Changeling-Giorno Giovanna x Reader

Chanteuse

(Everyone's aged up- this takes place after VA and EVERYONE IS FINE)

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chan·teuse

/ˌSHänˈto͞oz/

noun

noun: chanteuse; plural noun: chanteuses

a female singer of popular songs, especially in a nightclub.

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Y/n: first name
L/n: last name
H/c: hair color
E/c: eye color
F/c: favorite color/any color really it's your life

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Y/n L/n was used to a world without limits.

Ever since she was a little girl, her life was dictated only by her imagination.

Why?

Because Y/n had a stand.

Of course, she didn't know the term "stand" described her friend Physical Graffiti, who had been with her since childhood. Y/n understood that Physical Graffiti (or "Fizz G" as she was affectionately known) was something ordinary people could not comprehend. And as sure as she was of her existence, she was doubly so of her power.

Physical Graffiti was an exact copy of Y/n's build. Her appearance was that of a shockingly accurate plaster cast- every wrinkle in her lips, every protruding mole, etcetera- was accounted for and represented on her "skin", if you could call it that; for it more closely resembled the holographic surface of a CD. She was hairless but had tendrils that snaked down to her equivalent of shoulders. They sat limp most of the time, although could move independently. She had the ability to completely unravel and enclose her user like a second skin, allowing Y/n to masquerade as whomever she wanted- real or made up, dead or alive. 

Surprisingly, Y/n wasn't too popular in school. She refused to show Physical Graffiti in her neutral form and rarely called her out to begin with unless she was definitely alone. Those rare exceptions were few and far between, and usually involved the purchasing of alcohol. Her friends never questioned how she could walk into the neighborhood liquor store in her school uniform and come out with enough wine coolers for everyone and frankly didn't want to.

Y/n's mother had always told her she could be whoever she wanted in life, unaware of the irony of that statement. She could get away with anything her morals allowed, limited only by her imagination.

Now, instead of pranks and disappearing acts, Y/n used her stand to survive. The area of Italy where she lived was not a friendly place- especially not for women. The threat of being stolen away to a brothel was omnipresent and very real, so she spent most of her time under the guise of a tall, burly man. His appearance changed slightly every day, but he was always very physically imposing- the strong, silent type. 

But everyone needs money. Y/n had never been comfortable with stealing, especially not in an area where most people were dirt poor and living paycheck to paycheck. After all, so was she. The only true place she could be herself was at the La Luna Nightclub in downtown Naples. 

Pretty girls were always welcome in any nightclub- especially ones who can sing. One of Y/n's God-given gifts was her singing voice; low and jazzy, yet innocent and sweet. Every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night, Y/n dressed in her best clothes and made her way down to La Luna to put on a show. 

La Luna was a club for the city's high-rollers and influencers- most of whom were gangsters- so Y/n didn't feel too bad about separating them and their wallets. Really, if you have the money to buy a patent leather suit and diamond earrings, you can certainly serve to give a little to the less fortunate. 

Honestly, the blatant displays of wealth disgusted her to no end. There were people right outside the door who were starving, people shivering in secondhand clothes with needles in their veins. Most of what she stole went to them by way of food and clothing, but she kept the bulk of what she earned legitimately- enough to finance her studio apartment on the other side of the tracks. The tiny flat was fine for her purposes, seeing as she was constantly moving around. Only Y/n was privy as to why. 

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Y/n checked her watch. 10:00 on the dot. She had about 30 minutes before call time and was just a little nervous. The club was filled to the brim today, which wasn't unusual for a Friday night, but she spotted some strange men in the corner of the room.

They were garishly dressed, most wearing brightly colored leather and sporting elaborate hairstyles. One seemed to have circular holes deliberately cut out of his outfit. He looked like Swiss cheese. But one, a young boy with three curls of hair plastered to his face and giant ladybug brooches the size of her palm on his breast, caught her eye. Yes, this one. He smiled smugly as his friends drank and laughed, but looked almost nervously at a man with purple hair in the corner. 

Her heart beat furiously. She had the urge right then to go up and punch him in his stupid face. Y/n was incensed in that moment, so absolutely livid, that she neglected to change her appearance at all. First mistake. 

Y/n sauntered over to their table, pinpointing exactly where Blondie's wallet was. Right pocket. From this she could discern that he was right-handed, or used his right hand for most rudimentary tasks. He sat to the left of her in a booth, his back facing the stage.

She wore a F/c long-sleeved ruffled dress and strappy gold heels. It was tight fitting, and Y/n knew it. 

A man with a weird blue hat and the Swiss cheese kid turned first as they heard the tapping of her heels on the linoleum floor. The urge to break someone's teeth resurfaced as they looked her up and down. Unfortunately, they were on the inside of the booth, flanked by the brat, so they would not be donating to charity tonight.

Y/n "tripped" as she reached their booth, her hand extending to grab their table as she pretended to adjust her shoes. She leaned over, exposing her cleavage to distract them as she worked on the brat's wallet.

"Buonasera, boys," She smiled warmly. Blue hat nudged Swiss cheese, who blushed. Y/n pretended not to notice. "I haven't seen you around here before. You tourists?"

A man she hadn't noticed before piped up. He too wore an expensive white patent leather suit with black teardrops speckling it. "No ma'am. We're here on business."

Great, y/n thought to herself. More wannabe gangsters. Just her luck. 

She grasped the kid's wallet and gently opened his pocket with her free fingers, careful not to touch him. "Aren't you a little young to be businessmen?"

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking here?" The purple-haired man sucked his teeth as he sipped his red wine. A younger boy with an orange headband chuckled in the corner. The blue hat man smirked.

"You misunderstand me. I'm not drinking. I'm working," She slipped the wallet into the inside of her dominant hand's wrist, making sure to keep it out of sight. Thankfully, the kid's wallet was somewhat thin. "I'm singing in about 30 minutes and I'll be taking requests. You should stay for the show," She winked. "I'm going out for some air. I trust I'll see you later?"

"You can count on it." Blue hat crooned. Swiss cheese looked at y/n in embarrassment. 

"Don't keep me waiting, then," She smirked. "Ciao."

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(A/N: this is something ive had in my drafts for the longest time. I may or may not continue it but here it is ig)