Apparition (Vento Aureo x Reader)

I Can Wash Dirt Out Of My Hair But Not My Soul

Of course, without any knowledge or background of who could possibly be running the show, (Y/N) had no choice but to actively hunt them down. And to do so, she had to take some time in Greece, a large city with a high amount of human trafficking. If you could guess her plan, then perhaps you would know how risky and terrible it is, but it was the only shot they had. "Alright... I'm going into the belly of the beast."

"(Y/N)." Bruno quickly dragged her to the side, eyebrows twisted in worry. The bus was pulling up now, but he had to impart a warning. "Call us at 5:00 PM every night. I don't care what you are doing that that time, I want you to call at this time to ensure you are okay, alright? If you are in trouble, if you feel unsafe, call us, or anyone. We don't even care if it's La Squadra, just... just be safe. We don't want you to get hurt."

"Hey, someone's gotta do a little dirty work! I can take it!" Lifting her thumbs up, she flashed him a wink, and Abbacchio groaned.

"She's going to die. She's actually going to die. Who's fucking idea was it to send an idiot?"

"Wow thanks for being positive." Rolling her eyes, she softly punched his shoulder. It was obvious that he was just worried, in his own... mean way. While Fugo continued to bicker about her stupidity, she simply moved to give the children trio a hug. It was kind of them to worry, but this treatment was a little too much. "I'm going to be fine. I promise."

"(Y/N)." Giorno called from behind her, holding the mask that was once given to her by Polpo. It was a mask to symbolize her new beginnings, her birth as a gangstar, but now it would serve just as it was, a mask. A name that wasn't hers, and a face that no database would recognize, she would use them as an advantage, the only advantage she's ever had. "I put a tracker inside, but it isn't on yet, when you get on that bus... no, when you infiltrate, press the corner of it and the tracker will turn on."

"Gotcha. Don't worry too much or your hair might turn even lighter again." Pinching his cheek, she scrunched her face to mimic his worried one, turning to step onto the bus that finally rolled up. "See you soon, assholes! Don't miss me too much!"

There the bus door closed, with the screech that grated on their nerves. They weren't sure why her smile was so off putting, not when it was the same smile they tripped and tumbled over, a grin she's grinned hundreds of times over the course of her stay, so simple and common, yet never fails to saturate their surroundings in a color they can't quite describe, with delicate flutterings that are so unusual for the stoic group forced into death defying missions at least once a month.

A variety of irises locked onto the back of the vehicle as it sped away, rumbling as if it carried the heaviest object in the world. The object of their affections, a person with unparalleled importance to their minds and souls. "She'll be okay, right?"

Narancias voice was small, almost meek. It was so unlike the unruly child, but he couldn't help it. Worry clogged his throat as if a large pit had grown there overnight. She was as strong as she was independent, he's seen time and time again her devotion towards their safety and happiness, and he had no doubt that she would pass this with flying colors, but it just couldn't dissuade this feeling.

"Well, just who do you think you are talking about! It's (Y/N), for Christ's sake, she'll worm right in without a doubt!" His wingwoman hasn't scored him any lucky nights, but that wasn't what Mista remembered. All the memories with her were full of laughter and opportunity. Fake flirty remarks were thrown in good fun. When did it become more than that for him? Was it on the train when he first saw her cry? No, it was sooner than that. That was only when he realized it. He never thought she could cry, not when she was so carefree. "They won't be able to hurt someone as sweet as her."

"More like stupid. She's stupid! Why is she doing this? We could make a better plan that isn't jam packed with 'what if's' and 'maybe so's', but here she is again, shoving her way into things that she has no need to." Fugo was less than enthusiastic at the thought. The same traits that would help her could be used against her. "She always does this! It's like she's just asking for trouble!"

"Guys? Are you talking about (Y/N)?" Trish was often busy with her new routine. Well, it wasn't new. She's lived them her entire life behind her mother, the spark of her showbiz. But while no one could replace her mother in all of her amazing traits, someone else stood by her, supported her with such passion that she couldn't help but want to talk for hours, just to hear her cheer more. But they kept talking about something, scheming, and (Y/N) was in the center every time. It let a bad taste in her mouth, and this time, she felt she might gag. "Hey, where is she?"

"She's... She's on a trip." As much as they admired Trish's tenacity, she didn't have to know the deeds of the Mafia. There were other things to worry about for both of them, so they never felt inclined to tell her. But now...

"A trip? What's the trip for? Why is she going? What are you planning to do with her?" the barrage of questions that they had all the answers to, but how would they word this?

"(Y/N)... Is conducting a few investigations. She'll be back." The words that slid out tasting like bile were meant to comfort, but they did little to none. It felt like a lie. It wasn't a lie, but their anxiety grew.