Honestly One Of My Fav Story Of Bruno It's Just So Sexy I Can't

honestly one of my fav story of Bruno♡ it's just so sexy I can't 🥴✨️

An Evening's Haze

Bucciarati x Reader

Request/Commission Info: A 3500 word piece that involves Bucciarati and the reader when they get affected by a lust stand during a Passione event.

Content Warnings: Drugging via Stand, NSFW Content, AFAB Reader

***

The role of a careless woman was easy to play.

Draped in a luxurious magenta dress, all you needed was the right flash of jewelry and stilettos thin enough to be used as a weapon. It offered you a free pass to sweep around any party without concern. People smiled at you and allowed you to hang off their arms while they spoke about matters that really should have been kept secret despite having watched you enter on the with a partner.

You could eat a whole meal without going near the buffet table yourself and not have to fear poisons. Perhaps you grew too comfortable.

After all, you forgot that there were things that crept around Passione with abilities far beyond slipping something into your drink. Things that could be almost entirely invisible even to those who knew they existed.

To say he seemed harmless would have been a lie. You knew he was dangerous – you had simply forgotten why you may have been targeted.

He spoke to you in a rolling Italian, fixating on you from the moment his eyes drifted across your façade. You had no reason to speak to him but you indulged because others would be drawn to try and win your attention.

“You arrived with Bucciarati,” he said, after several minutes without a single word of importance mentioned.

You sought out your partner without even meaning to, expression softening from a mask of facetiousness into something far too real when you spotted him across the room. He stood beside one of the large white pillars, keeping the attention of men far too important for your casual conversation.

He was beautiful as always; dark hair cascading around his face and framing him with a pitch more breath-taking than onyx. His expression was welcoming but his bright blue eyes surveyed everybody with a critical analysis.

“I did,” you said, dragging your thoughts away before they betrayed you. “Passione has been growing their influence, haven’t you noticed?”

Said as though it was an explanation. To most, it was.

You didn’t work for Passione directly but your existence could no longer remain hidden. There was a technical truth behind your words – Passione was always growing in power and your act suited not knowing too much about the world you were involved in. Everybody would assume your role as a hapless damsel.

Perhaps, that too, was a weapon you wielded.

“It seems a little cruel for him to abandon you surrounded by so many dangerous people.”

The line was common enough. Too many thought it was a way to impress you without knowing, as you did, that Bucciarati watched your every move.

The man traced his fingers over the back of your hand, snapping your attention to him. You slowly pulled away as to not make it obvious that your skin crawled at his touch. He wasn’t an unattractive man exactly but there was a horrible feeling hovering around him like an aura. Trusting him would be stupid.

“Bucciarati is very busy,” you acknowledged, adding a soft sigh to further the tease of an abandoned woman.

“It’s this line of work,” the man agreed. He shook his head in sympathy. “I always feel so sad when I see a woman like you, filled with so much potential, and yet trapped in this life. It’s so unfair.”

You nodded in a sad agreement, eyes glinting in the light. “But isn’t it just so exciting?”

A flash of interest, deeper than the superficial attraction and worryingly hazardous, crossed his darkening expression. “Perhaps we could share something to drink,” he mentioned.

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” you said in a breathy tone. You looked around the room and caught the eye of another man. “If I accepted every drink offer I received, I wouldn’t be going home standing.” You brushed past him and tried to instantly forget about the concerning expression he had when he followed your movements.

A glow, initially brushed off as a simple reflection of light, had to have been a stand ability. Looking back, you cursed yourself for not realising it sooner.

The food you ate, chosen at random from the platter of the waitstaff, had been normal at first. But the taste had shifted the moment it touched your tongue – melting from a soft pastry into a buttery chocolate.

The effect was near instantaneous.

A cloud of delirium flooded your brain and a wave of pink heat rushed through your body. The sheer unexpectedness of it nearly knocked you down.

Writhing, unidentifiable sensations wrapped around your insides. They pulsed through your heart and made your legs feel weak. You leaned heavily against one of the walls and gasped to clear your lungs. It didn’t work.

The lights were all too bright and you squinted through them. There was a ringing in your ears. The burning was getting lower and lower, pooling deep in your stomach and make you shiver with a desperate need. If you didn’t find somebody to touch you… shit, you were struggling to even think straight.

The man from before… you could see him in the corner of your eye. Was he watching you? He almost seemed to be moving forward.

You forced yourself to find Bucciarati, a ridiculous bolt of desire stabbing into your throat when you located him.

He was sitting at a table as the picture of poise. Every piece of his façade had been carefully constructed to suit the men he was speaking to. His voice flowed smooth through the air – words chosen to flatter without appearing desperate for the connection between Passione and whatever group they were working for.

It was against your better judgement to waltz over there and drape across his shoulders. You’d seen other partners do it so the men themselves wouldn’t be affected but Bucciarati never appreciated interruptions.

The pink haze in your veins sent another pulse through your body. Your legs buckled a little and you bumped into the table with your hip. There was no way this wasn’t some kind of drug or stand ability… the latter being a greater possibility given the interactions of the night.

It pushed the concerned thoughts from your mind instantly.

You fell across Bucciarati’s shoulders and smiled at the casual chuckles from the table. Comments about too much to drink followed.

Bucciarati also believed you to be tipsy and he took your arm to guide you to the seat beside him. His expression darkened only slightly as he took as he took in the flush of your cheeks and the hitch of your breath.

You sat but not without a whisper. It was scarcely audible but desperate enough, “Please. I need you.”

He didn’t pause in his conversation but he heard you. His answer came through a small squeeze to your thigh.

It was painful to sit and wait but his hold on your leg remained tight. He prevented you from squirming and the burning grew more intense with each minute that passed. Your face was ignited and your heart was deafening behind your ears. If anybody was looking, they’d certainly think you to be wasted.

Bucciarati rose from his seat with an unmatchable grace. He guided you to join him and thanked his interlocuters for the conversation.

“Bruno,” you whispered. You tried to make your voice obey you and speak instead of whimpering. It didn’t work.

He touched the small of your back, unwittingly sending sparks through your body. “It’s alright,” he hummed. Even his voice made you want to press your thighs together. “Just tell me what’s going on when we get outside.”

The night air was a sigh of relief against your clammy skin. It gave you a brief reprieve before your body could heat up once more.

There was nobody else in the gardens and Bucciarati took you deep into the maze of bushes and trees until he found a spot he approved of. It would be impossible for any eavesdroppers to get close enough without making themselves known. He could also see the main windows of the venue and keep an eye on everything.

He pressed a hand to your forehead like he was taking your temperature. “What did you have to drink?”

“Nothing more than water,” you breathed. “I think something was slipped into my food.”

You leaned close to him and instantly located a source of relief from your overwhelming need. His body fitted so well against your own. If only you could get rid of the ridiculous amount of clothing he was wearing.

And his smell…

“It’s an aphrodisiac of some kind.” Bucciarati caressed your cheek and you just about moaned, mouth falling open eagerly when his thumb brushed your lips. “I’ll organise a ride home for you.”

You shook your head. The lust screamed beneath your skin and demanded a solution now. “I don’t want to deal with it alone. Please –“

Bucciarati’s resolve was strong and unwavering most days. You could see hints of it shining behind his cerulean gaze in that moment but it was fragmented. The temptation was there but he would always put off his desires for the sake of his work.

In your current state, you didn’t care about work in the slightest.

He didn’t stop you from kissing him even as your arms wound around his neck. You pushed up against him as much as you could. His touch was a balm to your fever and you wanted every part of him. He was always sweet but now he had become the kind of drug you never wanted to walk away from. Couldn’t, even if you tried.

When you gently nipped at his lips, Bucciarati moved away. He stroked your side softly, unaware that even the soothing movement was making things worse. “This isn’t the best time for anything. You’re not in the right state of mind.”

“Bruno,” you complained through gritted teeth. “I already always want you.”

“There are people who need to speak to me,” he said.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, messing up the undoubtedly perfect braid as you brought your lips to his once more. His tongue glided smoothly with your own, making you moan far too loudly against him.

His touch danced across your waist and you knew his resolve was fading.

Taking full advantage, you ran your hand down his chest, stopping only to briefly tug on the edges of his suit. When you reached the waistband of his pants, he caught your wrist.

“Not here.”

You whined in protest, expression pleading. Did he not see how you were suffering? The desire was painted across your face; neediness showing through your panting breath and your trembling lip.

Bucciarati looked around and you brought your lips to his throat, whimpering a ‘please’ between soft kisses and bites.

“I still think it would be better if I organised for you to go home,” he said, fingers dancing along your pulse and travelling higher along your arm. “But you seem very determined to make sure I’ll regret that.”

The logical part of your brain was still there even if was being stifled by whatever was moving through your body. It warned you that this could easily be a trap. Stands were very specific – perhaps it hadn’t been aimed at you after all. You should go home. You should try to fight whatever this ridiculous desire was.

Then Bucciarati kissed you again and any rational thought disappeared in the wave that flooded your system.

You didn’t ask when he started leading you somewhere. The heat between your legs didn’t care where you were going as long as he kept touching you. If only your dress wasn’t in the way.

The back of the hall loomed before you, loud chatter somewhat punching through your clouded mind. You couldn’t be bothered with what they were saying but getting this close to other people seemed like it could be dangerous.

A zip and you were back inside, isolated in a darkened conference room with chatter on the other side of a large door. It was hot inside. Worse than it had been in the fresh air of the garden. Your clothes were beginning to itch your skin and you wished you could get rid of them.

But first, you wanted something else.

“This room is rarely in use,” Bucciarati said. “Locked during events unless some of the higher ups want to speak to each other in private.”

You didn’t care. It could have been anywhere and it would matter little in your mind as long as he allowed you to have what you needed.

He didn’t stop you from sinking to your knees, dress pulled up and bunched around your thighs. His eyes darted around the room to make sure you were alone but when you began to mouth at his cock through the fabric of his pants, he couldn’t concentrate on that anymore.

You clenched your thighs together as tight as you could. The buttons were nearly thwarting your plans, trembling fingers refusing to obey you as your head swirled.

Then you managed it.

A small warning in your brain reminded you to move slowly. You chose to ignore that thought.

Bucciarati gasped, hand flying to your hair as you took him deep into your throat with one movement. It burned the back of your throat and you gagged around him but you refused to relent. The stretch of your lips, the weight against your tongue, the taste that was so uniquely his… it made you dizzier still.

You were awfully sloppy. There was no poise or purpose as you moved. There was a fire in your stomach that only grew as you tried to get him deeper and deeper still. Your lungs were actually hurting but still you refused to take a break.

Red lines followed your nails as you sunk them into the skin of his thighs. You could hear his noises, small and painfully restrained, and didn’t bother holding back your own.

The hand in your hair tightened its grasp and pulled you off, tears running down your face and blurring your vision. You stared up at Bucciarati, trying to understand why he was taking you away from him. Was it too much? No, even in your addled mind, you could see that he was enjoying himself. He took in your expression and closed his eyes as though to steady himself.

“Please,” you whined.

The pull against your hair as you pushed forward, rubbing his cock against your cheek, was delicious. You wanted him to tug your head back and drag his teeth across your throat and –

“Are you happy with just this?”

Your thighs clenched around nothing, small bolts of almost-pain running through your legs as a reminder of what else you could have. You shook your head. You wanted more.

Bucciarati helped you up, the slight tremble in his hands betraying just how close you’d brought him with your frenzied need. His touch dipped between your legs and you threw your head back, wanton moan falling free now that you were no longer occupied.

“Quiet,” he reprimanded. “We’re not far enough away for that kind of noise.”

You tried. You really, really did. But it was unfair of him to expect you to remain silent when he was running his fingers across your core like that.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” he chuckled, half to himself. “You’ve ruined your panties entirely.”

You bucked against his hand, knees weak and trembling. Why did it even matter? You just wanted him to be inside of you.

There was a zipping sound and your eyes flew open, the cold press of a zip across your lips making you startle. Bucciarati caressed the seal with his thumb, eyes bright when they met your own.

“I already know you won’t be able to control yourself.”

He was so, so right.

You were backed into the table in the center of the room, head pushing back against the wood as you arched against it and bucked your hips against the too-gentle touch against your core. The zip muffled your noises but it couldn’t contain them fully, their desperate pitch slipping out through the smallest of gaps.

Bucciarati understood your desperate ‘please’ without needing to hear it properly. He could make out the moans of his name as he slipped two fingers into your slick heat.

A steam of ‘please’ and ‘more’, blocked by the zipper, made him decide against drawing this out for much longer.

The heat inside you was screaming. Maybe you were also. You could barely focus on your thoughts, especially when you finally got what you wanted. Then everything just melted away into a primal need for more. To get him deeper and force him to move faster. To have more of everything.

Bucciarati was struggling a little to keep himself stable.

There was something unnatural about your body. The way you were squeezing around him was more addictive than usual. The heat was almost leaking across into him, pulsing through your silken walls and racing through his veins.

He dropped his head onto your shoulder, feeling the way your body arched up into his own, ragged gasps managing to slip through his gritted teeth.

You bucked against him, the smooth wood of the table growing too hot beneath your back. Electricity flared across your skin as though you’d grabbed onto an open wire. It buzzed deep inside you. The restraint of the zipper was getting suffocating. You wanted to scream, to moan, to feel Bucciarati in your throat as well as in your cunt. You wanted him everywhere.

“I think this may be contagious,” Bucciarati managed to growl out.

Honestly, you didn’t care. His voice was another strike of fire in your chest. Maybe it was good that it was contagious, maybe it was good that he would be dragged into this with you.

The tension built higher and higher until all you could see was the haze of pink that was covering your eyes. Your nails dug into the wood as it surged through your systems. It flooded you, straining against you more and more before it snapped.

Your orgasm hit the air from your lungs. You screamed behind the zipper, tears streaming down your face without your notice. The pleasure was hurting you. It was uncontrollable, flooding every part of your body and making you writhe desperately but you didn’t even know what you wanted.

It roared and then died, returning to little more than a buzzing below the surface.

But Bucciarati was still moving.

His lips were parted against your skin, puffing sharp breaths against you as his hips snapped forward. The movements were so much clearer now. You could feel the way he dragged against your sensitive core, jolts of pleasure driving you back into the moment.

Why… the concern and reality hit you all at once. The drug had been cleared from your mind but it wasn’t gone, you could still feel it coiling in your stomach. You reached up to unzip your mouth.

“Bruno.”

A soft groan was your only answer. His grip on your hips was bruising, undoubtedly going to leave marks for days after. Curses flowed freely from you without the muzzle and you had to bite your lip to stop the moans from following.

The pink was returning again. It sent a pleasant pulse through your veins in encouragement, coming back to destroy your logical mind once more. You rezipped your mouth, head falling to the side and head swimming.

When Bucciarati came, deep and pulsing within you, he dragged you over the edge for a second time.

The haze was chased once more and you sat there, a headache building, before you realised it was beginning to come back.

“Bruno,” you forced yourself to say after removing the zip. “The user is wearing a blue suit, silver lining, and rose-shaped cufflinks. Dark hair and a very roman nose. He likes skulking around the shadows and I can probably guess why.”

Bucciarati fumbled for his phone, head still resting on your collarbone. He managed to get the call through, muttering out the description before tossing it down. “We should try and make it to the house,” he said. “I should have thought this through more. Stands don’t behave like normal drugs.”

“Do you think it’ll wear off or…?”

“Either way, once they find the user, he won’t be breathing enough for it to continue much longer.”

You rolled your hips up, managing to get a guttural groan from him as a result. He twitched inside you. His eyes were becoming glassy again, breath hot against your sticky skin.

“Then why even bother with the house?”

fugo text posts :33

someone please take my boy to see a therapist

May I please ask for headcanons for La Squadra with a s/o whose stand is able to see the future and warned them about their deaths and how to avoid it please

Your boyfriend stares at you in confusion, and then at your stand perched on the low table in front of you. Time After Time, a little projector with tiny, cartoonish legs, flickering its light at him.

“Please! Please, you can’t go!”

Your stand, while adorable, had just shown him his own graphic, violent death at the hands of some pink man and an airplane stand

At first he asks you to prove what Time After Time was showing was the future, and not just a projection of your anxiety

The little stand hops up and down and flickers at him, frustrated, just like it’s user

“Remember when we went to the races and I told you to bet on Camembert?”

It takes some convincing and several more specific instances, but he eventually caves to your teary eyes and wobbling lips.

When you tell him about the potential deaths of his other squad mates and proceed to show him each one, it further cements his decision to not take action

“You’ve already convinced me, sangù, you don’t have to show me any more.”

For now, he hugs you tight to him, whispering sweet words of affirmation to you while he tries to calm you down

He has to pepper about one thousand kisses to your face and lips before your sobs turn to sniffles, and soon you’re fast asleep

It’s back to the drawing board for now, he didn’t want to take any chances

He subconsciously covers his neck, but that doesn’t stop him from bitching at you for ‘lying’

“It’s my fucking job! You knew that when you started dating me!”

It only makes it worse

Much, much worse

You start crying harder, falling to your knees and holding onto his leg like a child throwing a tantrum

There’s no words to your sobs, just heart wrenching calls of his name and ‘please’

Ghiaccio’s stomach is twisted into knots at the pitiful sight. He can only stare down at you with a furrowed brow.

“Please, how can I convince you?! It’s the truth Ghiaccio! I would never lie to you!”

Ghiaccio was the screamer in the relationship, but right now you were putting him to shame.

He bites the inside of his cheek as he stares at you, eyes traveling to your little stand. It hopped and stamped its comically small stick feet

Any desire to be right or poke holes in everything you say is thrown out the window when you look up at him with your big watery doe eyes

“Fuck’s sake, fine. But you’d better convince Risotto first.”

What you had just shown him was borderline comical

Was that really your best attempt at dissuading him? A snake bite?

He brushes it off as you being clingy, much to the dismay of your stand

“I appreciate that you care so much, but this isn’t exactly convincing evidence.”

He doesn’t expect you to get so angry at him, much less your little camera stand.

And he definitely doesn’t expect your stand to retaliate by showing him the other gruesome deaths of his teammates

Seeing Formaggio burned to a crisp and Illuso reduced to a toxic sludge made his skin crawl and bile rise into his throat.

His fingers tighten on the sides of his laptop, your utterly distraught features adding to the guilt and disgust

“Let’s say I believe you. (He does, but he’ll never outright admit it) how am I supposed to explain this to Risotto? That my honey bunny is actually a Pythia and can predict the future.”

Secretly excited about the discovery of your stand and is mentally making up ideas for what the stands of your children would look like

(He settles for little Juniors with Polaroid cameras)

Tunes your attempts at “convincing Risotto” out and pulls you into his lap to distract you.

To him, it was like something out of an American cowboy film. Caught in the wheels of a train and shredded to death

You and your stand stared at him expectantly, you with watery eyes and the stand with an unblinking lens

“Che sarà, sarà. It comes with the job.”

He doesn’t mean to upset you, but it’s inevitable, isn’t it? He’s an assassin, it’s not like the possibility of him him dying was far fetched

Of course, his attitude towards you just makes you cry harder, the little stand flickering wildly.

He tries to play it off like it doesn’t bother him for a few moments, but it’s hard for him to play it cool when you all but launch yourself into his grasp, gripping his arms with Herculean strength.

It certainly makes him more inclined to believe you.

“Alright, alright, I won’t go. Hush.”

He’s mostly saying it to placate you, but he doesn’t want to imagine what his death would do to you

Because he could say without hesitation that he wouldn’t be able to carry on without out you

He didn’t even know stands could do that kind of thing!

He almost throws up at the footage your adorable little stand shows him.

“There’s no way Big Bro and I could die like that! It must be wrong.”

That just makes your pleads louder and you cry harder, which makes him freak out more.

Is quick on the damage control and is immediately trying to comfort you while also resisting crying himself

Worries his lower lip with his teeth as he rocks you back and forth

What would Big Bro do in this situation? Would he stay, or would he risk it for the mission?

Pesci decided that, right now, it was best to stay with you

“You should show the others. They’ll want to see this too!”

You’re already fast asleep in his arms

He wants to believe that what you’re saying isn’t true, and the puddle of acidic goop on the stones of Pompeii isn’t what he’ll end up a puddle of acidic goop on the stone floor of Pompeii

But he’s far too proud to believe that anyone could ever beat him and Man in the Mirror

It’s only after you completely break and start sobbing uncontrollably that he believes you

“Christ, calm down. I believe you, alright!”

Part of him just wants to calm you down and shut you up, but the other part doesn’t want to find out if what you had shown him was true.

Tries to shift the subject away and distract you.

“What else can it do? Can it predict cards?”

It works just a bit before you break down again and accuse him of not taking you seriously.

Against his rules of ‘no PDA unless we’re in private where no one can see us’, he snuggles you to his chest and squeezes you tight

Might even let you play with his hair and reassures you that he’s not going to leave you for a very long time, or at least until they find an alternative solution

Laughs, but he’s really uncomfortable with the contrast of your adorable stand and the gorey visuals

Especially seeing himself all crispy

He tries to make a funny comment about him becoming fondue or halloumi, but you obviously don’t take it well

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, I’m just trying to make you feel better. It’s alright, baby, I promise I won’t be turning into cheese crisps anytime soon, heh.”

After you accuse him of not believing you, he finally realizes that you’re actually worried about him and you’re not trying to scare him

It’s….sweet. He can’t recall a time where anyone has looked out for him like this, but then again not everyone had the gift of foresight.

He corrals you into his lap and calls over his cat, who immediately starts to love all over you

“Don’t worry, okay? Risotto’s smart, he’ll know what to do about it.”

Lost the Badges (ft. Narancia and Mista)

By: な on Pixiv [click]

SOFIIIIIII😭😭😭 THIS IS SO CUTE!!! YOU ARE SO CUTE!!!

2023 me slayed here's to hoping 2024 me will do the same!!! 💖 ⭐️🎀🍒

(ok to reblog! 💖)

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