons and tons of bricks. Mista clearly heard his heart breaking, as his legs betrayed him, making fall on the ground. The Pistols were trying both to make him get up and to search for G/N; they couldn’t believe they were gone, they didn’t want to… Mista didn’t move, he stayed on his knees, staring at the alley that had stolen G/N from his life. In that moment, the world didn’t seem anymore a place that could give small joys every day; it was just a source of pain. But… they wouldn’t have wanted him to give up. And so, he got up and he managed to save his life, and he went on like this, treasuring the life that G/N had saved sacrificing theirs. He couldn’t let their sacrifice go wasted.
Narancia Ghirga
He and his s/o met a little after Narancia joined Bruno and Fugo in the small, but growing, gang. They were like him, a person who had turned their back to an abusive family; now, Narancia was their family. They were best friend, the only support each other had had during the dark times of their life, the comforting voice when one of them was having a nightmare… their mutual and deep affection soon turned to a deeper feeling, something that made them be even closer. They were so close-knit that they didn’t even had to see the other to perfectly coordinate with them; they were perfect together, both in their daily life and in their work. And the breaking of this coordination was the thing that saved one and killed the other.
Narancia’s speciality were reconnaissance solo missions; with his Aerosmith, he could detect targets in a vast range. Instead, his s/o’s stand was a close range one, so, when Aerosmith was too far to be back in time to defend its user, G/N could defend both themselves and Narancia. It wasn’t the first time it did happen; to be fair, Narancia was pretty often attacked, as he was often mistaken as the weak link of Bucciarati’s gang. It happened that time too; Aerosmith was too far, and so his s/o had to call out their stand to protect both of them. Their stand was ridiculously strong and resistant; the enemy’s stands couldn’t do anything against it. But, when Aerosmith was finally approaching, G/N noticed that one of the enemy stands was leaking something… something oily, something greasy, like…
Their eyes widened in horror when they understood. They didn’t have the time to scream to Narancia to not shoot, as Aerosmith was already doing it. They had just the time use their stand to launch him far, a second before the bullets touched the strange substance, making it explode. Narancia, who was landed on a couple of garbage can that had cushioned the fall, felt his heart sink when he saw the low building they were on crushing down. No, it couldn’t be… he immediately ran to it, digging, screaming their name, screaming until his lungs were burning. No one answered his call. His teammates had to forcefully tear him away from the debris, as he was screaming and crying and pleading to leave him here, saying that he had to find them… they died because of him. They died because he shot with Aerosmith. Bruno’s words were useless; nothing could convince him that it hadn’t been his fault. And maybe… maybe the only way to make amend and to honour them was to go on. To go on and to try to make something good, as they would have wanted, even if, from now on, alone.
Pannacotta Fugo
Fugo met his s/o in the streets. He had roamed around for a little, by now, and he knew how to get away with every kind of small crimes he usually did to survive; they were clearly in the streets since a little time, maybe not even a week, and they looked lost and scared… Fugo knew how it was to feeling like that. And so, he befriended them, teaching them how to survive and how to use law and every kind of little quibble to their benefit. They soon became an unstoppable duo that could survive any situation and, from friends, they became lovers, slowly, smoothly, as it was a natural step. Even in Bruno’s gang, they were still working together, as G/N was the only one who managed to calm down Fugo even when he was so enrage to lose a little the control of Purple Haze. They would have done and given everything for each other; and they did it ‘till the last day.
Fugo knew that, even if a plan was planned to the smallest details, something could go wrong. This happened that night; he and his s/o had to control a delicate exchange at the docks. Fugo didn’t like that place; the containers were surrounding them and they could have been the perfect place for a sniper. He had pointed it out, but the Boss wanted the exchange to happen in that place, and the Boss’s orders couldn’t be discussed. And so here they were, and, as Fugo feared, the containers were used as cover to attack them. Fugo couldn’t call out Purple Haze, not if he wanted everyone around to live; so, he quickly and hastily grabbed the others, rushing them to a safer place. His s/o, instead, was covering their back, using their stand to throw back the bullets. The enemies, however, didn’t stop at bullets; to G/N’s horror, the containers started to shake, to shake more and more, until they started to fall. They looked above, at their Fugo was dragging the idiots they had to protect to a safe shelter, and they made their decision without a second thought. They catched a glimpse of a container that was falling dangerously close to Fugo and the group, and so, instead of use their stand to protect themselves from the bullets or to sustain the container, as it wasn’t strong enough for this, they used it to push away the group, stumbling back. The last thing they saw before the container crushed them were Fugo’s big, scared eyes and their name on his lips.
In that moment, Fugo’s life stopped, for a while. In his ears he was hearing a sharp ring, his eyes were glued on the container that had crushed his G/N, on the blood -his mind couldn’t even picture the imagine of his G/N’s crushed body- that was leaking from under it. He didn’t even feel Purple Haze coming out, lead by his totalizing agony, his loss, his mourn. Purple Haze reduced to a pulp everyone dared to come close to the last place where G/N was alive, and that now was their grave. Fugo didn’t fool himself into hoping that they were alive. They were not. They were gone. And he? What should he do now? Maybe just go on, a little more hollow, a little colder than before. And surely alone.
Giorno Giovanna
Giorno wasn’t a person who easily trusted someone. He was wary, he had been burned and scarred, in the past, by people he trusted. And, generally speaking, people didn’t consider him a lot. He was pretty invisible, and, all in all, he liked it. It was better than being bullied. But G/N was different. They were genuinely kind with him, and they seemed to sincerely enjoy his company. They became the only friend Giorno had, his most treasured person. They were not only his best friend, but his family too; and, after years, when Giorno came to understand the real entity of his feelings, lovers. They were his most trustful confident and his only supporter even when everything seemed lost; they were his rock and his reason to go on even when even his determination wasn’t enough. They were ready to follow him everywhere and to do everything to him; even to give their own life for him.
They had followed him also in that crazy, crazy rushing week where they all almost died at least twice; they were here when they took the plane from Venice, they were here when Abbacchio was killed, they were here when Silver Chariot Requiem switched the souls of everyone in Rome. They cried along Mista and Bruno when Narancia met his death, and they tried with them to take that damned arrow that had already took so much from them. And this was what the Boss was waiting for: they were so focused on the arrow that they, just for one, but fundamental, instant, forgot about the Boss, and he took full advantage of it. Using King Crimson, the Boss managed to put himself at a safe distance and near to an unsafe pylon which needed to be repaired. When the time started again to flow normally, for the others, the pylon was already falling on them. G/N saw it first and also saw that Giorno would have been crushed; not even Gold Experience could do anything, not in a so short time. So, they did the only thing they could do: they pushed away Giorno, stumbling in his place and, when the pylon fell, it crushed them instead of him. When Giorno turned around, he didn’t see G/N with them, as they should, they were nowhere to be found… then, his eyes fell on the blood that was warming his hands on the ground. It came from under the pylon.
Giorno didn’t really remember what happened after that. He had flashes of the arrow, of his new Requiem stand, of Diavolo’s demise… his memories started again when he found G/N’s body, now empty of any soul. It was perfect; they seemed just asleep… Giorno gently scooped them in his arms, as Mista did the same with Narancia, as Trish picked Bruno’s body on Polnareff’s wheelchair. They all were carrying an important and heavy, oh, so heavy load. Giorno felt dull, numb, as he wasn’t even living, right now, as he was just dreaming a terrible nightmare. He just wanted to wake up… but he couldn’t wake up from reality. They had given their life for him and his dream; it was now his duty to live on and to realize it, in order to not make their sacrifice useless.
En mi choza tenemos la tradición de hacerle una carta a alguien fallecido y quemarla afuera, así el humo alcanza el cielo y el fallecido obtiene el mensaje-- necesito hacerle una a Kak y ponerle perfume de cereza :(( 💔
Con tu voluntad y sentir, creo que tus palabras le llegarían y le harían sonreír al reconocer el aroma; Kakyoin de repente entendería lo amado que realmente es.
