#prosciutto smut

[wri0thesley]

disciplinarian - prosciutto x reader (3k)

you have made a mess of things - and prosciutto is not going to let that pass without punishment.

cw: yandere prosciutto. dubious-consent/non-consent (reader is well on the way to stockholm syndrome if not already there). afab reader referred to as 'spouse', no other gendered terms used. captive reader. spanking, exhibitionism, allusions to prosciutto using his stand on reader in the past. use of pet names, use of 'slut'. minors dni, not sfw.

[a/n: a fic in which a random number generator was allowed to choose some of my favourite kinks and characters for a little birthday event i did for myself! this one threw up 'prosciutto', 'impact play' and 'yandere!' it's been a while since i published jojo but oh, i could never forget about my love for One Old Man Mafioso!]

It’s your own fault. 

You stare at the ruined dinner and feel your breath start to come in short little pants; a tell-tale sign that you’re about to panic. About to start crying. You should have checked on it more often! You should have double-checked all of the temperatures, stayed in the kitchen instead of going into Prosciutto’s study to read and imagine you were somewhere else--

The front door swings open. Prosciutto’s voice, warmth seeping from every syllable, calls out into the hallway; 

“Tesoro? I’m home.”

That warmth will quickly dissipate when he sees what you’ve done. Even now, as he calls out your name once more, you can hear a mounting frustration; Prosciutto likes you to be ready to rush up to him when he comes home from work, peppering his cheek with kisses and chirping questions about his day, every inch the adoring little house spouse that he has mercilessly drilled you into becoming. You ought to be fussing over his jacket, stroking his cheek and telling him you missed him with heat in your cheeks - offering to fetch his slippers and a whisky for him to unwind with . . .

Instead, you are in the kitchen in front of ruined dinner, your apron a mess and tears rolling down your face as you face the facts; Prosciutto is not going to be happy with you. 

“There you are.” The mafioso’s voice has a sharp edge to it as a shadow falls across the doorway. You start guiltily, trying to hide the tray of burnt food from his ice blue gaze, but there’s no real escape from a man like Prosciutto. You know he’s seen it the moment that his elegant lip curls and his eyes flicker back to you. “ . . . Really. Is this how you greet your husband, amore mio?”

You want to bite back at him that he is no husband of yours - that it is hardly husbandly of him to have snatched you from your life and installed you into his like you are an asset to be owned and bossed about, a caricature of what a traditional man would expect from a spouse. It is hardly husbandly of him to have taught you to cook and clean and serve him by belt and by threat and by the strange power that he possesses that you hope never to experience again--

(You can still remember it, at night, when Prosciutto is still on a mission and you are alone - how it had felt to have your bones age and crack all rapidly at once, your skin sag from your frame, your heart to suddenly have years and years of use and wear piled upon it in what felt like moments. You never want to feel it again. You’d promised him, afterwards, tears still drying on your face, that you would be good from then on in.)

“I’m sorry,” your words all come out in a rush. “I-I didn’t mean to, Prosciutto. Amore. I--I just got distracted, it burnt, I’ll cook it all again--”

His expensive shoes (gotten for a bargain, or so he claimed, though you know that half of the boutiques in the city cower when he steps into them and rush to offer him staff discounts and anything he desires) squeak on the tiled kitchen floor as he steps closer to you. You force yourself to breathe. 

“And waste another day’s worth of ingredients?” He asks you, calmly. “Do you think I am made of money, amore mio?” The pet names are a deliberate choice - they serve only to make you even more frightened. He casts his eye over the spread again. “It’s good for nothing but the trash now. Tell me--” And then your chin is being grasped by hands that have murdered and killed and God knows what else. “What did my pretty little tesoro have to occupy their mind that was more important than being good and taking care of their husband, hmm?”

Your voice cracks.

“I-I’m sorry--”

“Not good enough,” he says, his voice still calm. Prosciutto is cool and calculated in all he does; he does not shout and rage at you. His quiet seething, his way of keeping his handsome face a visage of serenity even when he is doing depraved things, is far more frightening than anything else. “Come. Leave the food for later. I think you need a reminder of your place.”

Your breath catches. You know what he means by this, and as if your body is already protesting the coming punishment, you feel last week’s almost-healed bruises on your buttocks sting. And, too - because Prosciutto has trained you to be that way - you feel a heat low in your abdomen, a clenching of the part of you between your thighs that Prosciutto equally adores to torment. 

Prosciutto senses your hesitation and clicks his tongue at you, motioning towards the upstairs of the little home you two share (some holdover from his family connections, though it is not quite as well-maintained as it ought to be). 

“I’ll give you five more strikes for every moment you dawdle,” he says, and he gives you a smile not without a hint of his teeth. When you had first met Prosciutto, you had thought his overbite and the gap between his teeth handsome - now, you wonder if they are on display so often if only to warn you that this is a man who will bite if he is threatened.

You pass by him - and on cue, one of Prosciutto’s hands comes down and squeezes your ass as you walk, his hands strong, fingers digging hard into the plush of your rear. You whimper, and Prosciutto lets out a hiss of pleased breath through his teeth. 

“So soft,” he murmurs to you, slapping you on the rear now as if he is urging you to move faster. “Mm . . . as much of a shame as it is to punish you, tesoro, you’re such a very lovely canvas for the discipline.”

Despite your will, the compliment makes your insides clench once more. Heat gathering between your thighs in hot little shocks - there’s something about the clipped way that Prosciutto speaks that makes you want to get on your knees and do exactly as he says, even if you do hate him. Even if you do wish you were somebody else, somewhere else, away from here. 

(Hate is a difficult thing; you hate Prosciutto. You hate what he has done to you. But his fingers are clever and his mouth is tender and the frissons of danger being his give you are more of a lure than you’d like to admit. Even if you could escape, sometimes you fear that you are so thoroughly under his spell that you would miss him). 

He chuckles as if he can tell what you are thinking - his hands rest upon your hips as you walk, guiding you upstairs, the movement at once gentlemanly and possessive. Those are two things that the mafioso excels in. 

Prosciutto’s bedroom. 

He leaves you standing in the middle of the floor as he slowly, leisurely, crosses the room to sit upon the bed. You stand there for him, tension brewing, even as Prosciutto lets out a slow sigh and removes his ascot with elegant fingers. As he unbuttons his jacket and shrugs it off shoulders, showing the sculpted muscles of his scarred chest. You barely stop yourself from trembling. 

When the jacket is shed, he rests back upon the heels of his hands and looks at you with that handsome, disaffected air - mouth parted, eyes half-lidded. His command is simple. 

“Strip, and then come here and bend over.” 

Prosciutto likes you to look the part of his little spouse. You wear clothes that are well-made and prim and a little old-fashioned, with fiddly little buttons and awkward zippers that you sometimes need his help to get into in a morning. He offers you no such help now, as your fingers slip on the buttons and you miss the catch of the zipper three times from your clammy palms. He breathes out through his nose in a flare of irritation, and you make a squeal of apology as you finally manage to shed the last layer of your clothes and you stand before him in nothing but your underwear, white satin patterned with deep red roses that Prosciutto had picked out for you. He looks at you in satisfaction, noting the damp patch at your gusset.

“My underwear too, amore?” He likes it when you use pet names for him - when you call him ‘my love’ or ‘my soul’ or ‘husband’. He likes ‘Signore’, too, but he prefers that when the two of you are playing one of his favoured little roleplay games. Right now, he is a husband disciplining a wayward spouse, and he wouldn’t react well to it. You hope the little term of endearment softens him. 

“Just the top,” he decides, and you obediently reach behind yourself and unclip it with only a little difficulty. You feel your cheeks heat as Prosciutto looks at how your chest is released from the satiny cups, but manage to keep your composure. “Ah. How lucky I am to have such a pretty spouse, hmm?” He reaches forward, pinching one of your nipples roughly. A soft noise of surprise falls from your lips as he continues to pinch, twisting it just enough for it to edge the line between pleasure and pain, forcing the bud to pucker and stiffen beneath his ministrations. He repeats the process with the other, making you press your thighs unconsciously together. “Maybe I should use a cane on these, one of these days.”

“N-no, please,” you breathe out, but you’re already losing track of the thought of anything but Prosciutto’s fingers upon you. He chuckles, tugging at your nipples again. 

“Maybe some pretty jewelry, then?” He suggests. “One of my associates is very skilled with metals--”

You whine as he pinches just a touch too hard, and, satisfied, he lets go of the sensitive buds - stiff and already aching from a mixture of fear and arousal and the pressure he had exerted. 

“Very well,” he says in amusement. “Come bend over my lap and let me give you your punishment.”

You have no other choice, really - you arrange yourself exactly the way you know Prosciutto likes you, bent over his lap, your ass in the air. Your sore nipples uncomfortably rub against his slacks and the bedspread, and you know that they will chafe between both as you move with every hit of his hand or his belt or the hairbrush, chest swaying with the pressure--

His hand rests lightly on the curve of your ass. 

“You’ve been well-behaved other than today,” he muses aloud, rubbing warm circles onto the heated skin. The touch of his calloused palms on your soft ass sends more little electric shocks to that place between your thighs, satin sticking to the folds of your cunt. “Just my hand, hmm?” 

“Thank you, amore,” you say, automatically. For his mercy. He chuckles, rubs his thumb over the seam of your ass through the underwear and stops just before your sex. 

“No more than you deserve,” he says. “You’ll count, yes?” 

You nod, and Prosciutto seems satisfied enough with that. You hear the sound of his hand pulling back - the displacement of air as it whooshes back towards your ass, and then the calloused meat of his palm collides with your bare flesh. You cry out in surprise at the feeling, despite knowing it was coming. 

“One!” You say. “Th-thank you!”

He pauses, hand still upon your ass. Heat radiates from the spot he has just touched, like waves lapping upon a shore. 

“Thank you, what?” He asks, his voice dangerous - and you know it is a test. You take a great shuddering breath. 

“Thank you, carissimo--?”

You hope you have made the right choice - that the pet name will soften him and soothe him and remind him that he is your husband and you adore him (or, at least, you do because you know what is good for you). The question hangs in the air for a moment that feels like it lasts for an eternity, before Prosciutto lets out a grunt of pleasure. 

“You’re welcome. Don’t forget next time.”

So you don’t. 

You do not forget to count or to thank Prosciutto or to call him all of the sweet things you can think of; thank you carissimo, thank you caro, thank you amore, thank you mio re, mio amato--

And Prosciutto’s blows do not stop coming, each one slower and more lingering than the last. Palm slapping against your rear and thighs until you are all over sore, fingers digging into tenderised flesh, Prosciutto’s hand taking delight in the way you whimper and whine and your voice goes high and reedy as you reach seventeen, eighteen, nineteen . . .

At twenty, he leaves his hand upon your ass for a beat longer. Luxuriously and slowly slides it down, further than he had before - and laughs a little meanly as his fingers dip between your thighs, feeling just how wet your underwear is. 

“Oh, amore,” He breathes, in that damnably low and seductive voice. “You like being punished, don’t you?”

There is no real argument to what he’s saying. With every hit of his hand, you had felt those sparks and shocks that had resonated all through your body and landed squarely in your cunt, between your legs. With every number that had fallen from your mouth, you had felt yourself pump out more slick, until the satin was utterly saturated and it was a wonder you were not dripping all over the floor. 

“You’ve made a mess,” Prosciutto breathes against your ear. “Mm . . . I’m going to have to replace this nice lingerie. Do you know how much it cost?” 

“. . . I . . .’m sorry--”

“Oh,” another chuckle. “Don’t be. It’s nice to know what a little slut my pretty spouse is.”

“I’m not. . .”

“Ah. So you’re not desperate for me to do this?” He slowly, deliberately, presses his fingers against the seam of your sex, rubbing it through the satin. Against your will, a whine falls from your mouth - the pressure is perfect, his fingers so good against your heated core. “You’re not moaning like a bitch in heat?”

“Prosciutto . . .”

“You’re a very lucky little slut, at least.” Prosciutto’s fingers begin to rhythmically slide backwards and forwards, over your cunt - you whimper as he finds your clit, rubbing the satin against the swollen little nub in a way that makes you squirm and hot tears spring to your eyes. “I don’t mind that you’ve gotten off to me punishing you. In fact . . .”

He doesn’t bother to go beneath the fabric - just finds your clit, swollen and stiff through satin as thin as spider silk, and begins a rough, mean assault on it that has you gasping and panting. 

“I’ll even help you along.”

It’s too much. It’s all too much. The position - blood rushing to your head. The way that your ass aches and stings from his discipline, the way he’s practically trained you to get turned on by being hurt, the confusion that you feel about all of this . . . Sometimes you want nothing more than to be the thoughtless little whore of a spouse he wants you to be. Things would be so much easier, wouldn’t they? 

Your breath comes in short sharp pants as Prosciutto increases his speed, roughly circling your clit. You squirm hotly as the pressure follows suit. All of the feelings inside of you - the confusion and the heat and the arousal and the hate and everything else - all tangle together in your mind like old embroidery threads, a mess impossible to unravel--

Until they do. The threads are all suddenly pulled apart in different directions, and your insides explode in an orgasm that is partly pleasure and partly pain. Prosciutto’s fingers do not slow, hot hard circles that guide you over yet more hills and more peaks. You don’t know if it’s good or if it’s overwhelming, all of the sensations creeping up on you at once like ivy overtaking an old house. You sob out a dry, whimpering noise that makes Prosciutto sigh. 

He slows his fingers as the last ebbs and flows of your peak flow from your thighs to your feet to your fingertips and out of your body and lets you lay there limply upon him, breathing hard.

You are suddenly aware of every part of your body. 

Your underwear clings wetly and uncomfortably to your folds, the gusset utterly soaked from the painful orgasm that Prosciutto had wrung from you. Tear tracks are drying on your face, your ass aching from every spank of Prosciutto’s hand. Your nipples ache from how they had rubbed against the fabric of Prosciutto’s slacks with every body-shaking hit you had taken. 

“There,” Prosciutto says, pushing you off of him so you land in an ungainly sniffling heap on the floor. Beads of your arousal and release are streaming down your inner thighs. He acts as though what he’s done has had no effect upon him, though the stiff tent of his erection tells a different story. You will get that particular part of your punishment later, caged underneath the unending snap of his hips and snarl of his voice about what a good little thing you are, taking your husband’s cock like you were made to do. “Now. I think it’s dinner time, don’t you?”

You sniffle again and look up at him with beseeching eyes. 

“I-- I burnt dinner--”

“Well,” he says. “I suppose you’ll have to make it all again, won’t you?”

It’s almost a pardon. You nod frantically at him, and go to reach for your abandoned brassiere, your other clothes - only for Prosciutto to stand up and bring one well-heeled foot right down upon the pile of fabric.

“I don’t think you deserve those, tesoro. Do you?” 

“B-but . . . the window--”

He looks down at you with a glint in those deep blue eyes, a devilish smirk playing about his lips. 

“You should have thought about that before you made such a mess of things.” His eyes slide over your figure - your bare chest, your rapidly bruising thighs and ass, the thin and soaked excuse for underwear you’re currently wearing - and he sighs in satisfaction. “Don’t you dare close the curtains, amore mio. Maybe this will be another lesson for you.”

[jellyluchi]

Mi dai sui nervi!

A/N: I'm supremely late but this is part of Celebrate Love Collab by @anikasenkujo for Valentine's Day! At least I'm somewhat on time for White day!

Ao3 Link

Pairing: Prosciutto x Reader Genre: NSFW Warnings: daddy kink, improper use of stands,tentacle bondage, dacryphilia, edging, overstimulation, orgasm denial, cream pie, voyeurism, multiple penetration (both cock and tentacles), degradation, possessive behavior, angry sex Summary: You tease Prosciutto a bit much on Valentine's day, leading you to your exhausting yet sexy demise.

“It’s not right,” Prosciutto says, taking a sip from his coffee, sitting across from you he’s the perfect visage of relaxation in his rare casual clothing, a fitting sight for the reason you’re here. But his face contrasts entirely, brows turned down and eyes squinting just a bit as he looks at you, the smug little smile on your face irritating him more. “The process of making pasta should be treated with more respect than you are giving it.” 

Resting your head over your palm, you let your elbow stand on the table, the white tablecloth reflecting the sun beautifully and you remember why you’re here. After rigorously saving money, your husband finally arranged a trip for you two outside of Italy, and given the perfect timing, you two chose to plan it for Valentine’s day. What better day to be in the city of love, Paris, than the day of love itself? 

Seated with your favorite outfit on and feigning innocence towards his mood, you continue, “but pasta is pasta, it tastes good no matter what. So what if it’s a little soggy? Or even a little soft?”

The petulant sight that leaves Prosciutto’s lips tells you that you’re going in the right direction, you almost expect him to start shaking his leg under the table in frustration. 

“That’s not how it’s supposed to be cooked, Tesoro. Do you not remember how I taught you?” A sudden vision of a very excited Prosciutto enters your mind as you remember his meticulous explanation of the pasta boiling process. 

“ Every rule doesn’t have to be followed… People make changes to recipes all the time, it’s no big deal.” The dawn of a scowl forms on Prosciutto’s perfect lips, his naturally angry eyes growing angrier by the second at your dismissal. It’s odd, he thinks, you’d never shown this much nonchalance when it came to cooking at home, what got into you? 

“It’s not about the recipe, my darling, pasta making is a craft!” He says, his hands starting to gesture in a very stereotypical way. Holding back a giggle, you decide it’s time for your final blow. If you want to see a man like Prosciutto truly riled up, you will just have to pretend to disagree with his every statement in a way that’s just condescending enough for him to take the bait. 

“Oh please, it’s not that deep.” Expecting him to lose his patience in your face, you look away towards the other patrons of the quaint cafe you two decided to visit during the afternoon. Most other customers are deep within their conversations, completely ignorant of the little game you two are playing. Except for one lone man reading a newspaper nearby… 

A dark chuckle escapes Prosciutto’s lips and you turn to him, the sound dangerous from the way he looks at you and you realize any farther would be crossing a line. A warning flashes in your brain but you decide to ignore it. 

“I see what you’re trying to do. You just want to get punished.” Crossing his legs, Prosciutto sits back as if satisfied at having figured out your plan and waiting for you to pout at him as you usually do when you’re mad. “You won’t get what you want from me so easily.”

Yet, he doesn’t get the pleasure of seeing your plan fail as you give him a genuine smile, one that feels too nice. Suddenly, he feels your foot near his calf pressing and caressing gently, a smooth motion sending sensation up his leg. 

Immediately stiffening his body, he keeps his breathing from becoming uneven, thanking his luck that the table clock covers your activities from being viewable to the cafe’s patrons. A blush crawls its way to his cheeks, coloring the pale white of his skin a beautiful rose. 

“Is that so?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as your legs threaten to go higher into his thigh, yet the scowl never leaves his face. He looks so handsome, you think, blushing prettily for you with the seething anger of a tiny kitten. “If I wanted to be punished… my methods would be far different than you could imagine.” 

 With your warm, gentle touch leaving his leg, Prosciutto looks at you confused when you stand up from the table. But he doesn’t have to ask you where you’re going as you walk up to the lone man you’d noticed earlier. With the blush now dissipating, all of his blood rushes elsewhere as Prosciutto’s knuckles go white from anger. 

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” You ask the man who shakes his head no. He must be no older than forty and you try to suppress the excitement of having your husband watch you talk to an older, handsome man. You feel electricity run through you as you think of Prosciutto’s hawk-like eyes on you two from his spot, the jealousy making a terrible mixture with his anger. Taking the seat, you make idle chatter, making sure your proximity to him 

Soon, you learn his name is Phillipe, a local businessman who seems rather confused at your attempt to speak to him, yet shows no sign of refusal. In fact, his warm smile and laugh at your terrible jokes seems rather inviting. Sneaking a glance, you realize Prosciutto kept his eyes stuck to your figure the entire time, now smoking one of his cigarettes impatiently, and you catch his thigh shaking from your view of him. It’s a wonder he hasn’t decided to drag you away yet, so you push your limits. 

Leaning closer to the man, you ask him to repeat what he was saying, as if you couldn’t hear over the minimal commotion of the outdoor cafe, your hand coming to rest on his arm. Phillipe says something inconsequential yet you laugh heartily, your hand now moving to his one on the table. 

With your heart pounding in your ears you wait for the devil to come to get you. And within what feels like seconds, you sense your husband’s presence behind you, taking a hold of your free hand, his voice coming an unnatural baritone from above. “Let’s go.” You didn’t see when he crushed his cigarette under his foot or when he strode with all the determination that his body could muster and the fire of a thousand suns burning within his mind. 

“Oh, goodbye!” You say politely to the man before your companion could pull you away, his grip on your wrist firms, almost painful. “Prosciutto?” 

He would not look at you, barely registering your voice as you two make the quiet way back to your hotel room. Your questions fell on deaf ears in the hallway and the elevator. 

Blood rushes past your ears as you wonder if your game has gone too far. But Prosciutto closes the door to your room rather gently when you expect him to slam it. 

“What’s going on? Why won’t you speak to me?” When he finally looks at your face you see the sparkle of his blue eyes have turned them into dangerous, dark cobalt. Long gone is the smugness and mischief that you bore moments ago, replaced with alarm and anxiety. Yet you can’t help but find it somewhat lustful just how jealous he must have gotten for him to be looking at you this way. Swimming in the depths of his shimmering eyes is a possessiveness you’ve yet to see from him. 

“How can you ask me that after what you were just doing?” He asks back, clearly restraining his voice to keep from shouting at you. The amount of self-control he subjects himself to only adds to your arousal and you look at his shaking fists. Suddenly running a hand over his face, he turns towards the window overlooking the beautiful city. And you wonder if you’ve ruined your Valentine’s day for both you and your beloved. 

“Wait, Pros, I-” 

“You very much wanted that punishment didn’t you?...” Prosciutto mutters, not looking back at you.

“What?” 

A sudden cold sensation overtakes you, as you feel the presence of something at your back. Before you could blink, your body is pulled towards the bed in one fell sweep and you land on the mattress somewhat disoriented with a vice-like grip from something that keeps you from moving. Your head rests against something that is there and also not as if a phantom grabbed you by the waist and you realize the large robotic hand that pulled you in is none other than your husband’s stand, The Grateful Dead. 

A couple of eyes stare back at you from its arm when you look towards Prosciutto for answers. 

“Prosciutto! What’s going on?!” 

Your feet are kept from squirming as the tendrils from the stand body roam your flesh greedily, quickly getting beneath your clothes. Despite the discomfort, you can’t deny the heavy feeling of arousal between your legs, pitting at the bottom of your stomach and you almost moan when a tentacle ghosts over your nipple.  

Your husband finally turns around, facing you with the apathy of a jaded man. You notice the straining erection tight within his pants as he takes off his jacket with one sensuous motion. Muscles protruding from under his shirt, Prosciutto looks the epitome of hardened mafioso when he strips, something you’ve come to appreciate over the years in your relationship. 

“Playing silly games with me,” he spits, his tone venomous with rage. As you feel his stand’s hold on you get tighter you realize just how much anger you’d roused in your husband with your actions. Despite the terrifying realization, you only feel yourself ache more between the thighs, the thought of his wrath only tantalizes you further. 

“I’m sorry Daddy,” you let slip, moaning as the tendrils squeeze your soft flesh at the perfect spots, your favorite spots. In some quick motions, he’s able to get you entirely naked, not caring much for the fabric it ruins. You whimper at the manhandling, noticing that your Daddy ignored the pathetic apology, opting to fill his pockets with his hands while watching the show of your defilement with keen eyes. 

Whimpers and moans echo on the walls as The Grateful Dead restricts your body with strict yet delicate strokes, the strange feeling of the tentacles overtaking all your senses inch by inch. You notice your Daddy sitting nearby, drinking in the filthy sight with his legs wide open, showcasing the protruding of the member you so wish was inside you instead.

As a tentacle penetrates you more roughly than you were expecting, you imagine it’s your Daddy’s warmth, and the slick flickering of your nipples is your daddy’s tongue. 

“Puttana,” he comments slowly, letting you watch him palm himself with barely restrained desperation. You know he wants to be inside you as badly as you’d like him to be. Biting your lip, you lose yourself in the pleasure of his derogatory word, quickly nearing your climax from the overwhelming stimulation from his stand. As the first waves of pleasure wash over you, you arch your back, legs shaking from the impact, only to realize the tendrils have not stopped their movements. 

Screaming from the overstimulation, your hands clutch at the sheets for some semblance of sanity within the experience. Mind going completely blank, your muscles ache everywhere, yet you only want more, allowing the stand to bring forth another orgasm from within you. its tentacles now cover more than half your body. 

“Please! Please, please, please,” you repeat, the sound of your voice now a broken record at the mercy of your husband’s wrath. The ache only worsens as there is no time for rest. The Grateful Dead is a stand as ruthless as its master, covering your mouth so you only hum from the restriction and its assault on your body, the sound of your wet entrance feeling like music to your Daddy’s ears. You see him now, still watching you with such hunger yet having the self-control 

Without comprehending any of your own words, you beg for your Daddy in broken, incohesive bursts. Whether for his stand to let you go or for him to offer you his length, you don’t know. Full to the brim and spent to the last drop of your sweat you finally relax when the tendrils slow their motion to a halt. Your breathing labors from the strenuous climax, but a tug from your arm has you whimpering from the firm grip it still has on you. 

Naked and bared to your Daddy, you still contain the shame and humiliation of him watching you get fucked by his stand, yet it keeps your arousal intact. And you let your legs spread wider when he nears with a satisfied, sinister smirk. Finally losing his shirt, he works on his belt buckle knowing it would make you moan just from the sight alone. 

The bed creaks from the weight of your Daddy’s knees as towers over your helpless body. 

“My my… What a filthy little whore you make,” he whispers, hand coming to squeeze at your large belly, moving closer and closer to where you want it most. Your chest rises and falls from the sound you make as a reply. With a gentle finger, he prods at your entrance to see how much his stand has opened you up. A yelp escapes your lips when two fingers slip in easily, the orgasms having left you extremely wet. 

“What a sweet little hole hm?” Your Daddy’s fingers stroke your walls pleasurably, having you buck your hips onto his hand immediately. But you so wish it could be his cock instead. As another orgasm nears, you think he would let you have one more, only for his fingers to leave at the last moment. 

Whining, you beg for him once more. “Please, Daddy? I promise I’ll be good. I promise!” But your request falls on deaf ears as he continues to edge. You’re not sure how much time passes before the tears crawl from your eyes to your neck. 

“Beautiful,” he mutters as your Daddy uses a thumb to smudge the ruined eyeliner, noting the smudged lipstick and ruined makeup caked over your face. He doesn’t stop even for a moment until your cry gets loud enough for the neighboring hotel room to hear. 

Too exhausted to beg, you don’t notice when your Daddy finally hovers over your restrained body. 

“Let’s have some more fun, shall we?” 

If you had the strength you would have attached yourself to him but the restraints keep you in place as you feel his cock tease your entrance. The hot flesh nearly scorches you, yet the smoothness from all your fluids makes you grind, especially when it reaches your peak. Moaning for him, your legs spread farther, subconsciously waiting for him to penetrate. 

“Ah!” The sound verbalizes from you as soon as he slaps your entrance with his cock, clearly playing games the way you’d been doing. 

“How about this, puttana, admit that you’re Daddy’s filthy slut and I may think about giving you what you want.” 

You are in no position to be making any demands, no position to be fighting back, only in place for your holes to be used by your Daddy at his discretion. 

“I am! I am… I’m Daddy filthy slut! Please just fill me like the filthy slut I am.” Your begging is finally fruitful as he enters you immediately, hot flesh throbbing against your walls, weeping from the lack of stimulation. He’s just as wet as you were, and you realize just how desperate he’d been for you. 

“Don’t you dare cum before I say so,” he threatens, gripping you by the jaw as his thrusts pick up. Your Daddy’s lovemaking is as ruthless as he loves to be. Gripping your wide hips he keeps his stand on you to keep your body in place as his eyes close in pleasure, using you the way you were intended to be. Posessively, his hand squeezes your chest, your belly, and your thighs, muttering "mine, mine, mine," to no one in particular. Your climax is impending and the ache of your muscles has you crying for release yet you hold on to your Daddy’s command.

Heart racing, you feel the tentacles moving once more, this time to your other hole, using the slick from your orgasm to slowly lubricate the muscles. You know your voice will be sore the next day from the exertion when the stand penetrates you once more in tandem with your Daddy’s cock. Filled to the brim, your senses are overwhelmed and you cannot tell how much longer you could go without release. 

Body protesting, you feel the arch of your back and the writhing muscles painfully throbbing from the pressure. At least, your Faffy finally releases into you, the thick white fluid pushing you over the edge. His thumb moving to your peak, he finally demands you cum over his cock. With one final shout of ecstasy, your body finally gives away, cumming over his cock and The Grateful Dead’s tentacle. 

At least, the stand disappears as Prosciutto’s body drops beside you and you keep yourself from passing out, the feeling of his seed dripping out of you keeping you from losing consciousness. 

You don’t expect your husband to suddenly turn to you, checking your hand and legs for any marks, sneakily pulling you into his arms. Not being able to say anything from your mind being foggy, you watch him with interest. 

Prosciutto leaves the bed momentarily, still completely naked, and produces a wet, warm towel that he drags over your body where he thinks the grip was too tight. And over your entrance, cleaning you up diligently. 

“Would you like some water?” 

You nod, your voice not having come back after the activities you just shared with him. He helps you sit up and holds the glass for you to drink after quickly fetching it from the tiny hotel kitchen. 

“Is there anything else you’d like?” He asks, once your glass is nearly empty. 

“Bathroom,” you blurt out, not even questioning that he helps you stand, walk, and do your business before letting you lay back in bed. 

Feeling him come up behind you and drape an arm over your midsection, you allow him this intimacy while looking into his blues. 

“I meant it,” he whispers. When you look at him with fatigue and confusion he clarifies himself. 

“That you are mine. No matter how many games you like to play with me, or how far your teasing goes… You’re mine.” 

The last words slip from his lips like a whisper before his exhausted eyes finally close into a deep sleep.

support my work

[humanpurposes]

So thrilled you’re taking requests! I love winter themed fics this time of year. I’m requesting modern Aemond (if not allowed then Michael Gavey) + stuck in this cabin until the storm passes/come sit by the fireplace. As much smut as you’d like with maybe a teeny bit of angst?

Thank you for taking requests, I know they will all be lovely

A/n: Took the liberty of making this a Michael Gavey request 😈 Also this gif is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!! Shoutout @barbieaemond and all the other amazing gif makers on here. These guys are such an integral part of fandom and they deserve all our love, appreciation and credit ❤️✨

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+, slight angst, handjob, thigh riding (ish), Michael Gavey being awkard, but not quite a virgin

Main Masterlist

“Fucking skiing holiday. Should have fucking known this would be a fucking disaster.” 

Michael’s foul mouth hardly phases you anymore. When you first met him you thought he’d be a shy type of guy, with his baby blue shirts, cargos and wire frame glasses he kept pushing up with his middle finger.

You’d quickly found that he wasn’t at all like you expected. He can be abrasive, often judgemental and vulgar, not so unlike your other friends but with Michael it seems to come from a place of unashamed honesty. You sort of admire him for it.

He’s pacing the small living room and kitchen of the cabin, furiously fiddling with his mobile. You’re kneeling by the wood burning stove, hovering a lighter by the kindling in the hopes that you can light a proper fire.

You’re surprised he agreed to go on this trip at all. 

You have a few friends who do Maths, and at the start of second year they started inviting Michael to the pub on the weekends. You recognised him from your trips to the library, where he’d usually sit alone after his friend ditched him for Felix Catton.

They’d been all talking about a skiing trip between Christmas and New Year, to this little Italian village in the Alps. You didn’t— and still don’t— actually know how to ski, but spending a few nights in a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by snow sounded like a dream. Michael had been sceptical at first but you’d managed to convince him to come when you said you’d need someone to keep you company when the others were on the slopes.

The others had all gone out as soon as you arrived, leaving Michael to get settled in the cabin.

But it’s turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. It’s too dark to actually see the snow storm but you can hear it, shrieking and howling against the walls and windows of the cabin. You have no service, no central heating, just the small assortment of snacks you had brought with you, a packet of paprika crisps, a bar of chocolate and a prosciutto sandwich you’d bought back at the main resort, back down the mountain, back in civilisation.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

“What now?” You ask, still focused on the fire.

“Mobile’s fucking dead. Shit! I have a charger in my bag but the bloody electricity isn’t fucking working so I can’t fucking charge it!”

You smile to yourself as the kindling catches alight and the flames start to lick at the larger logs.

You glance over your shoulder as Michael tosses his phone on the sofa, runs his hands through his hair and catches his lower lip with his teeth.

“I have plenty of charge on mine,” you say, “I’ll turn it off to save the battery and we can see if the service is working in the morning?”

Michael stares at you for a lingering moment. He can be so intense sometimes, almost unsettlingly so. “You want us to stay here all night?” he says softly.

“People know we’re here. I’m sure someone from the resort will come up when they can. Until then, we just have to wait out the storm.”

He tuts, but he knows you don’t have any other options.

You sit together with your backs against the sofa so that you can be as close to the fire as possible. The heat pleasantly burns your face and skin through your jeans and jumper. Even then, where your arm presses against Michael’s, you feel the warmth of his body beside you. 

You grab the crisps and the sandwich out of your bag, offering them both to Michael. He only takes a handfuls of crisps and when you split the sandwich in two he takes the smaller half. You offer him more of the chocolate bar but he insists he’s not hungry. You frown at that. It might not be a Crunchie, but Michael never turns down chocolate. 

“How was your Christmas?” You ask, popping a square of chocolate on your tongue.

“Fine,” he says, looking down at his hands, “had dinner with my dad and my nan, went to see my mum on Boxing Day.”

Guilt twinges in your chest. “Are your parents not together?”

“Oh no, they split up a long time ago,” he says, like it should have been obvious.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns to face you, staring intensely. “Why would you be sorry?” 

“Because I didn’t realise.”

He smiles. You think it’s because he knows you’re nervous. “I’ve been splitting Christmases between my parents every year since I was twelve, I’m well used to it now.”

The topic doesn’t seem to phase him. He takes another crisp from the packet and looks into the fire as he crunches it between his teeth.

The low light reminds you of the nights you’ve sat opposite him in the King’s Arms in Oxford, all the times you’ve been tipsy off wine spritzers and found yourself trying not to make it obvious that you’re staring at him. He’s handsome, especially up close when you can see the details of his face, his lips, his surprisingly pretty eyelashes, the little cleft on the tip of his nose.

When his eyes turn towards you, you think your heart might leap out of your chest.

You take a quick breath, eyes darting around the room, at the fire, the pile of logs beside the stove, the sprinkling of ashes on the floor, but it seems inevitable that you’ll find your way back to him.

“Why did they split up?”

Michael raises his eyebrows but keeps his face solemn. “She left him for someone else.”

“Oh,” is all you can think of to say. 

“It happens,” he says. “People always want to find something better. My dad was never the most exciting guy to be around.”

“But what about you?”

He huffs a laugh to himself. “I’m not exactly enticing company either.”

You can’t tell if you just want the conversation to end or if you should say something else.

“It’s not something I can fix,” Michael says. One of his hands rests on his thigh and he slowly flexes it so the tendons shift beneath his skin. “And it’s not something that needs to be fixed. People come in and out of your life, but you move on. That’s just the way it is.”

He’s almost hunched over himself, with his chin tilted down and his glasses sliding down towards the end of his nose. 

You’d seen him in the pub once, back in first year, with that friend of his, Oliver Quick. Oliver had gone up to the bar and ended up sitting with Felix Catton and his band of admirers. You’d watched Michael leave the pub and remember your heart shattering for him, for this boy you didn’t even know.

Now, stuck in this cabin, snow swirling past the windows, the sound of the fire crackling a few feet in front of you, and Michael’s side pressed against yours, your heart shatters all over again.

You place your hand over his, and he instantly stops moving. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.”

Michael tries not to smile. “You don’t need to flatter me,” he says.

You curl your fingers over his hand and tighten your grip. His eyes meet yours and you feel yourself frowning, because he doesn’t understand, because he doesn’t see himself the same way you see him. 

“I mean it. You’re funny, even when you don’t even mean to be, and honest, and straightforward…”

You glance down at his lips, slightly parted as he listens to you. It crosses your mind to lean in closer, but something stops you.

“I really love that we’re friends,” you say.

Michael looks down at your hands. His lips are pressed together.

He doesn’t want this, you think. He doesn’t want me.

So you pull away, with a little smile to keep it friendly.

He blinks a few times as he looks back at your face. “Thanks,” he says, softly. 

He stands, and you don’t think you can bear to look at him as he moves towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

You turn your attention to the fire, add another log for good measure and poke at the glowing embers in its heart.

You hear movement behind you, footsteps and fabric.

When you look back you see Michael has his arms full with pillows and blankets. He layers some of the blankets on the rug, and soon he has two makeshift beds, one on the sofa and one on the floor.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“We’ll freeze in the bedrooms without the heating, we might as well make use of the fire.”

It’s a good call, and now that you have somewhere to sleep you start to realise how tired you are. 

You rummage through your suitcase and pull out a pair of pyjamas you got for Christmas. Michael changes in one of the bedrooms and comes back in one of his maths pun t-shirts and a pair of red and black bottoms. 

You go to lie in the bed on the floor but Michael puts his hand on your shoulder and insists you sleep on the sofa.

Even with the heat of the fire on your face and the blanket pulled up to your chin, you can’t stop shaking. Your limbs are frozen and your skin is tight, but it feels deeper set than that. You feel the cold in your chest like a fever.

It feels like hours have passed and you still can’t sleep.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” Michael’s voice grumbles below you. You peer down over the edge of the sofa. He’s turned away from you, towards the fire. You hadn’t even realised he was still awake.

“It’s fucking cold,” you say, wincing at the quiver in your voice.

Michael shifts to his other side so he’s facing you. You’ve never really seen him without his glasses, and he looks completely different, somehow softer, not as harsh.

“We’ll be warmer if we, if we share,” he says quietly.

His suggestion weighs heavy in the space between you, unless it’s just in your head. You can already imagine yourself pressed against him, feeling the warmth from his body and letting it sink into yours.

You don’t trust yourself not to try something stupid either.

You take the blanket with you. The floorboards are piercing against your bare soles so you step on the balls of your feet, quickly slotting yourself by Michael’s side, on the layers of blankets. 

He’s facing you now, your noses must only be inches apart and you feel his breath running over your cheek.

You try to steady your own breathing, but it only makes your heart beat faster.

You see his neck move as he swallows. “Come here,” he mutters, and brings his arm around you, pressing his palm to your back to pull you closer into his chest.

You let your arm drape over his side and your legs intertwine with his. You need the heat, tucking your head in under his chin and resting the side of your face against him.

You move with the rise and fall of his chest, breathe in the scent of him with every breath, hear his heartbeat against your ear.

If you shifted your head slightly, your lips would meet the base of his throat.

Want tightens and lingers in your stomach, but curled up under Michael’s arm, you let its dull ache soothe you to sleep.

You wake slowly, opening your eyes to cold sunlight glaring through the windows. In your haste to get warm last night, you had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains. All you see on the other side is white, the snow now settled and piled high.

The fire has long since died and the air is colder than it was when you fell asleep, sharp as you take a breath through your nose.

It’s still warm where your cheek meets Michael’s chest, where his hand rests against your back and your bodies are pressed together.

It feels good to be so close to him. He’s still asleep, as far as you can tell. You hear the heavy sound of his breathing, air fluttering in his throat and passing through his pouted lips.

As you start to become more aware, more awake, a warm wanting stirs in your gut and between your legs.

It’s a stupid little crush, one you’ve not been able to distract yourself from these last few months.

You start to trace your fingertips over his chest, feeling where his chest is hard, then soft, and remember everything you said to him the night before, and what you perhaps should have said.

You nuzzle your face in closer to him, to the clean scent of his t-shirt and something else that is so uniquely him.

You try to stay like this for as long as possible, even if it’s torture not to want more.

“You’re moving a lot,” he mutters. You feel his voice rumbling in his chest and humming against your head like it’s a part of you.

Only when you freeze do you realise you’ve been rocking your hips, every hint of friction you get against the fabric of your pyjamas only fueling your hunger. But you’ve stopped now, resting your palm against his stomach.

“I’m cold,” you say.

“Hmm,” he says, resting his lips and his chin against your head, over your hair, “I don’t feel cold.”

The low rasp of his voice only makes you want him more.

The lingering haze of sleep must be clouding your judgement, your sense.

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips over his throat like you’d imagined. You feel him shudder, and feel his stomach tighten under your touch.

He utters your name in a breathless whisper as he paws at your back and pushes his hips into yours. His arousal is evident, hard and pressing to your centre through two layers of fabric.

And then he pauses, and his hand slips away.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says.

You drag your hand down a little further, to slip under his t-shirt and feel the ridges of his surprisingly toned stomach, just above the waistband of his bottoms. “Why are you sorry, Michael?”

“I don’t know, I just…” he huffs in frustration as his hand returns to your body, gripping at your waist through your shirt.

You start to snag your fingers on the waistband, and realise he’s forgone wearing any boxers to bed. “Do you want me to help you?” You whisper, unable to hold back a grin.

“Yes, fuck, please,”

A whine sounds in his throat as you shift his bottoms down just enough to free his cock, and close your hand around it. He’s bigger than you expected, long and thick, heavy, hard and soft-skinned as you stroke, up, down, up, down.

You enjoy the feel of him, run your thumb over his weeping tip as he starts to pant and try to hold back his moans, leaning against you and ghosting his lips against your temple.

You only feel yourself becoming more and more desperate. You hook your leg over his, grinding your core against his thigh. Sparse sparks of pleasure course through your body, not enough for a release, but it still feels good.

You tilt your head again, eagerly pressing your lips to his. He seems taken by surprise at first, but meets you with clumsy enthusiasm. He kisses you like it might save him from something. Once or twice he seems to lose track, dragging his lips to the corner of your mouth only to pull you back into him.

The movements become more and more frantic, your hand pumping Michael’s cock, his hips bucking under your touch.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your lips, “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You rock particularly hard against his thigh, and he brings his hand to your rear, squeezing at your flesh and urging you on.

You tease your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling at the wanton noise he makes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Are you gonna cum for me Michael?” You whisper as you up the pace.

“Please,” he grunts, “please…” and suddenly he’s moaning against your skin, holding you tightly as you feel his cock pulse in your hand as he spills over your fingers and knuckles.

You quickly move your head back so you can look at him, eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack and tongue just peeking out from behind his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” you say quietly.

He blinks his eyes open, looking down at you with a dazed smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“So fucking pretty,” you say, with another drag against his thigh.

He hums, low and cryptic in his chest. “Do you need some help there?”

Before you can answer he’s slipped his hand underneath your pyjamas. He cups your bare, wet cunt, lightly circling over your clit with the tip of his finger.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he mutters, all but teasing your lips as he leans in to kiss you. “Got yourself all worked up, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “fuck, don’t tease me, please…”

“Now, sweetheart,” he coos as he presses more firmly against you, hastening his movements so your breath catches in your throat. “We might still have a few hours before anyone comes to get us, and I can think of more than a few ways to pass the time.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

[k-martins]

Hey I was just wondering if you had any itafushi fic recs!! :)

Fanfic recommendations from your ITFS fairy godmother!

Separated according to classification! R.N = Reader's note (me)

G

Indelible by Lyrebirdswrites +4k words || Oneshot || AU Tattoo artist! Megumi and Florist! Yuji || Marriage proposal || Fluffy, love and peace || R.N: For more fanfics that use the language of flowers

The Seasons Of Our Life by auspicious_goblin +1k words || Oneshot || AU - No curses || ITFS will end like this If Gege is not a loser || Fluffy and slice to life || R.N: YES!!! ITFS ELDERLY YES!!!!

You’re The Only Good Thing In My Life by renarizaki +2k words || Oneshot || Canonical divergence || Megumi helps Yuji dye his hair || fluffy, slice to life andhumor || R.N: The Manga would be funnier if Yuji actually dyed his hair pink.

T

Nobody Saves Me The Way You Do by GallifreyanFairytale +3k words || Oneshot || Canon compatible || Yuji gives Megumi a bath || Anguish mainly || R.N: I love how this writer describes Megs' scenes and feelings <3

No One Gets it Right on the First (Or Second) Try by j_jabbers +12k words || Oneshot || AU - No curses || ITFS and its failed encounters || 5 + 1, humor, fluffy and slice to life || R.N: I really like Yuji's POV where he is a failure in love.

Plant Kisses Like Seeds by Miah_Kat +4k words || Oneshot || Canon compatible || Yuji has survivor's guilt, good thing Megumi is around || Anguish and fluffy || R.N: This fanfic hits my weak points very hard. I'm passionate about body worship scenes.

And I've Been Tryin' Not To Feel It by hijinks_n_lowjinks +37k words || In Progress || Au - No curses/College || ITFS slowly (or not if you're Megumi) falling in love || Humor, slice to life, fluffy || R. N: God bless jinks for always making my day better with an update to this fanfic.

M

Can't Have It Both Ways by vivevoce +4k words || Oneshot || Canonical divergence || The ITFS meeting takes Todo through all the stages of grief || Humor, nonsense and fluffy? I think it's cute || R.N: This fanfic made me wish for fillers with the people of Tokyo and Kyoto coming together in a common goal - to destroy Todo's lack of sanity

It's a Goddamn Blaze In The Dark by prosciutto +13k words || Oneshot || AU - No curses/college || roommates, stranger>friends>lovers what more do you want? || humor, angst, fluffy || R.N: I really like how Megumi and Yuji are portrayed here. I feel like if we got a glimpse of their dynamic outside of the manga this would be it.

All The Bad Dreams That You Hide by lexouran +5k words || Oneshot (my tears)) || Au - Spiderman || Megumi receives a visit from her neighborhood friend || anguish, fluffy slight smut(?) || R.N: CAN YOU HEAR MY TEARS FROM YOUR HOUSE??? BECAUSE I CRY EVERY TIME I THINK THIS FANFIC HAS NO CONTINUATION!!

E

The Rabbit In the Moon by zillala +266k words || In Progress || Canonical divergence || Megumi finally confesses after Shibuya || Friends to lovers, angst, slice to life, humor, fluffy || R.N: The first itfs fanfic I read and I will never regret it. God bless this author and her huge chapters that were my vitamin on dark nights without the manga.

Futile Devices by jellyjully +25k words || Oneshot || Post-canon || Yuji is exiled from Japan for years until Megumi finds him || Slice to life, humor, anguish, fluffy || R.N: This fanfic gave me vibes of a studio ghigle film. I think it's the ambiance.

To Have And To Hold by terriana +15k words || In progress || Post-canon and Dynamics a/b/o || Yuji tries to woo Megumi, but his lover's shikigami wouldn't approve of the idea || Humor, anguish, fluffy, slice to life || R.N: This fic gets funnier when I think about the kung fu bunny from eps 17. No wonder Yuji was so broken LMAO (Please terriana, if you see this tell me what you have planned for Nue, I'm very curious )

Hope this helps! (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

[mrsvalentinefucker1]

Mrs.Valentine’s Master list

Requests are always opened :)

Ao3

Art commissions: OPEN

Twitter

Deviant art

Art tag - #valsart + #myart

MINORS DNI!

Smut

Fluff

Angst

Spicy

Smut + fluff

JJBA

Part1: Phantom Blood

Jojo kink hc smut + fluff

Virgin Jonathan joestar x f!reader smut

Part2: Battle Tendency

Caesar zeppeli x f!reader mommy kink smut

Joseph x f!reader tickling spicy

Jojo kink hc smut

Part3: Stardust Crusaders

Polnareff x f!reader stripping smut

Voyurism and exhibitionism DIO x f!reader smut

Part4: Diamond Is Unbreakable

4taro gagging f!reader smut

Tonio x f!reader fluff

Kira x f!reader breeding smut

Jojo kink hc smut

4taro x f!reader smut

4taro x f!reader sexting smut

Part5: Golden Wind

La squadra x f!reader smut

Ghiaccio x f!reader rough sex smut

Melone x f!reader smut

La squadra kink hc smut

Formaggio x f!reader stuck in a wall smut

DP(1 hole) Melone x f!reader x prosciutto smut

Bruno x f!reader pegging smut

Melone foot fetish x f!reader smut

Prosciutto x f!reader sensory deprivation smut

Formaggio x f!reader role reverse smut

Somnophillia mista x f!reader smut

DP(2 holes) Abbachio x f!reader x Bruno smut

Abbacchio x f!reader Size difference + loss of virginity smut

Ghiaccio x f!reader virginity loss smut

La squadra x f!reader smut

Mista x Abbachio x Bruno x f!reader smut

Part6: Stone Ocean

Anasui x f!reader roleplay spicy

Jojo kink hc smut

Part 7:Steel Ball Run

Funny valentine x reader x scarlet valentine smut

Gyro zeppeli x m!reader smut

Sbr bj headcanons smut

Funny Valentine x f!reader smut

Johnny Joestar x f!reader fluff

Johnny Joestar x f!reader x Funny Valentine smut

Johnny joestar x f!reader angst

Sbr dick hc + how they Fuck smut

Funny Valentine headcanons fluff

Gyro zeppeli x reader x johnny joestar smut

Funny valentine x f!reader smut

Funny Valentine nsfw alphabet smut

Gyro zeppeli nsfw alphabet smut

Johnny joestar x f!reader lactation kink smut

Dacryphillia (tears or sobbing)+ semi sadomasochism: Funny Valentine smut

Semi public handjob JohnnyJoestar x f!reader smut

Jojo kink hc smut

Funny valentine kink hc+ what he likes in a girl smut

Sbr (minus gyro) random hc fluff + smut

Tf2

Check up: Medic x f!reader smut

Dear doctor: medic x f!reader pantie play smut

Get free: medic x f!reader x enemy spy smut

Lerne deutsch: medic x f!reader smut

Medic x f!reader: NSFW alphabet smut

First time: medic x f!virgin!reader smut

Caught redhanded: sniper x f!reader smut

Heavy x f!reader: stomach buldge imagine smut

Hysteria: medic x f!reader smut

Beg for your life: red team x blu!f!reader smut

Priest Medic x f!reader smut

Sniper x f!reader: pantie kink smut

Spy/Sniper/Scout/Engi playlists fluff

Scout x virgin!fem!reader x sniper smut

Sniper x f!reader: that’s how we do it in a bush smut

Spy, Scout, Sniper, Medic getting high spicy

Sniper x f!reader: Valentine’s Day Tehe smut

Cold night: Sniper x f!reader: smut smut

SniperxF!reader: teaching how to shoot a gun spicy

Easy killin’: Red sniper x f!Blu reader smut

Teasingly: Sniper x f!reader x Spy smut

Tight space: Sniper x f!reader smut

Mine, all mine: Yan!Sniper x f!reader smut

Support class: how they fuck, kink and dick hc smut

Defense class: how they fuck, kink and dick hc smut

Bottoms up: Engie x f!reader smut

[uncertainwallflower]

Wait wait wait. I just found this buried deep in my drafts from, I think, months ago. Definitely thought I posted this. Sorry, Suzy!

TAG GAME: AN ASSORTMENT OF QUESTIONS I love questionnaires; I’m so here for this. Thanks for the tag @suzyq31.

Last Song

Shut up My Moms Calling by Hotel Ugly.

Currently Watching

Currently nothing, but I watched The Only Living Boy in New York (2017) last night.

Currently Reading

Nom de Plume by @annabtg; Incoming by @charmsandtealeaves; The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.

Current Favourites

Writing love letters; night runs; tahini yoghurt + crispy crushed potatoes + feta + cornichons + prosciutto + herbs (eff me); reading smut; ribbons in my hair; too much sugar in my coffee.

Taggy tags: @kay-elle-cee @charmsandtealeaves @merlinsbbeard @merlins-sequined-hotpants

[des-no9]

AO3 tag game <33

Rules: Go to your (current/main) AO3 account and find the following:

Got tagged by my lovely dear @reservoirmonks !!! ty my lovely <33

What ratings do you write most of your fics under?

E. Knew this without looking lol. I've written a lot of PwP, but even a lot of my longer, poetic stuff or plot driven fics, the sex is usually pretty explicit. I think I'm tagging it right idk? Occasionally I've tagged things M where it's a bit more fade to black or more dreamy and poetic, but generally my sex scenes are explicit, if poetic.

What are your top three fandoms?

JJBA, Overwatch and BG3! So happy BG3 reached my top 3 lately. It overtook World of Warcraft, and the insane brainrot has cemented itself truly on my AO3.

What is the top character you write about?

Prosciutto JJBA is the top. Doesn't surprise me, considering the amount of fics I wrote for JJBA. After that it's Risotto Nero, and then Mercy from Overwatch.

What are your top three pairings?

Lavellan/Solas, Prosciutto/Risotto and Maiev Shadowsong/Illidan Stormrage. The first fics I ever posted on AO3 were a bunch of Solavellan ones, and mostly short fics that came from my tumblr. The Ris/Pro ones again, no surprise. And the Maiev/Illidan ones, I did a big long series of them, again lots of shorter fics too. I write a lot more longer fics these days - relatively. Like I used to write a lot of sub 1k fics back then, now I write between 2k-10k around I'd say, especially for my Vanquish/Voss/Orpheus fic series. So, less fics but longer.

What are the top three additional tags?

One shot

Drabble

Angst

Checks out I guess lol

Does any of this surprise you?

Not really lmaol. I'm a chronic over-tagger so I always tag obvious things like one-shot fics, drabbles or whatever. It's stupid, but idk I do it a lot. And like I said before, I used to be a lot more prolific with writing a lot more sub 1k fics, but now I write a lot more longer things, comparitavely I guess. I write LOADS of smut. Like, I knew my most used rating is E. Sex is like, a language to me in writing. Maybe it doesn't always need to be tagged E, and I think my latest Van/Voss was actually M.

I'm anxious about tagging but fuck it lets go lol tagging @4th-make-quail @gothyanki @archangelsunited

[yrpreciousmoon]

I need more Squadra RPs in my life, so hmu if you’re down 🙏

I mostly use Discord but I can be flexible.

EDIT #2!

I’m comfortable playing Ghiaccio, Prosciutto, Melone, or any of the other guys (in that order).

(Might also be into part 4 RPs, but I’m picky.)

Open to most ships. And I tend to enjoy stories with at least some kind of romance and/or smut element.

I don’t have a specific story in mind! Canon and AU are both good; I’d love to hear your ideas!

I’m okay with writing darker themes such as violence, drug/alcohol use, etc. (These aren’t requirements, but please let me know what your boundaries are so we both feel comfortable!)

If this sounds like something you’d like to discuss, please reply or DM me 🥰

[abbynx]

Rules!

Well, there is a need for rules when requesting and here they are~

🩷 I'm a university student, I write in my free time and for fun, I wouldn't like to be rushed to write your requests.

🩷 I am a touch picky about what I write so I may be selective when it comes to picking what to write and what not to write. For example, I might find the topic upsetting. Or maybe, I lack the experience and knowledge to write sensitive topics and may not know the intricacies of it (such as mental illnesses). Sometimes I may reject smut requests.

🩷 This is a hot topic in terms of writing, some may agree or disagree upon it, but I won't take requests that you've already asked different blogs to write. I mean, you can try, I'll deeply consider it and maybe write it, but I'll inform you if ever I don't want to write it.

🩷 Asking for part 2 of a written piece will be deeply considered, because there are times wherein I think that a piece is already complete and good as it is and can stand alone on its own. So I say, it's okay to ask for part 2 and I will do it if I really see it fit, but if I think that one part is already good, I won't write the request.

🩷 I only write in gender neutral and will not accept gender-specific requests! I'd like this blog to be inclusive so everyone can read it.

Here are kinds of fic I can write!

~ Fluff

~ Romance

~ Platonic

~ Familial

~ Angst

~ Yandere

~ A little bit of smut, like I said I'm a touch selective about it

~ Headcanons

~ Drabbles

~ One-shots

Here are characters I write for!

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Phantom Blood

~ Jonathan Joestar

~ Dio Brando

~ Erina Pendleton

~ Robert E.O. Speedwagon

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Battle Tendancy

~ Joseph Joestar

~ Caesar Zepelli

~ Suzie Quatro

~ Elizabeth "Lisa Lisa" Joestar

~ Kars

~ Esidisi

~ Wammu

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders

~ Jotaro Kujo

~ Joseph Joestar

~ Holly Kujo (Platonic or familial fics only)

~ Suzie Joestar (Platonic or familial fics only)

~ Noriaki Kakyoin

~ Jean Pierre Polnareff

~ Muhammad Avdol

~ DIO

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable

~ Josuke Higashikata

~ Okuyasu Nijimura

~ Koichi Hirose

~ Jotaro Kujo

~ Joseph Joestar (Platonic or familial fics only)

~ Tomoko Higashikata

~ Rohan Kishibe

~ Aya Tsuji

~ Reimi Sugimoto (Before she died or after she died)

~ Yukako Yamagishi

~ Tonio Trusardi

~ Mikitaka Hazekura

~ Shinobu Kawajiri

~ Hayato Kawajiri (Platonic or familial fics only)

~ Yoshikage Kira

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Experience

~ Giorno Giovana

~ Bruno Buccerati

~ Leonne Abbachio

~ Panacotta Fugo

~ Narancia Ghirga

~ Guido Mista

~ Trish Una

~ Formaggio

~ Illuso

~ Prosciutto

~ Pesci

~ Melone

~ Ghiaccio

~ Risotto

~ Sorbet and Gelato

~ Vinegar Doppio

~ Diavolo

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stone Ocean

~ Jolyne Kujo

~ Ermes Costello

~ FF

~ Emporio Alniño (Platonic or familial fics only)

~ Narciso Anasui

~ Wes Bluemarine/ Weather Forecast

~ Thunder Mcqueen

[jellyluchi]

No no no please tell us more about the la squadra swim team au. Science purposes of course

This has been sitting in my drafts for literal YEARS and I wanted to post it, originally was supposed to have all the members but I lost my ideas.

La Squadra x Reader; Swim Team AU

A/N: I'm so sorry for taking this long to answer but I wanted to take my time with this ask because I really do love this AU and I was busy. Thank you to my friends for some help (since most I know of swim teams is from fuckin Free! Iwatobi Swim Club LOL) Hehe science purposes huh 😏 Sorry there's no smut in this one but I wanted to rule out the setting for the AU!

You work at your local Passione Sporting Club, a place where many a professional athletes have trained to become who they are today. And while there are various sporting facilities available, you are in charge of taking care of a specific swim team, La Squadra. The formation of the team, as you learned when you first joined, happened several years ago as seven children banded together as friends to support each other's swimming careers. And you are happy to help them on their journey. As you know, there are 4 main styles of swimming; butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, and freestyle. Medleys usually take place in that order.

Sorbet & Gelato:

Not swimmers. They're actually coaches for the other swimmers who come to Passione Sporting Club. They've been here for 10 almost 20 years watching the rest of the group who now call themselves "La Squadra" grow athletically and professionally. They were previously in the national Italian swim team as medley racers respectively. They were most fond of relay races as they loved the team work shared between team mates when doing such a race. They only teach adult swimmers but it didn't stop them from noticing younger members of La Squadra practicing in the swimming pools. The passion they saw in some of the members let them know how far they would go. You, as the team's manager, have a good professional relationship with them. However, it doesn't stop Gelato from flirting with you sometimes, surprising you considering you know he has been with Sorbet for a long time. Even more surprising that Sorbet doesn't seem fazed and is receptive to the idea. They sometimes joke about teaching you to swim as well.

Sorbet first met Gelato when he joined the local swimming club of his childhood. They became fast friends and rivals, always trying to outrace each other. Sorbet had goals of reaching the Olympics since he was a child and with Gelato's support he made it together with him. His favorite style is the front crawl which he is most comfortable with. He's proudest win was a front crawl 100m competition where he got gold.

Gelato started swimming as a hobby. He never envisioned himself as an Olympic swimmer. But when he saw Sorbet's resolve to make it, he got inspired and made it his goal to reach the Olympics with his boyfriend. His favorite style is the breaststroke and his proudest win was the a 50m backstroke competition where he got silver since it's his weakest style.

Risotto:

When Risotto was a child living in Sicily, his cousin often went swimming in the sea with him which is where he first learned. Ever since then, he'd known what career he'd like to go to once he grows up. And so, he took a swimming scholarship to college and during his pre-teens he joined Passione Sporting Club to train for his future career. Everyone knows him as a backstroke master and you can see why when you notice his immaculate back muscles during training. While he's good at the other styles, he's much faster using the backstroke. His proudest moment was winning a national competition of 100m men's backstroke where he won gold. You know he was one of the original members of "La Squadra" the other two being Formaggio and Prosciutto when those three decided to start the club. He's the most cooperative with you when it comes to competitions. As the manager, one of your duties is to rule out social and athletic events that the members will attend and he's always receptive to the competitions you tell him will be good for his career. He's not the most communicative so you have to weed out some of thoughts and feelings on the matter. Because of your friendly nature, you two share a close bond as you help him train and often see him swim way past closing. It's a secret between you two that you cherish deeply. There have been some times where he offered you to swim with him.

Risotto favors free style swimming the most but his muscle development on his upper body has made him a good breaststroke user which makes him much faster than the front crawl

Out of all competitions, he loves swimming medley relays the most. He gathers the medley participants (usually other la squadra members) to give a motivating speech and cheers the loudest when he's not swimming with them. He may not show it, but he is highly competitive and likes being challenged in the pool.

Prosciutto:

As one of the founding members of the original team, Prosciutto regards La Squadra with lots of pride. As a child he had no passion for swimming but after joining the Passione Sporting Club with a mild interest, he was quickly swept away into practice. He realized as a child that swimming allowed him a way to focus his energy and determination. He's not one to half-ass anything and swimming was no different. Eventually, he started feeling a connection to swimming after exercising out all his stress through the activity and finding a love for the activity like no other. Members like Risotto and Formaggio were inspiring to him even if he didn't admit it verbally, he showed up to practice with the two everyday, determined to be like them. He's one of the more difficult members to get along with. At first, it seems he has almost nothing to tell you except talk about his career goals and about helping other team members (namely Pesci). But eventually, your conversations turned more casual and you got to see a side of him that is much more friendly. Sometimes, he would smile towards you from the pool and you noticed that he doesn't ever miss the opportunity to show you his gratitude as their manager. Communicating that it's a difficult job and that he's glad a person like you is able to keep track of all the members and how much he appreciates your organization. You can't lie that his words are some of the only things that makes the job worth it.

Prosciutto is the only member with no preference towards style. While he was developing his swimming skills, he decided to pay hone each style so he would not be lacking in any area. While that doesn't make him a specialist, it gives him more options in competitions.

He rather enjoys individual competitions and loves competing against the other members. Whenever Formaggio dares him for a casual friendly race, he never backs down, treating it as a real race. The other members get a kick out of him taking everything a bit too seriously.

Pesci:

Swimming is as easy to him as breathing. Growing up with a fishing family by the sea, Pesci was accustomed to swimming from an extremely early age. It was sheer passion of swimming among the fish that kept him going but it was largely a hobby. He joined Passione Sporting Club as a teen, to keep up his swimming skills during high school but quickly met Prosciutto who inspired him to no end. Prosciutto once praised his style and speed saying he could make it to the nationals if he tried, maybe even the Olympics and from that moment he decided to join La Squadra and make both himself and the team proud. He's the most amicable out of anyone else in the team and since the moment you two met you'd become easy friends. At first he was a bit shy to talk to you but he caught your eye a couple of times during swim practices and it made his heart soar just a little every time you waved with a smile. Eventually, that got him talking to you and you noticed he started being more specific about his goals and ambitions for his swimming career. You quickly picked up the potential that Prosciutto always talked about regarding Pesci, truly, he was a gifted swimmer but his hard work pays off the most.

Pesci loves the butterfly stroke above all else. It's the first stroke he learned from a family member and honed his skills until it became his strongest. It gave him the biceps that he now shows off sometimes. He's pretty agile with the stroke as well but he doesn't cower from competing in other styles.

Pesci is another member who loves team sports and gets the most excited for medley relays with his team. Prosciutto and Risotto motivate him the most before the races and he's always the first to arrive out of excitement of having the team together. But most of all, he loves to hang out together with the team to celebrate afterwards.

[jojosbizzarewife]

So my new job is at an Italian bakery/cafe and my s/o has taken to seeing me off in the morning by saying "have a good day at work y/n"

he's learning too much about fanfic now

I do love cafe/bakery AUs

Me at work reviewing orders like -

I wish I could order Prosciutto like this in real life One wedding cake for Bruno - bet it's for our surprise wedding trying to not say "arrivederci" every night when I leave

Also, my new boss asking me if I know any Italian, and me trying to not say "only what I read in fanfic smut"

[wri0thesley]

Hi Nat! For headcannon requests would it be ok to ask for guided masturbation with Prosciutto? The reader is a virgin so as an advancement in their relationship, reader asks to be tought how to pleasure him? I hope this isn’t too specific…

Prosciutto is surprisingly gentle with you when he finds out that he’s your first real experience of intimacy. You would never expect it from a hardened mafia man - but Prosciutto is, first and foremost, a gentleman. He’s careful when he touches you, murmuring soft questions as to whether what he’s doing is okay or if it’s too much. Every single time he brushes your cheek with his thumb or smiles at you, you feel your heart jump in your chest and an embarrassing heat between your thighs--

And you know that he feels the same way. You know it because one night, listening to his old record player emit low, scratchy jazz, you shift towards him and rest your head on his shoulder and your hand brushes across his crotch. He hisses softly, pretty eyelashes fluttering closed, overbite prominent in the shape of his mouth - and you feel the heated hardness of his cock under his trousers.

He would never ask you to do something outright; he’s waiting for you to make that move yourself. He wants you to guide the relationship. But your teeth bite into your bottom lip as you whisper softly that you’d really, really like to help - and when you turn your pretty eyes on him and ask him to show you what to do and what he likes, he can’t resist any longer. 

He takes you into the bedroom instead of on the couch; he can’t help but think it would be rather declasse, like the fumbling of horny teenagers, to just allow you to fondle him on the couch. He pulls you onto him and asks you to kiss him a little, first; the two of you get quickly riled up, breathless, tugging at one another’s lips with your teeth with hot, needy exhalations. When Prosciutto guides your hand to between his thighs and encourages you to fondle him through his trousers for a little while, you’re intensely aware of the need between your own legs. 

“You can unzip,” he murmurs, softly against your ear. Your fingers are trembling but you do; swallowing when you pull down the trousers and underwear and see Prosciutto’s cock for the first time. It’s just as pretty as the rest of him; thicker than you were honestly expecting. “You can stop any time you want to,” Prosciutto promises, when he sees the brief hesitation - but you smile at him, and insist that you want to do this. You want to make him feel good.

His instructions are natural; he falls into the role of mentor easily, after all. He’s slow and affectionate, softer than you’ve ever heard him as he tells you to wrap your hand around it like that, use your thumb like this, grip him just a little harder - his voice breaks every so often, hips bucking up into the touch to help you along. You squeeze your thighs together and sigh and can’t help staring at him, at how beautiful he looks with half-lidded eyes and his voice all slurred and pleasure-drunk.

He warns you when he’s going to come, and you feel excitement build in your core; the thought that you’re going to be the one to push him over the edge. He twitches in your grip, a broken moan of your name escaping his mouth, and he comes over your fingers in spurts and groans. The noise that comes out of him when you hesitantly lift your hand to your mouth to taste him is nigh-on pornographic. 

“I-if you’re amenable, tesoro,” Prosciutto groans, once he’s recovered a little, moving and caging you beneath him on the bed. “I’d be happy to receive some guidance from you on how you like to be touched--”

[daisys-gard3n]

since yall were talking about monsters and someone brought up an angel i gotta say ive had incubus pros brainrot for almost a year now and I cant take it anymore smth about him fucking u in ur sleep just... hhhhhh...

Oops, had to do it:

Sweet Dreams {Incubus! Prosciutto + Fem! Reader}

warning: somnophilia, tail play, dubcon, penetrative sex, biting, prosciutto has a long tongue, creampie, corruption kink, female reader + female parts, sacrilegious elements

| what were you expecting when you fell asleep after summoning an incubus? |

In the dead of the night, a demon loomed over a young woman fast asleep in bed. His spade-shaped tail swayed nonchalantly by his shins and his dark bat-like wings shifting a bit as he quietly stared at your sleeping form, his violet slit eyes unamused as he watched over you with the blanket kicked off of your body and exposing the thin nightgown you were wearing. It was obvious that you were preparing this for him, just from the fact that you had summoned him on a full moon and then presented to him with such an alluring form and were extremely vulnerable at the moment.

He looked around your room, seeing the diy summoning circle you had created with craft paint and all of the items you collected to summon him. Ironically enough, he found a gilded gross with the suffering Jesus Christ nailed to it hanging above the summoning circle on the wall. It wasn't surprising that you were in a religious family, most children of these heavily religious families turned to summoning demons to satisfy their curiosity and their sins. All around the room were vintage floral paintings, bible verses scribed in calligraphy on them. There were more modern takes of the religious bible verses, such as in modern wood art or in cheesy youth camp crafts. He understood why he was summoned, you were smothered in religion you may or may not necessarily believed in and wanted to indulge in sin. The demon, named Prosciutto, couldn't help himself but smirk, his fangs poking out from his lips as he turned his attention back towards your sleeping form. You were dead asleep, breathing deep and peacefully and your body sprawled out in a seemingly accidental seductive pose. Your white cotton nightgown barely did anything to conceal your harden nipples poking through the thin material and the skirt rode up to reveal a bit of your lacey white panties. You were definitely asking for it tonight, laying like dinner for a hungry wolf.

Normally, he would just enter your dreams to feed off of your sexual energy. However, he couldn't look away from your vulnerable pure sleeping form, he almost wanted you to stay like this while he used you. Prosciutto wasn't fond of disobeying incubus protocol or the demons who inherently disobeyed it, such as one of his fellow incubuses named Melone, and if he were to follow his passion willy-nilly Prosciutto would just be a hypocrite. Yet, somehow, it didn't bother him as much as it usually did. Your energy called out to him seductively, telling him to give into his demonic lust and to physically touch you. His mouth watered at the scent of your lust, his slit eyes widen at the pure euphoria he was experiencing just from smell alone. Prosciutto felt his spade-shaped tail swing eagerly with want and his throat going dry: Come to think of it, wasn't he the one who handled the most summonings last month? After all of his hard work, getting women to come undone for him and feeding off of their lust...Shouldn't Prosciutto have compensation in return? It's only normal to reward yourself after such a laboring task, his lust rationalized. He should give in and touch you physically instead of going into your dreams. Sure, obtaining lustful energy through a dream was nice...But nothing was greater than the real feeling, especially if it was from a silly repressed virgin like you. For once, the proper incubus let his lust get to his head as he laid down next to your sleeping form carefully. His black claws grazed the surface of your skin carefully as he listened to your steady breathing. When the time was right, his claw lingered around the thin strap of your nightgown and sliced it in half, reaching around and cutting the other strap to make the nightgown nothing more than a useless piece of fabric. So much so, Prosciutto didn't hesitate to let his sharp claw dig into the flimsy fabric and sliced it open to reveal your body to the room's cold air. Your nipples pucked harder at the chilling air hitting them and you grumbled a bit in your sleep.

His calloused and cold hands were free to roam your bare body now. Feeling the warmth of your skin against his pale fingers, feeling the life pump through you, and hearing how you would quietly mutter in your sleep as his touch squeezed out small whimpers. His hands went up to your breasts, squeezing them carefully in order to not nick you with his claws and feeling your harden nipples under the palm of his hand, massaging them and getting the sweet melody of your breathy whimpers and small amount of squirming in your deep sleep.

"What a nice body, you could of had a husband or wife who would have taken care of you on your wedding night under the lord's name...Alas, you chose a demon for your first time. This body is going to be rendered useless to your people, it'll be my property."

Prosciutto pressed a kiss onto your neck, just before letting his sharp teeth sink softly into your flesh. You let out a quiet whimper in your sleep, yet you didn't stir awake. You were quite the heavy sleeper, it was perfect for Prosciutto to indulge in his treat. He lifted his mouth away and let his forked tongue rub over the bleeding wounds, tasting your sweet blood and groaning at the taste. A fine wine to a human, he could get drunk off of how sweet and hot it was on his tongue. Your arousal was starting to kick in through your bloodstream, making your blood rush through faster and made your body temperature hotter. The blonde demon went down and started to press loving kisses on your skin, just before leaving a trail of bite marks all over one side of your neck and shoulders as his hands continued to grope at your breasts, fingers running to your puckered nipples and circling around them before giving them a teasing and soft pinch to make you let out a soft moan in your sleep. His tongue lapped at the beads of blood oozing out of your bite marks before they scabbed over and healed, his tail flicking enthusiastically as he let out a soft groan a the taste. He could feel himself getting hard in his latex trousers.

"You taste divine, virgin blood is always so delectable."

Prosciutto's lips ran down your body and left ugly bite marks and hickies on your skin until he stopped at your chest. His forked tongue slipped out of his mouth and circled around your puckered nipple, making you whimper and shuffle in your sleep, but didn't wake you up. It's not like you could in the first place, being around an incubus' pheromones put human females to sleep almost instantly. The fact you were already deep asleep and Prosciutto's pheromones mixing in would guarantee you not waking up until the late afternoon. His saliva ran cold onto your skin as its aphrodisiac-like affect made your body lit aflame with arousal, making it react by your panties slowly becoming stained from your wetness. Prosciutto was able to smell this, the ambrosia of your juices luring his hand to go over to your clothed cunt and gently rubbed his clawed finger over your moistening folds. The friction on your clit and how he licked at your nipple with his forked tongue, eventually wrapping his lips around it and suckling it hard as his teeth prodded at your skin, made your lips fall open and let out a quiet moan. In your haze of sleep, you couldn't see anything but feel everything. Your clit throbbed with want and your walls started to slowly clench around nothing as your syrupy lubricant coated it and started to flow outwards. You could do nothing but lay still in your sleep, only being allowed to stir occasionally.

Prosciutto's claw eventually cut at your underwear, making it nothing more but a measly cloth to discard and to have your most private parts exposed to the incubus. His mouth watered at the uncovered scent of your aching cunt, his cock throbbing in his pants at the mere sight of it dripping and pulsing occasionally around nothing. His spade-shaped tail flicked with glee, travelling upwards and crawling up your bare leg as you shivered in your sleep. The tough skin-like texture of Prosciutto's tail rubbed against your clit and gathered your wetness at the surface, making you whimper and stir lightly in your sleep but you never woke up. The tip of his tail rubbed at your swollen clit teasingly as your entrance clenched and drooled with more syrupy juices, making your folds glisten enticingly. Carefully, the tail dragged itself down your clit and towards your entrance, pushing in to make the flatter part fold into a cylinder to slip inside of you. He curled his tail in a way where your hymen wouldn't break from empact, Prosciutto wanted to do that himself with his barbed cock. He wanted to see the blood seep onto his cock as he fucked you while you were trapped in your deep sleep, it made it more arousing for him that he was taking your precious virginity when you clearly offered it to him by summoning him. You were foolish, to summon an incubus rather than waiting for marriage with your partner. But it was all the more fun for an incubus like him, you were giving yourself up to be a child of the devil rather than be with God. Just like that cotton white gown, Prosciutto wanted to tear you apart and ruin you. His black tail rotated inside of you, pumping in and out of your wet entrance as the tip tickled at your g-spot. Your quiet moans and whimpers were so delicious in his ears.

"So tight...So pretty...So delectable. You've really made my night, little one. I get to take a pretty thing's virginity and turn you into a whore for the devil. I wonder, should I make you so addicted to me that you keep calling me back? Should I make it that the only thing you see when you close your eyes is the feeling of me violating you? It's such a fun past time, but I wonder who you're dreaming of fucking you so good like this? Perhaps a crush? A boy from across the street? Can you even see what I look like, little one?" The blonde incubus muttered into your ear with a sadistic grin, his sharp teeth prominent as he continued to fuck you with his tail. As immobile as you were at the moment, your body was still wide awake as blood rushed towards your sex and your puckered nipples as you were pleasured in your sleep. Eventually, Prosciutto slowly pulled the end of his tail out, it soaked in your juices and your hole now clenched around nothing as it ached to be filled once more. He climbed down to your cunt, intending to not leave it alone for long. His hands went to your plush thighs and moved them for easier access, his fingers sinking into your soft and warm skin that clashed with his ice-cold ones and his claws threatening to break skin. Prosciutto's face came in closer to your bare pussy, folds glistening with your slick arousal and twitching as it begged for more stimulation to make you orgasm. Your addicting scent flooded his nose and made his pupils widen with lust, his tail now flicking enthusiastically. "You smell so divine, it's a wonder how you're still a virgin. Any human man could get addicted to this pussy like a demon."

He opened his mouth, allowing his long forked tongue to escape and moved closer to your sex. It licked a long strip from in between your folds and to your throbbing clit, making you buck your hips in your sleep. The forked tip flicked at your swollen clit teasingly, collecting your sweet nectar and making Prosciutto groan at the taste. He couldn't wait anymore, he let his tongue slither down and insert itself into your wet entrance. It wriggled and stretched deep inside, coating itself in your arousal as it brushed up against your g-spot. His nose rubbed at your clit as he let his tongue thrust itself inside and let the forked tip brush against your puffy g-spot, a loud groan escaping his lips as he rubbed his growing erection into your mattress to ease the tension. He was so aroused by this, by this frail human sleeping away at his mercy. Oh, how he craved to ruin you. But Prosciutto wasn't a moron, he couldn't just start pounding into you like Ghiaccio or Illuso. You needed to be prepped for a incubus cock, Prosciutto needed to make sure you were able to take all of him and all he had to give. As you whined and whimpered in your sleep, lightly struggling against the incubus's strong grip on your thighs while his forked tongue brushed at your cervix and stuffed you full with his long tongue. His lips would occasionally suckle on your vulva, humming against it to add more to your pleasure, all while he felt his cock grow harder by the second in his latex pants. His bat-like wings fluttered excitedly as he pushed his face deeper into your cunt, to let his tongue feel every single inch of your insides and to allow his nose to grind against your swollen clit even more. You were on the verge of cumming, he could sense the blood flowing through you quickly and the scent growing stronger. For your sake, the blonde incubus pumped his tongue at a quicker pace to make you get off quicker, because he wasn't sure how long he can keep his own situation under control for any longer. The choked little whine you let out was enough to let him know he pushed you over the edge, your walls tightening around his tongue and your hips bucked into his mouth as you came around his tongue. Your body tensed up and your legs shook with pleasure, eventually dropping back onto the soft mattress as the hot tension finally passed through you. Prosciutto's tongue pumping into you to help you get over your high until you settled down, eventually pulling out to let your syrupy cum drip out of you. Retracting his tongue back into his mouth, he groaned at the sweet honey on his tongue. He wanted to go back in and licked at the mess he made of you, to get more of the honey he craved. But there were more pressing matters at hand, such as how he stood up and unbuttoned his pants. Prosciutto pulled them down and let his cock free of its prison, it bouncing upwards and hitting against his lower abdomen before settling a couple of inches away from it. It stood at seven inches, about an inch in diameter at the base, faded into a bright red from his skin tone at the base and leaked with an odd pastel-pink precum, the underside of his cock having multiple barbs and rows of bumps and ridges all around. This was merely a bit over average in the underworld, it wasn't comparable to his friend Risotto who stood at an impressive almost 10 inches. However, Prosciutto does have one of the larger body counts in his sub section, only being second to Melone. The amount of women and men he has made cry and cum around his cock was too many to count at this point during his long lifetime, and this frail thing in front of him sleeping peacefully was going to add onto that bodycount. Prosciutto lined the pointed tip of his cock at your stretched entrance, his tail coming around to stroke down your body in a relaxing manner as he smirked down at you.

"Are you ready to give yourself to the devil, little one? You could have lived a normal life and experienced this with another human, but you just had to offer your body to a demon. You would be treated like fodder with her holes being the only thing useful about her in the underworld. You're welcoming a life of debauchery by offering yourself to me, little one."

With that, he pushed himself in slowly. Your deep sleep kept you from waking up, only stirring and letting out your choked attempts to let out your moans. Prosciutto could smell blood as your hymen tore, his fanged smile only growing wider as he couldn't contain his lust bubbling in his chest any longer. His tail stretched towards your neck and wrapped around it, tightening to choke you as he made you bottom out on his large demon cock. His calloused hands gripping on to your waist as he pushed himself as close as possible to your hips, your walls clenching around him so tightly and making him curse under his breath. The spade-shaped end of his tail slipped into your mouth and pressed against your tongue as he started to move, Prosciutto trying to bite back his growls as he started to thrust into you, immediately the tip of his cock hitting against your cervix and forming a small bump at your lower stomach every time he pushed in. It wasn't long before Prosciutto picked up a brutal pace, not caring what state your hole would be once he was gone. All he could really care about at this moment was hot tight and how good you felt around his cock.

"Fuck, you're so perfect. You're the perfect sleeve for my cock. You make me wanna break you so bad, little one. I want to ruin every single part of you and make it so you can never return to god's light. Hng, fuck, this pussy is going to be mine."

The texture on his cock wasn't just for show, he could feel your cunt tighten up and drool with arousal once more. As he stroked against your g-spot, he could see your clit swell with arousal and smell the blood flowing through your body gather at your sex and your puckered nipples. He was going to bring you to orgasm once more and all you could do is sleep and choke on his tail as he fucked you. His balls were heavy, full of his demon cum to fill you up as he neared his orgasm with every couple of pumps. The sound of his cock entering your wet pussy and his balls slapping against your ass echoed in the room along with his groans ands your weakened whines. He never wanted this feeling to stop, to play with your defenseless body and make you into his whore. The thought of you constantly begging him for his cock and your pretty lips wrapped around it as you cried while he choked you got him pounding into you even faster, growling like a feral animal as he bent over and placed himself in the crook of your neck once more to open his mouth and bite into your tender flesh. Your sweet blood flooded his mouth and made him groan so loud, all while he stuffed his cock inside of your fluttering hole as it just ripped through another orgasm. With more heavy strokes, Prosciutto choked, his violet slit eyes shutting close as he felt himself nearing his edge.

It took one last buck into you for him to let his mouth open and let out a low moan, his cum painting your insides in its strange pastel pink color. His cock twitched as it released inside of your cunt, throbbing as it slowly tried to calm down and plugged you up for the meantime. Panting, getting his heart to relax, Prosciutto finally felt like he could pull out of you. He admired his handiwork: bitemarks and hickies plastered on your delicate skin, blood scabbing on some of those bitemarks, your neck with the indentations of his tail wrapped around it, and your abused cunt trembling and pulsing. He carefully took his clawed fingers and spread your lips apart, watching his cum spill out of your hole and onto the mattress below. As erotic as it was to watch his seed spill out, he couldn't waste anymore time. The blonde incubus stood up from your bed and fixed himself, adjusting himself in his pants before buttoning them back up and fixing his hair back into its pristine position before turning back to the mess he made: you. He let his hand brush through your hair as he watched you return into a calm state of sleep once more, a devilish smile on his face.

"Sweet dreams, little one."

Before he disappeared back into the underworld.

[borizcua]

Scenario: You're friends with Pesci, the timid, sweet guy in your class. He invites you over to his place to study for your upcoming finals. You get to his house and ring the bell not expecting his older brother (who he failed to mention would be home) to open the door. It wouldn't be a big deal if he wasn't standing there half naked, pale yellow shirt completely unbuttoned along with the top button of his navy blue slacks. He reeks of cigarettes and bourbon and is covered in a thin layer of sweat that makes his abs glisten as the setting sun reflects light towards you both. He's got a lit cigarette in his hand as he takes another puff he asks who the hell you are. As you tell him you're here to see Pesci he takes his free hand dragging one of his long fingers up the underside of your chin forcing you to look him in the eyes. He says Pesci's running late but if you want to come inside he can help you study up on a different subject...

[dios-hoes-tm]

Okay! Mod Prim here! I got this idea from @risottosplug ! I hope they don't mind me tagging them.

La Squadra x Boss' Daughter!Reader: Gangbang Headcanons

I'm not gonna write a full fic just yet, if you wanna see it, let the mods know!

Warnings: Smut, risky kinks, Sorbet and Gelato are feral, Ghiaccio is worse, Melone being Melone, etc.

Context: (all characters are 18+) You, the reader, are the boss' daughter and La Squadra uses you as blackmail against the boss. You were never picked up by Bruno's squad and were instead taken by La Squadra.

Melone:

All too eager tbh

Tries his best to make you feel comfortable with being at their hideout to start things off.

He DOES want you to consent after all.

He is the one who starts things off because it's MELONE

Will call you sweet nicknames in Italian (cara mia, dolcezza, belladonna(which means pretty woman), mia amata)

The mating press is his go to position due to his general nature and knowledge

Besides, what better way to blackmail your middle aged boss by knocking up his daughter, right?

Most definitely indulges in his own foot kink. We saw that episode. We can't deny it.

This man will suck on your toes.

Decently well endowed, 6-7 inches hard, not unbearably thick, well groomed

Know what the clit is and where it is so it's safe to assume you're gonna cum

Definitely creampies you. That is not up for debate.

Formaggio

He shrinks you down just a lil bit for funsies

He wants you to struggle to fit him

It's the size kink for me

Second biggest tease

Backhanded compliments

"You're so tight puttana. I feel like you were made for this!"

Hair pulling extraordinaire

Please claw at his back he will nut so hard omfg

He's not much for toys but he will shove the handle of a knife in your ass to 'prepare you'

Call him daddy. He'll laugh but he'll enjoy it.

100% into calling you kitten I don't take criticism

6 inches hard, thick, he does not trim thats a fuckin bush down there

Didn't know where the clit was at first until Melone showed him, but he didn't listen

Prefers to pull out and cum on your thighs and stomach

Illuso

By far the biggest tease

He will choke the living shit out of you like your eyes will be rolled back and he's making Melone hold your hand so you can't claw at his hands

Wants your neck to bruise

You might pass out but that won't stop him

If you do get your hands free, pull his hair and this man will MOAN SO GODDAMN LOUD

He will bite the shit out of you though ngl

Like, you're bleeding today

Surprisingly into knifeplay

Yeah that knife in your ass is being gently dragged across your skin just enough to break it and blood to bead up on the surface

Solid 8 inches, he will destroy you, completely shaved. He likes to be clean.

Despite his cocky demeanor and smarmy bitch attitude, he knows where the clit is and will make you cum

He will creampie you but he's also gonna pull out and jack himself off, edging himself until everyone's had a turn with you

Prosciutto

Double-teaming you with Pesci

Consider it a learning experience for both you and him.

Prosciutto in the front, Pesci in the back. Sweet and Sour sandwich.

Sooooooo goddamn rough

He's putting a collar on you and yanking that bitch until you bruise even more

Call him daddy and that makes things better or worse depending on your outlook

Tells Pesci what to do while fucking you

"Use her damn it! Be rough!"

D E G R A D A T I O N

"Take it troia! I wonder what your real daddy would say if he saw you like this. What would he say puttana? Hm?"

Please answer him. He will slap the fuck out of you.

Another solid 8 inches, a little on the thinner side, very well groomed

Obviously he knows where the clit is and you will cum. No matter what.

Big fan of the creampie. Demands Pesci creampies you as well.

Pesci

He kinda didn't want to do this

But he comes around to the idea when Proscuitto makes him join in.

He's shy and doesn't want to be rough but Proscuitto demands that he be rougher with you

So he complies

Holds onto your waist

Compliments you

"Y-You feel so g-good! And you're s-so pretty!"

Buries his face in your shoulder blades to keep from moaning too loud

Average length, 5-6 inches but thick, well groomed

Proscuitto showed him where the clit was but he's still a little inexperienced

Creampies you because Proscuitto told him to

Sorbet and Gelato

Good luck

Oh these two are going to break you

Bruises, bites, scratches, blood

Gelato begs to take your ass and that is probably worse considering he is absolutely feral

Drags his knife between your shoulder blades and gathers up the blood to use as lube. Even he knows how important it is folks.

Sorbet takes the front and gives Gelato a sweet kiss before absolutely wrecking your shit

Pulls your hair like he's trying to rip your head from your shoulders

Bite him, he bites back and he will lap up your blood like a goddamn vampire

He is daddy. If you call Gelato daddy they will laugh.

"Normally it's little bastard but I'll be your daddy just for today troia piccola"

Sorbet is longer at about 7 inches, a little on the thinner side and well groomed. Gelato is 6 inches, a little thicker and man's got a fuckin bush.

They know where the clit is but they don't care

Sorbet prefers to creampie and Gelato pulls out and cums on your back.

Ghiaccio

Feral bastard

Has Melone join in again for a triple threesome

He will scream, degrade, bruise and make you cry before he's even inside you.

Meanwhile Melone is balls deep in your ass

But when Ghiaccio is inside you, he has the most brutal pace out of anyone

He wants to make you scream and damn it he will

Pull his hair it'll make him whimper before he gets even more pissed and decides to fuck you harder.

"You think that was funny puttana?! I'll give you something to laugh about!"

Has Melone hook his arm under one leg while he hooks his under the other and rails you into next week.

He's gonna be sure you either can't walk or have serious trouble walking.

7 1/2 inches, decently thick, well groomed but it's super curly

He also knows where the clit is but he also fails to give a shit

Pulls out and bends you over so he can cum on your face while Melone creampies your ass

Risotto

Once everyone on his team has had a turn, Risotto stands up.

The minute you see him you know you are oh so very FUCKED

He makes a display of his strength by picking you up and using you as his own personal fleshlight.

Lives for the bulge in your stomach he can't get enough of it

He doesn't moan, he groans and growls.

Uses the blood dripping from your body to make handcuffs and chains using Metallica

Orders Proscuitto to put them on you

Calls you gattina(kitten)

Call him master and something snaps

You aren't walking after this

But if you call him Capo

Honey you aren't waking up after this

Adores choking his partners

You are no exception

10 inches(as is the consensus from the fandom), the kind of thick that will split you in two and well groomed

He knows where the clit is and uses that to his advantage whenever he's about to cum

Creampie. This man has enough cum to be a 1 man bukkake

Then he tilts you down so Illuso can finish once more on your face

After you've been thoroughly used and have cum multiple times, you end up blindfolded. You're covered in cum, filled with cum, and you're blindfolded. Turns out the men in LA Squadra fixed themselves up and decided to take a snapshot of you, upload it to Risotto's computer and emailed it to their boss. Your father. This seemed to be ample blackmail.

[yrpreciousmoon]

Hi! Most people ‘round these parts call me Moon, or V.

she/her

This is a side blog, so likes + follows will be from ➡️ @2katly.

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I am a 25+ Millennial.

Basically a senior citizen in the Jojo fandom, but since the dude writing it is in his 60s, kindly take the hypocritical ageist discourse elsewhere.

I don’t insta-block minors, but please be aware that this blog will contain adult content! You’ve been warned, so police yourselves accordingly.

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I have an equally fandom/shitpost-oriented twitter, here.

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Use these content tags to find:

 My artwork (+ more can be found within various fics!)

 My writing

Eventually I’ll add tags for hcs, etc. here.

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My inbox is always open for requests, prompts and commissions! That goes for both writing and drawing.

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I’m a long-time roleplayer. I prefer to use Discord but I’m open to using tumblr/email/etc. Just DM me, I don’t bite! (Y’know, unless you’re into that.)

Right now I am mainly interested in JJBA characters, hyperfixating on La Squadra.

In order of my comfort playing them: Ghiaccio, Prosciutto, Melone.

I don’t really have triggers and I’m comfortable writing roleplays that involve darker themes such as violence and drug use. I prefer to have some kind of romantic and/or smut aspect to the storyline.

18+ ONLY! That means you AND your character.

Don’t be afraid to shoot me a DM with your ideas!

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I’ll eventually tag this post with ships and fandoms and stuff.