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Dreams Come True.

Yan Giorno x F Reader.

Synopsis: Giorno likes to hold you close sometimes in his dreams… and in his dreams alone, because the real you doesn’t let him. It’s fine though, he tells himself.

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, and kidnapping.

Word Count: 1.5k.

*~*~*~*

There is a small door hidden behind Giorno’s vanity.

He does not reside in the master bedroom anymore–as he willingly chose to accommodate you with the privileges he no longer possesses. You’d make better use of it than he ever did, he thought. The once bare walls now have bookshelves all around, antiques sitting prettily up high on unreachable shelves, and there are soft piano sounds coming from the radio he gave you. Though if you ever wanted to learn piano yourself he would gladly hire a tutor for you, albeit one who has sworn a blood oath and has been a trusted staff member of his for years.

Giorno’s new bedroom is as empty as the last, with only writing utensils and piles upon piles of paper stacked on his sole desk, the trash can underneath be full of torn letters Giorno will have someone burn later. He has only dared to send you perhaps two letters, both of which were instantly sent back to whence they came. One of the letters was sent when you had first arrived here, being placed underneath the tiny slit between the floor and the door. It was past dinner time then, and since the guards stationed outside your quarters had heard no movement from inside your room, they had told the nearest butler that you were most likely asleep and would not be reading the letter until the morning.

Giorno had some second thoughts once he had heard the news, and nearly instantly wanted the letter to be rewritten, seeing it as an opportunity to fix mistakes visible to only him. That very butler opened the door with his assigned key and then saw you huddled in the corner covered by a blanket. The butler had asked if you had seen the letter on the floor, and you said you did not want to read it.

Very well, Miss [First].

The butler locked the door when he was done with his task, escorting the letter gently in his gloved palms like it was an esteemed guest.

Giorno tore the paper to shreds, throwing it into the trash can like the many others that had come before it. Dozens of them all written within a week, even though you hadn’t been here for nearly a day. Some are more eloquent than others. Some are just mere scribbles, signs of Giorno’s frustration at himself. If he could, he would have torn himself to shreds too. However, something in the back of his mind said that that was the coward’s way out, and if he were not here who else would be able to protect you?

No one. You’ll be all alone. A baby bird waiting for its mother to come back with worms. You’d chirp and chirp, desperate, but no one would help you. He can hear it now.

The second letter was sent just now, with the very same butler holding it gently in his hands. Giorno can hear the small heels of his shoes as he walks down the hall to the master bedroom. He looks at the vanity, choosing to ignore all of the clutter on it and instead pushing it toward the far right corner of the room. There the door was. It was dustier than when Giorno had seen it last, but he did not mind it in the slightest. 

The key to it was inside a copy of one of your favorite books. Chapter VIII, page 93. This part had one of your favorite quotes. Giorno knows it all too well, he spent day and night reading this novel again and again after all. 

“Oh yes,” said the other mother. “I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back.”

A rather grim quote you chose, but Giorno does not judge your interests.

The key is colder than the one used to open the door to your bedroom. It’s heavier and darker too. But it goes into the lock just as smoothly with a thunk.

The hallway beyond is dark. There is dust floating in the air, and a stinky, musty smell. 

Tucking his feet beneath him as he crawls, Giorno closes the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it, however. No one has ever seen where this corridor leads, and Giorno would rather die than have someone destroy his paradise.

Perhaps one day it will be yours too.

“I don’t want it.”

“Miss [First], while I do understand this situation has been less than acceptable for you, you must at least try to understand that the master has been attempting to be accommodating for you.” Giorno hears the butler say.

“I agree with Franz.” The head maid adds.

“I don’t care what you think,” You reply. Giorno can practically hear you gripping the skirt of your dress. “I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. All of you can just go to hell.”

When Giorno places his right ear on the other side of the tiny corridor, he hears a slight squeak. It seems your vanity was not placed correctly, something he will have a servant remedy soon. Its purpose is supposed to be the same as Giorno’s; to keep this sacred place hidden from you until it is time.

“That isn’t very kind. If you really cannot read this letter at the moment, it shall be placed on your writing desk, and you will read it by tomorrow night. Is this a fair arrangement?”

“Just what part of that is fair?”

Someone sighed then. Giorno is unsure as to who made the sound. The butler and you? You and the head maid? There are infinite possibilities for that very question. It lingers at the back of his mind, yearning to be scratched.

He hears your door close, and that is the very signal he needs. He crawls back through the tunnel to his bedroom and locks the entrance with the very same key. The key retreats to page 93 once again. Giorno then places it on the highest shelf. His mission is accomplished.

“Did you hear everything, Master?” The butler asks through Giorno’s bedroom door. “I can catch you up on details if that is not the case if that is alright with you.”

“Yes, I did. Grazie.”

He hears the butler’s shoes clacking as he leaves this part of the mansion.

He, in turn, sighs.

“Master,” A high-pitched voice calls, accompanied by a soft knock. “I brought you your dinner.”

Giorno does not respond. Instead, he sits on the chair beside his writing desk. His eyes meet the ceiling. There are images of clouds, rainbows, and most importantly cherubs, their bright red cheeks and happy smiles stirring something from within him. 

He wants what they have. Pure joy.

But because of that, Giorno considers hiring someone to repaint the ceiling.

“Master?”

Giorno closes his eyes, not wanting to see the bleak reality anymore.

“Master?” A male voice asks, knocking on the door louder than the woman. “Master? Are you alright? Clervie brought you your supper. It is your favorite. Spaghetti al nero di seppia.”

Giorno lets his imagination run free within the depths of his mind. He sees you kissing his cheek, and him kissing yours. He sees you two huddling by the fireplace during the winter months with hot cups of tea. He sees you looking outside the dining room’s largest window to see the stars and moon. He sees himself watching you, not willing to break the peaceful image.

He is truly unworthy of you, that much is true. But if he is unworthy of you, everyone else is just more unworthy than he is.

“Master? Are you alright? Do you want Clervie to come back later?”

Giorno speaks up, slouching forward in his seat. “I’m sorry, but I am just not hungry at the moment.”

The butler hums. “Alright… then have a good night, Master.”

“You too, Franz.” He answers. “And… you too, Clervie.”

When they leave, Giorno relaxes once more in his chair. Little by little, the surrounding sounds vanish. They are replaced with auras fading from black to blue to pink and then to teal. He starts snoring a few moments later. Absolute bliss for someone who has been stressed out for weeks on end.

“...[First]...”

The last thing he sensed from the real world was the candle on his desk, smelling like a warm day on the beach.

It isn’t an easy time going back into consciousness. Those same auras Giorno saw with his eyes closed are still there when he arises from his slumber. Black. Blue. Pink. Teal. If it had been a pleasant dream, perhaps Giorno would have even found it beautiful.

He rubs his eyes. “Ugh…”

The first thing he recognizes in his vision is the pictures of you on the vanity, still out of place from hours before. He remembers nothing of his dream, as always. That is, aside from one thing. Your voice, for once soft and focused on him.

I love you.

“Hm…” He grumbles. 

“Master?” The second thing he recognizes is Franz’s signature knock. “It’s urgent. [First] has–”

With the sound of your name, Giorno rises quicker than someone coming back from the dead.

Let the Dead be Dead

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙸

(ʏᴀɴ!ʙᴜᴄᴄɪᴀʀᴀᴛɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

Waking up from the unexpected attack, you are also give an unexpected ability to good to be true.

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

Groggily opening your eyes, you squint trying to shield your eyes from the attack of bright light. Blinking several more times you remembered the events that happened prior to your sudden blackout. Frantically sitting up, you brought your hand to your neck to feel around for the fatal wound that was inflicted on you beforehand. Feeling nothing you let out a sigh of relief, slumping over to look at the cracked concrete ground beneath you.

You were utterly exhausted, but you had another problem to look out for. You wondered where the attacker’s whereabouts were, they could be anywhere waiting for you to get back up and fight. Yet you were also confused due to how sure you were stabbed and flew to the ground from it. You even remembered the awful feeling of gargling on your own blood as you desperately cried out for air. Trying to summon your stand you saw nothing. No matter how many times you called out its name, it wouldn’t appear by your side.

Fear began to tear away in you, like an unwinding thread about ready to break. The large room suddenly felt hot, stifling almost. Tearing off your jacket you continued to look around for the perpetrator. The broken vinyl still sitting a countless few feet away from you, mocking you as you sat there clueless and afraid.

A few more moments of silence went by to soon be broken by a faint chuckle behind you. Whipping your head around at the speed of light, you saw a figure you thought you would never see again. A figure you’d last seen before being planted in the ground to be one with life underneath.

Bruno Bucciarati.

Your stare of disbelief caused another eruption of chuckles from the ‘dead’ man. The blue eyes you loved gazing into and led you to where you were today, was staring at you once again just like they did a few months ago. Confused, you continued to stare back, eyebrows furrowed as you began to rule that this was a sudden hallucination from actually dying when you were attacked.

“I know what you are thinking…your not dead y/n. Although I must say your expression is quite humorous right now.”

Bucciarati let out a chuckle again before leaning down to get a closer look at your shaken bewildered form. Reaching your hand out, you took a clump of his white fabricated suit into your hand. Squeezing it a few times in reassurance, you brought your attention back to his expecting gaze.

“What is the m-meaning of this? Y-You’re dead, I saw you die-I saw you be buried!”

“I’m am dead, but I am here because of you.”

Reeling back in shock, you sat there stiff as a board from the bewilderment of your dead companion. Averting your gaze from his, you looked around trying to focus on the overall aspect of it all. You took notice of the splatters of blood that now adorned your clothing from the stab wound to the neck. Heavy amounts of dried-up blood lay there becoming even more proof of the laceration that was on your neck.

“I still don’t understand Bucciarati, how did I do this? The last thing I remember was walking in this abandoned place and-and…being stabbed. Now I’ve woken up to find my dead capo staring at me and no injury to be seen.”

Bucciarati sat there for a remaining second, pondering on what he was going to say next. His tongue hit the side of his cheek while his lips puckered up thinking of the right words.

“I am not too sure myself. I remember abruptly manifesting here as if someone pulled me here. You were on the ground lying in a puddle of blood with no wound to be seen. Although there was someone above you, staring at you as you convulsed from the trauma that was inflicted upon you. I guess my sudden appearance scared him off, but I was far too worried to leave you on your own to chase after the man.”

“Is that all…?”

“Not quite. While I waited for you to wake, there was a glow emitting from you like you were using your stand. By the time I looked up, behind me was your stand although it looked different from what I remembered. There in its bare transparent chest, was one of my golden zippers that belonged to one of my trademark suits. It was as if it was using it to manifest me, feeding off of it or something…”

Drawing your attention from Bucciarati’s worried look, you peered behind him to see in fact he was correct. Your stand stood there, motionless awaiting for your next command. She looked different with how her eyes were shaped, her armor changing in various ways over her body, then there was her now transparent torso that rested the golden zipper you took with you every time. A faint glow radiated from the small object as if Bucciarati was right using it for greater means.

“I think to believe that zipper is the reason why I am here. It may be using it to keep me here tethered to the living world as we both know I no longer exist in this world.”

Biting your lip, your face scrunched up in frustration from the mystery behind his presence here. You believed Bucciarati was onto something, but you decided it would be best if you could discuss this later. Not lingering in a place you were surely attacked in and have no idea where the perpetrator went.

Standing up, you wordlessly reached down to pick up your bloodied jacket. You then began to make your way to the door of the massive room, stopping and turning around waiting for Bucciarait to follow.

Bucciarati remained there for a brief second, his eyes fluttering back and forth taking in the full view of your form. Letting a warm smile crawl across his face, he stood up and made his way to you. Walking was almost like a foreign concept remembering the good days when life wasn’t so stressful when he could simply enjoy a nice sunny day with his father.

A smile appeared on your face at the warm gesture. It felt as if it was just yesterday when you sealed your fate as you took one step on the boat and he reassured you with that same smile.

Now that he was ‘back’ you could relish in the small moments before fate decided to strike again just like it did long ago.