#prosciutto x f!reader

[cloverque]

paper heart (prosciutto)

masterlist, prologue

1011 words

The Escort Team– a top secret group in Passione. They were tasked with transporting people, such as influential figures and politicians. At times, they even took charge of material objects. The identities of the small but capable group were known to few, their faces a hushed topic among the mafiosos. To summarise, their exploits were countless and they were considered Passione's elite.

At times, due to the varying talents of the members, they assisted other groups in missions. Some of their members doubled as trackers or medics. Among them stood an extraordinary member, a stand user. And that same member was–

"(y/n)."

You stood at the doorway of the large room. Seated behind a great mahogany desk was none other than the Boss himself: Don Giovanna. He was a handsome man with golden wavy locks that cascaded down his chest. Your leader wore a pristine white suit with ladybug pins at his breasts. An ebony suit hung from his shoulders.

Standing by him was none other than his best friend and loyal comrade, Guido Mista. He wore his signature look: a criss-cross cropped sweater and tiger striped pants. Today he sported a matching set of red and green. Very Christmas-y.

You closed the door behind you and approached your Don. When you reached the desk, you fell to one knee and bowed before him. He watched you through thick blonde lashes.

"It's an honor to be called personally by you, Don Giovanna. To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?"

A moment of silence ensued the two of you. You lifted your head, grinning. The man broke the quiet with a heavy sigh.

"You do this everytime I ask for you. Stop talking like you worship the ground I walk on, (y/n)." The mafioso shook his head. He gazed down at you with a questioning look. "And stand up, there's no need for that from you."

"Yeah, stop acting like we aren't old buds!" Mista scoffed, jutting out a hip. His gun sat snuggly in the holster hanging from his belt.

Holding your hands up, you chuckled, "Alright, you got me there. I'll stop." You got to your feet and dusted your knee. When you finished, you returned your gaze to Giorno. "But seriously, is something up? Besides our weekly tea parties, you guys don't call me in personally. Especially not on a weekend."

The blonde nodded and produced a vanilla folder. He set it on the table and slid it towards you. Resting his cheek on his ring laced knuckles, he angled his head gently.

"I'd like to personally assign you on an assassination mission. There's a guy I'd like to be taken out." You opened the folder and poured out pictures of a man.

An Eastern man, you realised whilst scrutinising them. Possibly a high-flying diplomat or politician, judging from the number of bodyguards surrounding him. You scratched an imaginary beard as you went through the photographs.

"I need you and your partner to gain the trust of the enemy in order to get close to him. I've estimated the mission will take a few months to be accomplished."

Your eyes remained hyper-focused on the images, "But he doesn't look local. I thought we wouldn't involve ourselves in international affairs. Who's this guy to you?"

He blinked languidly. "You'll find out eventually."

That's all you needed to hear. You considered yourself to be an overly curious individual, with a need to have an answer for almost everything. But after years of serving Giorno– and the adventures you shared to take down the previous boss– you trusted him enough to cut the questioning. Whoever the enemy was, he must've been a lowly creature to incite Giorno's wrath.

With that in mind, you set down the photos. A casual wave of your hand opened up the folder and enclosed the photos within it. It sealed itself and slid back to Giorno, who gazed at you expectantly.

"Well the guy must be a real threat if you've enlisted my help." You nodded firmly, "I've got it. Leave it to me!"

"I knew I could count on you," Giorno exhaled, seemingly out of relief.

You chuckled softly and walked past his desk. Standing behind his chair, you crossed your arms over the headrest and leaned in. A cheeky grin crossed your face.

"Oh! But when I get back, I'll be expecting a reward. A million lire won't do it! You'll have to treat me to some fancy teacakes during our next tea party."

The blonde man closed his eyes in silent agreement, and you hummed happily to yourself.

"But who's the person she'll be working with? You know she's not equipped for assignations, right, Giorno?" Lamented Mista, who joined you on the other side of the chair.

All of a sudden, the Sex Pistols came into view. The tiny creatures floated around the chair. One of them crossed its arms, nostrils flaring. "Send us too! We're built for that sorta work!"

"Yeah, what Number One said!"

"We'll do a better job than (y/n)!"

You pouted and flicked one of them away. Number Six went spiraling into a corner. "Flap your lips some more and you'll be sure to regret it..."

As the yellow beings argued with you, Passione's boss opened a drawer and took out a photo. He showed it to Mista and you, and you raised your brows curiously. In it was a man in a yellow button up with a unique purple jacket. You leaned forward, gripping the plush headrest.

"That guy... I know I've seen him before." Mista recollected.

You rubbed your chin thoughtfully, "Me too. Giorno, who is this guy? Is he an assassin?”

The blonde set down the image on his desk. The three of you fixed your gazes on it. He clasped his ring clad fingers together.

"Correct. The man in the photo is Prosciutto. He's from the Hitman Team." Without looking at you, Giorno announced confidently, "And you'll be working with him on this special mission."

[pascalispretty]

Sonny Carisi and the cabin/camping prompt ♥️

summertime, and the livin' is easy

Sonny Carisi x F!Reader

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags: fluff, vacation Sonny, implied friends to lovers, Sonny being adorable, Sonny being a hypochondriac

Summary: Sonny has special plans for your anniversary. (ao3)

A/N: Written as a request for @storiesofsvu's birthday bingo, filling the square 'Camping/Cabin Retreat'!

Though it was well into the evening, the sun still shone brightly as Sonny led you outside. The cabin that the two of you had rented for the long weekend backed onto a pretty lake, surrounded by trees. It was a postcard-perfect place, one that you had happily agreed to renting as soon as Sonny had forwarded you the link.

Sonny, being Sonny, found a way to improve upon perfection.

He had packed you off to shower with the promise of plans for dinner, and he had certainly delivered. The little stone-flagged terrace at the back of the cabin has been cleared, the patio furniture shifted to the sides and the chairs liberated of their cushions. Just beyond, on the grass between the terrace and the jetty, Sonny has spread blankets and pillows out for a picnic.

Calling it a picnic is a disservice, really. There are citronella candles staked into the grass to keep bugs away, and a champagne bucket cooling in the middle of the blankets. There’s already a charcuterie board laid out as a starter, covered with a glass cloche to protect it from insects. Before you can take a step further towards his carefully laid-out display, you turn and throw your arms around his neck.

“You did all this for me?” You ask into his shoulder, holding him close against you. One of his large hands comes to rest between your shoulder blades, his bare skin on yours making you shiver in spite of the heat.

“Of course I did. Happy anniversary, Doll.”

“You’re making my scrapbooking efforts look bad.” With the cost of the cabin, the two of you had agreed not to buy one another gifts to commemorate the two-year anniversary of your first date. You had, instead, emptied the keepsake box under your bed out and pasted everything – ticket stubs and flower petals and Polaroids – into a book that you’d given him earlier that day.

“I couldn’t ever make that look bad, Doll. I still can’t believe you kept all that,” he says softly, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “C’mon, let’s sit down before the ice melts.”

The two of you take your seats on the cushions pilfered from the patio furniture, your sundress riding up past your knees as you sit. You can’t help but notice Sonny stealing a glance at the glimpse of your thigh on display, narrowly missing his own nose with the pop of the champagne cork. Instead it flies over his shoulder, landing somewhere behind him in the grass. You can’t help but giggle at the look of surprise on Sonny’s face, and soon enough he’s laughing along with you.

Still giggling, he pours you both a glass of champagne. You take a moment just to admire him as he pours; the flex of his hand around the neck of the bottle, the way his Fordham t-shirt stretches over his shoulders, the lock of hair falling across his forehead. Handsome and kind and thoughtful; you wonder sometimes how you ever got so lucky.

The food is, as always, delicious. You’ll never get tired of Sonny’s cooking, his ability to make even basic meals taste incredible. You’re not sure you’ll ever be over his garlic bread, which you had pronounced as ‘better than sex’ before you started dating and which had earned you a flushed look from Sonny.

He leaves you with the last of the prosciutto roses, heading back into the cabin to fetch the main course. You nearly squeal with childlike glee when you realise what he’s made for dinner, barely resisting the urge to grab the serving bowl from him as he settles back down on the blankets.

“I cannot believe you made penne alla vodka. Did you really get all that from the farmer’s market?” You ask in disbelief as he spoons it onto your plate. He had left you browsing the cute bookstore in town while he went shopping for food earlier, but you hadn’t thought he’d bought this much. It smells mouth-watering, topped with just the right amount of cheese. You dig in with indecent haste once Sonny passes the plate to you, a soft smile on his handsome face.

“Nah. I made the sauce before we came and brought a jar with me. And the pasta is store-bought.” Before Sonny, you would never have thought of having any other kind of pasta. Now, it’s not unusual for you to come home to Sonny with flour on his cheek, kneading away at dough to slice into neat noodles or perfect squares for ravioli.

It’s not the most complicated dish he makes, but it’s one he knows you like. He made it the very first time he cooked for you after you’d finally started dating. Much later he had confessed to elaborate plans for a veal dish that hadn’t worked; the penne alla vodka had been a last-minute replacement, and you had loved it all the same.

The conversation comes in fits and starts as you both eat your pasta. Sonny has plans for an early morning run around the lake tomorrow, which means you have plans to come down with a headache tomorrow morning. The sun slowly sinks lower in the sky, casting longer shadows and turning everything soft and golden.

You both have to take a breather after dinner. Sonny reclines back against the cushions, his long legs sprawled out in front of him.

“Maybe we should leave this set up,” he says, stretching out. “I could take a nap out here.”

“It’s very comfortable. Be nice to read out here.”

“Maybe we should do that after dinner. It’ll probably still be light out,” Sonny suggests, his shirt riding up just enough to give you a glimpse of his stomach. He sits back up, rearranging his legs underneath him.

“Can you do me a favour please, Doll?” He asks, rubbing his side. “Could you grab my water bottle from the refrigerator? I think I need a break from the champagne.”

“Of course! I’ll be right back.” Stuffed full as you are, it takes you a moment longer to stand than perhaps it should. In the interests of saving time, you grab the pasta dishes and take them inside on your way, stacking them by the sink to worry about later. Grabbing Sonny’s water, you return outside, the grass soft under your bare feet.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Sonny smiles gratefully up at you before taking a sip of water. “Oh hey, that candle behind you has gone out.” You’re already sat back down, so you half-turn to see what he’s talking about. The citronella candle staked in the grass a foot or so away from you has indeed gone out.

“Here, you should relight it. I’d hate for you to get bit.” He hands you a long lighter, and you roll your eyes as you turn around to light it. It’s far enough away that you have to get on your knees, your back to Sonny as to try to produce a flame from the lighter.

“More like you don’t wanna get bit. I’ve told you before Sonny, you can’t get malaria in New York.” Finally, a flame appears at the tip of the lighter, and you relight the tall candle. Satisfied that the fire has caught, you start to turn around. “There, are you-” You freeze midsentence. While you were turned around, Sonny moved.

He’s on one knee in front of you, an open ring box in his hand.

“Sonny-?” You start, your brain not quite catching up to the image in front of you.

“I had a whole speech planned out. About- about all the little things I love about you, and how even when we were just friends I was crazy in love with you. And how much I love the way my family loves you, even when you help my sisters pick on me. I don’t know, I guess I shoulda written it down, but – I love you so much, Doll. More than anything. And I wanna spend the rest of my life doing that, so will you marry me?”

Sonny’s beautiful blue eyes look glassy with emotion, his breath catching just enough for you to notice.

“Oh, Sonny-” Your stupid, traitorous voice cracks, and you furiously rub your prickling eyes. “Dominick Carisi, of course I’ll marry you.”

He nearly drops the ringbox in his haste to pull you close, and you go eagerly into his arms. His kisses are frantic, peppering your lips, your cheek, your temple. It’s only when one of you manages to knock over one of the champagne glasses that you come back to yourselves, laughing as you try to soak up the spill with napkins.

“I think you’re supposed to put that on my finger,” you say teasingly, unable to keep the gigantic smile off your face. Sonny’s dimples are on full display as he takes the ring from the box and slides it onto your finger. It’s a beautiful ring; it looks vintage, and something you’ll gladly wear for the rest of your life.

Through a mix of laughter and tears, you grab Sonny’s hand and squeeze tightly.

“I can’t believe you!” You exclaim, a worried look flitting briefly across his face. “We said we weren’t gonna buy each other an anniversary present!”

“This isn’t an anniversary present, Doll, it’s an engagement ring. It doesn’t count as a gift.”

“God, spoken like a lawyer,” you say, having to rub your eyes again to chase away any lingering tears. Rather than continuing to sit opposite him on the blanket, you move to sit beside him, his arm immediately coming up to wrap around your shoulders.

“You’ll have to get used to it. You’re gonna be married to one,” he says, pleased. You tilt your head up to kiss him again, softly and slowly. When you finally break apart, you bring up your hand to cup his jaw, engagement ring glinting in the light of the sunset.

“I can’t wait to be married to you.”

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @irishavengersassemble

[ohtobeleah]

Baby R: A Terms of Endearment Story

-> Terms of Endearment Masterlist

Summary: Riley Carole Bradshaw makes her big entrance to the world when Jakes in Texas and Bradley isn’t sure if he’s ready to be a dad twice over.

Warnings: Birth. Pregnancy trope. Inaccurate medical information. Bradley x F!reader. Jake x Platonic!F!reader

Word Count: 5.7k

Author Note: Y’all don’t know how long this took me to write. It had been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS. I’d say pre wedding, because that’s the last time I made pumpkin & prosciutto pasta.

“Pumpkin and Prosciutto Pasta?” Bradley liked to play a game whenever he’d come through the threshold of his humble abode after a long, long day of work. He wouldn't ask you what's for dinner, he’d simply place his keys in the keybowl by the door and stop to smell the aroma of whatever you had cooking in the kitchen. Some nights it was some new recipe you’d decided to tackle from your favourite cookbook. Five minute healthy family meals. Other nights it was chinese takeout or whatever two for one special Penny and Amilia had concocted at the Hard Deck. 

But most nights, like tonight, when Bradley was stuck working back late racking up the much-needed overtime he was pulling with your second daughter ready to join you earth side any day now–he came home to the familiar smell of some of his favourite dishes. 

“Yep!” You called out from the kitchen as Rooster kicked off his boots by the door. “Should be ready in a few minutes, everythings done but the pumpkin. It's almost ready though.” He could hear the smile on your face before he even saw it. That was just you. Simply Y/n. His Y/n. His beautiful Lieutenant ‘Felix’ Bradshaw. 

“Tooster!!” Odette cooed as she came racing around the corner, this was her favourite time of the day. Bradley groaned as he crouched down so that his daughter could slam herself into his warm embrace. With large arms that kept her safe, Bradley wrapped the four year old up and held her close. This was his favourite time of day. “I missed you.” It was barely audible as she buried her face into Roosters chest before she looked up at him looking down at her. Taking in the all too familiar smell of jet fuel masked with that Giorgio Armani cologne he kept in his locker. 

Then Odette did what she did best, she threw you right under the bus with no remorse for her actions. She snitched on you, your own daughter. A snitch if there ever was one. Jake swore if he looked up the very definition of a snitch Odettes name, age, weight and height would be right fucking there. She’d gotten him into some serious trouble as of late with Amilia and he was not vibing the four year old mini you that he swore blind was out to get him. 

“The baby in mama's tummy has been hurtin her today.” Fuck. It wasn't like Bradley wasnt ready for another baby, he was. He was as ready as he’d ever be. But although Odette was his daughter just as much as baby R was–this was still Rooster's first pregnancy. It was his first biological child. This was the first newborn he’d experience, first birth he’d witness. He was ready for baby R to arrive, but Rooster wasn't sure if he was ready for all the firsts he wasn't around for with Odette. 

“Has she darlin '?” Bradley cooed as he rubbed his nose against his daughters. Dot giggled softly before she was wriggling out of his grasp. “Has the baby in mama’s tummy been hurting her?” Bradley repeated what his daughter had told him as he walked with her hand in hand into the kitchen where you stood– mid contraction, breathing through it as best you could. “Might be time to take mama to the hospital so that baby can come out of mama’s tummy.” 

“Nope–” You shook your head. “I'm fine, they're just Braxton Hicks Roo.” You argued softly as your contraction subsided. Bradley watched the way you leaded against the countertop and rocked your hips side to side to feel some sort of relief. You normally didn't do that with Braxton Hicks. 

“Braxton Hicks she says.” Bradley smiled as the corners of his lips pinned to his cheeks. He rounded into the kitchen, swiping up the oven mit as he did so before opening the oven to fish out the roasting pumpkin. “Baby, I love you, but I've seen your Braxton Hicks, and that little wiggle you just did there?” Bradley turned back to look at you over his shoulder, all knowing and ready to put his husband pants on. “Is new.”

“I'm not in labour Bradley.” You stood with a sigh, waddling over to where he stood before you eyed him off. The only thing that stood between you and your husband was your thirty nine week baby bump. The bump he had helped create. “But what I do have is a toddler who's decided she doesn't like spaghetti.” Rooster raised his eyebrow at your statement before he was degloving his hand from the oven mit. 

“What four year old doesn't like spaghetti?” Bradleys hands slowly crept up to touch your stomach. With gentle palms he felt just how low your unborn child had dropped, just how hard your stomach had become. Fuck. You were in labour, weren't you? But it was either denial or delusion at the wheel right now. Regardless of that, his baby was coming. 

“Our four year old, she wants the shell pasta.” You explained. “I'm sure if she gets hungry enough the spaghetti will do.” Rooster agreed—knowing his daughter and her tendencies to eat like a garbage truck come collection day. 

“How long have you been having contractions for?” Bradley changed the subject to what really mattered. You were having your baby, his baby. There was a moment of silence shared between the two of you as you mulled over whether or not you were going to tell the truth, or continue to run from it. Your last birth experience hadnt been the best, that type of trauma stays with a person. And even though you had all the faith and trust in Bradley that the world could provide–you were still beyond terrified to have to give birth again. He knew that too. 

“Since around lunch time, they’re super far apart.” You explained softly as tears began to fill your eyes, eyes that told Bradley you were scared. “I'm not ready to have this baby.” You admitted as you shook your head and held your hand over his. “At least tonight I’m not.” 

“Okay, that's fine.” Rooster wasn't gonna argue with his pregnant wife about what she could or couldn't do with her body. He’d learnt to pick his battles and this just didn't seem like a hill that he was ready to die on. Besides, regardless or what you were or weren't ready for? Baby R was coming. It was only a matter of time. “How about I finish up here and I'll run you a bath?” 

“Jakes in Texas–” Oh? What did Hangman being in Texas have to do with you running a bath? Oh! Bradley thought to himself. Jake was your person. He was your person during your last birth. “But yeah, yeah a bath sounds really good right now, my back is killing me.” Without much more of a fuss, you padded out of the kitchen and ventured upstairs while Rooster got the rest of dinner assembled and ready to serve. He eyed off the four year old by his side. The little shadow he’d had in his life for what felt like an eternity. His best buddy. 

“So help me god kid you better eat your spaghetti.” 

“I don’t wike sketti—“ Dot replied with a grimace. Bradley just sighed and shook his head with a deep sigh. “It’s yucky.” 

“Big girls like spaghetti Odette.” Rooster tried to make it make a little sense to the little girl who stood beside him, looking up at him as if he was her entire world. In some way he was. “And if you eat your dinner you can have a chocolate paddle pop before bed.” 

“Ahhh!” At the sound of your cries, Rooster took off running up the stairs. He dropped the tongs into the bowl of roasted pumpkin and scooped up Dot and booked it every second step until he was busting through your bedroom door. 

“Honey? What’s wrong?” He asked when he saw you on the floor, crouching down beside the bed in tears. But he already knew. “Hey I can’t help you if you don’t tell me?” Rooster tried again as he sat down beside where you were sobbing. Only once the contraction settled did you let out a breath and sit beside him with your backs against the side of your shared bed. Odette sat between Bradley’s legs, her little hand came to rest utop your stomach—all she knew was that there was a baby in her mums tummy. “Fe—“

“She can’t come without Jake here.” Was all you said. You knew it was stupid, somewhat ironic and a whole lot of crazy, because your husband and the father of your child was sitting right next to you. Ready and willing to help you through this. “He said he’d be there.” 

Bradley took your hand in his, he intertwined his digits with yours and smiled at you with the softest of looks in his big stupid brown puppy dog eyes. 

“I want you to find some comfy clothes, and I’m gonna run you a bath.” He explained all the while Odette drank in the love her parents shared. “And while you’re in the bath, I’m gonna ring Hangman and I’m gonna see if he can come home a little earlier.” 

“What if he can’t make it?” It was all you cared about, you couldn’t do this without Jake. You had barely done it the first time. “I can’t do this without him Rooster I can’t—“ 

“Hey, look at me honey.” Bradley cooed as he tilted your chin up so you could see he was right there. “He’ll make it, now I need you to just get in the tub yeah? Baby’s gonna come when she’s ready and we don’t need you to be stressed about things you can’t control.” 

You couldn’t have been more thankful for Bradley Bradshaw. He knew the bond you and Jake shared was simply platonic and a little psychotic at times, you didn’t need to give him an explanation as to why it was so important to have him there, because he knew and understood why. 

Bradley was your husband and father of your child, sure, but Jake Seresin was your person. So, once you were in the bath with warm water soothing all your aching contracting muscles, Bradley pressed on the one contact in his phone besides yours that got the biggest workout, his brother in arms, Jake Seresin. 

“I need you on the next flight out.” It wasn’t a can you type of question but rather a demand. A nonnegotiable statement that made Jake drop the beer in his hand as he locked eyes with Amilia from where she sat with his mother. 

“Oh she’s not is she?” Was all Jake said. He had a dream last night you went into labour while he was on annual leave. The twin bed Jake used as a child wasn’t big enough for the two of them, so when Jake shot up, he had accidentally caused Amilia to fall face first onto the floor beside the teenage bed. 

“Yep—“ Bradley replied. “Delusion is very much at the wheel and she’s adamant she’s not giving birth until you're here.” It brought back a lot of uncomfortable memories from Odette's birth, but Jake was racing up the stairs before he even got off the phone. “How soon can you—“ Before Bradley could even finish his sentence, Jake was answering the ever looming question. 

“We’re on the next flight out.” 

***~***~***~***~***~

“Hey munchkin!” Phoenix cooed as Bradley opened the door for the women who kept all the men in her life on their toes. “Ready to have the best sleepover ever?” The little four year old was apprehensive at first to leave you and Tooster, but once she was promised that you would bring her home a baby sister to love unconditionally forever, Odette seemed more comfortable with the idea of spending some alone time with her Aunty Phoenix. “How’s Fe?” 

“She’s alright—“ Phoenix could tell by the lines on Roosters forehead that he was getting nervous, really nervous. “Her contractions are still pretty far apart, according to her they’re just Braxton hicks.” Phoenix laughed softly as she shook her head and kicked off her boots. 

“Sounds like her.” She replied as she watched Rooster rubbed the back of his neck nervously, still holding the front door wide open. “Rooster, you guys are having a baby.” 

“My mum used to tell me all the time that when I was born, dad took me around the maternity wing to show me to all the nurses.” Phoenix could see the teary look in her wingman's eyes. “That he was nothing but excited, ecstatic even.” Rooster paused as he shook his head and sighed to himself. “And I’m just—“ 

“Scared?” Phoenix knew what Bradley was about to say as he nodded in agreement. He was terrified. 

“Beyond belief, yeah.” 

“Rooster, you’re allowed to be scared.” Phoenix tried her best to bring a little comfort to the expecting father of two. “You’re about to be a dad twice over, you’re officially about to be even teams.” 

“What if I’m not good at it?” Bradley groaned as he ran his hands through his hair as little Odette pulled at his T-shirt just wanting to be picked up. “What if—what if I’m not good at all the firsts? The newborn stage, the feeding, the burping, the cradling the diaper changes the—“ 

“You’re gonna be fine daddio.” Phoenix chuckled as she watched Bradley bend over to collect the four year old he loved more than life itself. “If I was having this conversation with Rhett I’d tell him never to procreate, but you?” Phoenix smiled. “You’re gonna be fine, Dot turned out okay, I’m sure this one will too.” 

“Yeah well, I wasn’t around for the first few years, they’re kinda important for development, what if—“ Again, Phoenix didn’t want her best friend spiralling when you needed him to be as present as he could be. 

“You, Bradley Bradshaw, are going to be an amazing father.” It was as sincere and genuine as it could've been. “We watched you step up, no questions asked for Odette, hell if anything that’s just a testament to how great of a father you already are!” Bradley had to stop and take what his best friend was saying, in. He loved Odette so much, as if she was his own. She was his. He was the only father she’d ever really known. “It’s okay to be scared, I’d be more concerned if you weren’t, but Fe’s gonna need you for support so I’d give yourself like five minutes to freak out and then you gotta put those feelings aside and be her rock while she births your child.”

Bradley followed Phoenix out to her car that she’d parked in the drive, he trailed not too far behind her with Dot on his hip as he frowned. 

“You really don’t think Rhett should have kids?” He asked cautiously, that could be a bigger jab than Natasha probably meant it to be. Braldey wondered if her and Rhett were doing alright, those two were always on their own wavelength. 

All Phoenix did was sigh as she threw Odette's overnight bag into the back seat. Last time she saw Rhett it had ended in an argument over his inability to express his feelings besides anger. 

“Ask me again when I’m not ovulating.” 

***~***~***~***~***~****~***~

“Sorry Oz–” Jake recognised that Amilia had said something but wasn't exactly sure what it had been with the way he had completely zoned out while waiting for their flight in the domestic terminal. They were able to get a last minute flight, but Jake wasn't holding his breath about getting back to you in time to be there for the birth of baby R. “What did you say?” 

“I asked if you'd ever thought about having your own kids one day?” Amilia asked as she handed Jake the packet of Lays original she was snacking on. Flying made her nauseous but it always helped to have something in her stomach prior to take off. It seemed a little counter intuitive, but there was a method to her madness. 

“Uh–yeah I have.” Jake replied as he reached into the bag for a few chips. “Two kids, but I wouldn't be opposed to more if the circumstances were right.” Jake didn't hesitate with his answer, it was the whole ass truth. “But I mean it all comes down to work and if–” That's when Jake did hesitate. Amilia caught on right away to what Jake was about to say, it didn't take an engineering degree to figure out where he was going. 

“I've always wanted kids.” Amilia didn't mean to sound so chipper, but it was hard not to be. “Two kids, but yeah I think I'm the same as you, I wouldn't really mind more or less depending on the circumstances.” The two had never really spoken about kids before, or marriage, or the next big steps in life. Jake and Amilia were kind of just going with the flow, but if the flow led to kids, to marriage, to the white picket fence in suburbia, Amilia wouldn't mind. Not with Jake at least. 

Jake was the same, he hadn’t really thought about marriage before. Ever since you had little Odette he had thought about children from time to time. But when Amilia stepped into his life Jake found himself thinking about that diamond ring more and more. 

“Boys or girls?” Jake asked, he didn't want this conversation to end. “Hypothetically, what would be your perfect family?” Jake Seresin had never been one to fall in love so heavily, but as he sat in the middle of the domestic terminal with his girlfriend, he knew he was down bad. So head over heels in love with Amilia Fisher that he knew when he saw Rooster he was gonna ask him to help him find the perfect ring for his Oz. The girl with a thousand different sayings he still hardly knew the meaning of. The girl who came into his life like a whirlwind. 

“I've always been told I look like a boy mum.” Amilia replied with a smirk as she placed another chip in her mouth with a small but proud nod. “I used to work a little in the kids' creche at work when we were short staffed and I was always able to rangle the boys a little bit more than the girls.” Amilia shrugged with an unsure expression. “Not sure why though, maybe it's just my mannerisms and cool personality.” She teased only to knock her shoulder against Jakes. 

“That checks out–” Jake smiled ear to ear as a small but audible chuckle escaped his lips.  “I can't say the same, Fe says I'd make a good girl dad.” It was from all the time spent with Dot, You’d never seen Jake with any children besides Dot. You only had your own experiences watching Jake love your daughter like his own. 

“Well–” Amilia cooed as heart crept across the apples of her cheeks, sunkissed and tanned. “Hypothetically then, one of each to answer your question.” Jake knew what his girlfriend was getting at, and although they never truly mentioned each other, there was a deep understanding that they, in that moment, had just both taken another step forward together. 

“Sounds perfect Oz.” Jake cooed as he sat back and wrapped his arms around Amilias shoulders, pulling her closer into his side. “Sounds perfect.” He mumbled before planting a gentle but loving kiss to her temple, Hoping that one day, maybe their hypothetical would become a reality. 

***~***~***~***~***~****~***~

“Are you sure you don't want the epidural Mrs Bradshaw?” One of the labour and delivery nurses on duty asked as you rocked your hips back and forth while you let your elbows rest on the hospital bed. Bradley stood behind you, pressing his thumbs into your hips hoping to relieve just an ounce of the pain. 

“No–no epidural thanks.” You struggled out as you tried to ride out your latest contraction. “I’m fine–” 

“Okay, well you're getting awfully close to ten centimetres, I'd be getting pretty excited for baby to arrive in the next few hours.” Bradley knew deep down you were trying to delay giving birth for as long as you could, but he knew that once the ball started to roll there was no stopping it. You were having this baby whether Jake was here or not. 

“How about some ice chips Honey?” Bradley asked as you stood and let out a loud but warranted sigh of relief as your last contracts passed. They were getting closer and closer, so close it was only a few seconds of reprieve before the next wave of pain and emotional distress came about. 

“Ice chips would be great.” You relied as a thin layer of sweat covered your entire body. Bradley looked to the labour and delivery nurse with pleading eyes. She knew what he was requesting. 

“I'll be right back with your ice chips.” She cooed through a smile. She had seen a million labouring mums come through this L&D ward and it was always the mothers who opted not to utilise the epidural that ate the most amount of ice ships. 

“You did this to me you know–” You groaned as you got into bed. “This baby has been crushing my organs and making me piss myself for the last three months and now shes gonna tear my fucking vagina in half because she got your big ass head.” All Rooster could do was laugh as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. 

“I specifically remember you asking me to quote unquote ‘Put a baby in you’” Bradley teased as he pulled away. “But sure, im entirely to blame even though you seduced me and vice clamped my–” 

“I’m back with your ice chips mama–” Carrie the labour and delivery nurse cooed just before Bradley could finish his crude sentence. “How are we doing on our back?” 

“Alright.” You sighed as you ran your hands across your stomach. “I'm starting to feel like I need to push though.” 

“Might be go time then, i'll get your legs up and have a little look see.” It was then you looked up at your husband with a worried look in your eyes, one he recognised immediately. With lips pressed together and a sympathetic expression, Rooster tried to soften the blow. 

“His phone's off, I’d assume he's in the air mama–” Bradley pushed your hair away from your forehead. “You can do this–”

“What if something goes wrong?” Your eyes welled with uncertain tears. “He needs to be here.” 

“I won't let anything go wrong.” Bradley replied as he reached down to take your hand in his. “You're not alone, I'm right here, Jakes on his way, baby R is happy and healthy and is ready to join us earth side.” it was the pep talk you needed to hear. “You’re gonna do this because you're my wife now and I love you so much I can't even begin to explain it, you can do this mama, I believe in you.” 

“Suck ass–” You chuckled back as Braldey let his forehead rest against yours. “I love you so much Roo, I really do.” Bradley smiled softly before he pressed his lips to yours. He was about to be a father of two very beautiful girls, but this time felt different. This was his first biological child. He’d never experienced this kind of love before, the birth of a child. But as Bradley pulled away he handed you the small cup of ice you’d requested, his best friend, the love of his life, the mother of his children. 

“Eat your damn ice chips.” 

***~***~***~***~***~****~***~

“Jesus Jake at least wait until the taxi stops!” Amilia gasped as she unclipped her seatbelt. Jake was basically out of the car before he’d even pulled the handbrake. “Thanks mate–” Amilia smiled as she pulled out her wallet to pay the taxi driver. Jake was already fishing out their bags from the back of the cab. 

“Fucking hell i hope she hans’t had the baby yet–” Jake was as flustered as he could be. “I don't even know how many hours it's been since Rooster called.” 

“It's been about seven.” Amilia replied as she placed her hand over Jakes. “Stop, I've got this, Fanboy’s coming to pick me up to take me back to Phoenix's.” 

“Baby no.” Jake tried to argue. “Stay?” 

“This is something you need to do for Fe alone flyboy.” Amilia reached out to run her thumb across the scruff of Jake's cheek. “Go, call me when baby girls here and crying and gunk free alright.” 

“Alright, I love you, let Mick drive, don't get behind the wheel.” Jake just had to have a little dig, he couldn't help himself as he leaned in to kiss his girlfriend's lips. It was a tender loving moment as Amilia reached around to tease the baby hairs at the back of Jake's neck. 

“I love you, and fuck you.” Jake didn't stick around for very long as he smiled and turned on his heels. The texts Rooster had sent were short and simple but told Jake everything he needed to know. You were progressing quickly, you were in room 103 in the maternity ward, you were cussing him out and that he better hurry the fuck up and get here because you were fighting the contractions. 

Jake had no idea where he was going but he was running. He knew he was raising eyebrows and turning heads as he raced through the North Island Base Hospital looking for one, the maternity ward and two, your specific room. The memories of when you had gone into labour with little Odette had been plaguing Jake's memory since Bradley had called. Oh how times had changed. The only thing that had stayed the same was the unbreakable bond your and Jake shared. An unconditional support and love that couldn't be broken. 

“Hello!” Jake grinned almost out of breath when he reached the nurses station in the maternity ward. “Im looking for–” Before Jake could finish his sentence, a loud painful scream echoed down the hall. He knew those lungs. “Fe? That's my sister! I think, uh–can I go?” It seemed like an odd thing to ask even if Jake was in the labour and delivery ward. 

“You must be Jake?” Theu nurse trying to eat her breakfast of what was left of it asked as she looked up at the flustered blonde man with piercing emerald eyes. 

“That's me.” Jake replied as the nurse before him nodded. She knew only two people were permitted inside your birthing suite. Bradley Bradshaw was already present and accounted for. 

“Down the hall to the left, maybe she’ll finally give in and push now that you're here.” Jake frowned at the idea that you were trying to hold out on giving birth because he wasn't here. He understood trauma bonding or thought he did from the way his therapist explained it, but he never stopped to think about the idea that having another child would bring up significant trauma from your first experience. 

You'd never mentioned it, being scared to give birth again. Although, Jake had never really asked. Since Bob's death Jake had been dealing with his own trauma. He was dealing with night terrors and survivor's guilt that kept him up into the early hours of the morning. For all the good that had happened since, Jake often stopped to ask himself if he was scared to move on from the day he unintentionally took another man's life. Being here for you when you welcomed your second daughter into the world felt like the world was moving on without Bob Floyd, and that made Jake want to spiral into a fit or uncontrollable rage. 

It wasn't fair. 

“Ahhhhh!” “Mrs Bradshaw you have to push!” 

But keeping you waiting wasn't fair either. Jake stood at the threshold of the slightly jaw door. He took a deep breath in and said a small prayer to the only man he hoped was listening and barged right on in. 

“I'm here!” Jake's voice cut through the heavy and thick air that was your hospital room. There was a woman between your legs, assessing the situation, another by your bedside, and Rooster, looking seven colours of bad shit because this time it was his hand that was being crushed and not jakes. He felt little sympathy for the man you called himself your husband. Jake knew what it took to make babies and he was pretty damn sure he’d walked in on the very act that was the time baby R was conceived. 

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN!?” You shouted at the top of your lungs almost without even realising it. 

“Oh thank god!” Bradley sighed as he looked into the eyes of the man who had become more of a brother than a friend. “Honey, Honey look, Jakes here–you gotta push now alright? Baby needs to come out.” You had been fighting this for the better half or the last two hours. Bradley knew the nurses were getting worried, to the point one had even pulled him aside and said that she was considering an emergency c-section if you continued trying to delay your body's ability to deliver naturally. 

“Jake? At first you thought it was just your mind playing tricks on you from the pain. Delusion had set in and you were just imagining your best friend. But the second Jake's hand touched yours, the one Bradley wasn't already holding for moral support, you cried a little harder as you let your head fall back against the back of the hospital bed. “You made it.” 

“I did, I'm right here, what? You thought I was gonna miss this? Never Fe never.” 

“Took your sweet ass time man.” Bradley teased as he held back tears. This was the birth of his daughter, you were bridging another life into the world, one he’d helped create. Jake was your person, you were Bradleys. “This is it honey, this baby is coming–” 

“Oh god it hurts!!” You shouted through gritted teeth. “I can't do this! I can't!” 

“Oh you're gonna have to Mrs. Bradshaw, baby’s almost here.” The doctor between your legs cooed. “Heads almost out, on three I need you to push mama and push hard alright?” 

“No–I–I can't do it.” 

“Hey, look at me?” Jake cooed as he looked down at you, his best friend, the guy who loves you more than life itself is standing right next to you, you aren’t alone anymore, you'll never be alone again, baby’s gotta come out and you're the only one who can get her out.” 

“AAAAHHHHHH!” You cried out as you squeezed down on both Jake and Bradleys hand. Bradley wipes your face with a damp cloth the nurse had given him. He wanted nothing more to take your pain away. “Roo!! I hate your big ass head!!!” 

“That's it mama let it out.” Bradley smiled. “Come on baby, I got you, she's almost here.” 

“I'm never letting you touch me again!!” 

“Okay okay, breathe Y/n, breathe.” the woman between your legs interrupted. “Good job mama, I reckon your little girl is gonna be here on your next push–but just breathe for a minute, hard parts over, heads out.” 

“I remember when Odette was born.” You mumbled out as Bradley kept patting your face down with that damp cloth. It was a comforting sensation, cooling and calming. “I was so upset Jaidyn wasn't there, I wondered what I’d done to upset him so much that he wou–would miss his daughter's birth.” 

“I love you so much Y/n, so much you hear me.” Bradley cried as tears fell down his face. “You’re so unbelievably strong.” 

“I need to push!” You replied, the sudden urge that you were going to shit yourself and tear in two overwhelmed you entirely. 

“This is it Fe, absolutely no turning back now super mama.” Jake cooed as you held his hand as tight as you could. 

“Push Y/n, this is it, baby’s coming!” Your doctor smiled as you pushed as hard as you could. The scream you let out was otherworldly and like nothing Bradley had ever heard before. It was all consuming, all encompassing, all telling of the sacrifice you were giving in order to bring his baby girl into the world. In that moment, Bradley Bradshaw knew he’d do anything to protect you and his growing family. He'd already done the extreme once, but now? He’d do it all over again.

“Annnnd baby girls here!” You fell back against the bed completely spent as tiny cries filled the room. Your baby girl's lungs sure did work wonders. “Congratulations Mr and Mrs Bradshaw.” it had only been a few moments before your baby girl was placed on your chest for the first time.

“Oh.” She was so tiny, so pure, so full of love. “Oh hi baby girl.” You cried as she cried too. “I'm your mama baby, hi sweet girl, my tiny little Riley.” 

“She's so small, oh my gosh.” Bradley had never seen a tinier human before in his life, but his whole heart was so full of love. “Hi Riley, hi baby girl–” Bradley wasn't sure if he was ready to be a dad twice over. He wasn't sure if he was ready for all the firsts he missed with Odette, but what he did know as he saw his daughter for the very first time, the same daughter you had carried for nine long months, was that he was gonna try his hardest to be the best dad he could be. 

“You did so good Y/n, I'm so proud of you.” Jake leaned in to kiss your forehead, he was just so glad he could be here for you. “You did it.” Jake could only watch on as he stepped aside to let the new parents of two fall in love with their gunk covered daughter. His job as your person was done, but he’d do it all again. For you. 

“I'm never giving birth again.” You sighed as you fell more in love with your second daughter:

Riley Carole Bradshaw. Baby R:

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Tags: @a-serene-place-to-be @lilyevanswhore @thescarletknight2014 @blindedbythelightt @averyhotchner @emma8895eb @blairfox04 @caitsymichelle13 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @teacupsandtopgun @aemondssiut @akalei349 @notjustsomeblonde

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[jungle-angel]

Who's Gonna Ride These Wild Horses? (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett get the surprise of your lives when some new arrivals on the ranch take up residence

Warnings: Mentions of animal abuse, neglect etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @withahappyrefrain @callmemana @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia

"Darlin ya'll outdid yourself with this," Rhett said, finishing off the last bite of his breakfast.

"My pleasure," you chuckled, kissing your husband, the lingering taste of the eggs, cheese, prosciutto and Italian spices still on his lips.

Rhett heard his phone vibrating on the counter as he was clearing away the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. He unplugged it from the wall charger and found a message from his father splayed across the screen.

Dad: Hey, need ya'll down here when you get a minute, we've got new arrivals

"Hey darlin?"

"Hmm?"

"We're gonna have to dig into the blueberry muffins later," Rhett told you. "Got some new arrivals. Dad needs help unloading them."

You quickly helped Rhett finish off the dishes before heading down to the pasture to help. The trailers were all ready to be unloaded, the hands working to make sure none of the animals inside tried to bolt.

"What've we got this time, Dad?" Rhett asked.

"Horses," Royal told him. "Got a few in here who came all the way up from Kentucky."

"Derby horses?"

"Yep," Royal answered. "Stables were overcrowded and they couldn't keep a couple of mares. Got a few that came from up from New Mexico and Colorado."

You and Rhett watched as two of the hands unloaded a gorgeous chestnut mare, her head held high and proud as she walked down the gangplank.

"Should we figure out names?" you asked Rhett.

"I've already got one for that one," Rhett answered. "Ya'll feel ok with Ginger?"

"Couldn't have picked a better one," you half laughed.

Another mare came trotting her way down, part of her tail sticking up and her head bobbing with excitement. God she was gorgeous, a black Arabian mare with a little white star marking on the bridge of her snout and a little white on her hoof. You and Rhett didn't even have to guess her name......Beauty.

You were both melting at the sight of a little shaggy shetland pony being brought out next, the poor little guy definitely needing as much care as you, Rhett and the others could give. Another one and two little foals were brought out, their manes matted and the mare's hooves definitely needing a good clip and file. Two stallions came shortly after and the last being a black and white Appaloosa mare.

You and Rhett spent most of the day in the stables, hanging around the horses. The two little shetland foals took to you quickly, rolling into your lap like a pair of puppies and quickly accepting the sprigs of mint and sugar cubes you pulled from your pockets.

"Oh jeez little lady," Rhett said, straining to clip the excess growth off the shetland mare's hoof. "Ya'll need to be re-shoed."

You helped your husband, father-in-law and the others groom and re-shoe the horses as best you could. Ginger was the most patient of them all, but when you came to the Appaloosa mare, she had proved a little difficult. She tossed her head and reared, her legs reaching high into the air. After a while, you and Rhett had no choice but to let her loose into the pasture.

"Man that horse has some fire," Royal chuckled.

"She'd make a great rodeo horse that's for sure," John laughed.

"Ya'll wanna keep her? Or is she comin up with us?" Rip asked Rhett.

Rhett gave you the questioning look, your own returning the answer.

"I think we're gonna keep her," Rhett said.

"She'll need a name," John told you.

You and Rhett tried to figure out a name for her but nothing came to you right away. You watched her for as long as you could, your minds trying to rack up a name that would fit her, the only noticeable thing about her was how high her legs lifted off the ground. The little foible never left your minds, not even once throughout the whole week. Finally, when Joy, Martha, Rose and Joy's father, Art, came by for a visit, you had a name.

"She got a name yet?" Art asked, you him and Rhett leaning against the fence.

"Only name we could give her," Rhett half laughed. "Named her Steps High."

Art laughed as Steps High came over to sniff, gladly accepting the handful of oats from his hand.

She's a good horse and quickly proves her worth. She never loses that high spirited personality and leads you and Rhett to several rodeo victories. Only when she finds her equal, does Steps High really begin to calm a little, but you and Rhett love her regardless.

[prolix-yuy]

Laura my darling, not only will I give you Honey Bear, but I'll give you every last thing on your list because YOU DESERVE IT (and frankly, so do we all).

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Position: Honey Bear

Word Count: 1134

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, blowjob, handjob, ass play, allusions to oral sex (f receiving), lil size kink, a whole lot of sweetness.

Notes: Javi is my sunshine boy and if anyone was going to be the Honey Bear mascot, it would be him. Plus we have to celebrate you popping my Javi cherry (that sounds naughty because it is lol) and sharing our gorgeous sunny man!

You meant to make dinner for Javi tonight. You really did. Everything was chopped and marinating and seasoned and ready, but when he walked in the kitchen and his whole being lit up, you had to kiss him senseless.

“Mi amor,” he said with such wonder, eyes wide and smile crinkling his face, that you just couldn’t help pulling him down by his open collar and laying one on him. And another. And then so many more you don’t know how he got you down the hall and into his bed. Well, your bed. It still gave you butterflies remembering you shared it.

“I was trying to make you dinner,” you protest half-heartedly as he divests you of your shirt, yanking his own over his head before gathering you in his arms. The soft heat of his body curls your toes, bouncing locks tickling your chin as his mouth travels to kiss between your breasts. 

“You are more delicious than any meal,” he says, licking your sternum and humming as if to prove it. 

“Oh? What do I taste like?” you tease, carding your fingers through his caramel locks as he noses up and around your bra line. He cups the other in his palm, and you marvel at how his hand dwarfs it. Arousal grows sticky between your legs.

“Fresh melon. Prosciutto. Basil. Aged balsamic.” You giggle at each new culinary delight, basking in Javi’s attentions. His poetic soul makes you want to give more of yourself day by day.

“An excellent appetizer,” you say, tugging him up to return to your lips. His kiss is slick and hot, tongue dancing against yours.

“A whole meal, princesa,” he corrects, pulling you down to fit against his hips. Despite the playfulness he’s thick and throbbing against you, and a wicked little idea takes over. Lifting your hips, you roll him onto his back and lift to your knees, his hands coming to knead at your hips.

“You know what you taste like, Javi?” you ask, a twinkle of mischief in your eye and a plan in your smile. Javi’s smile falters briefly for confusion as you dismount him, moving to settle between his legs instead. 

“Amor…” he says, eyebrows turning up as you lean down to mouth at his soft stomach. He tenses briefly, and you bulldoze over any self-consciousness by peppering his tummy with kisses and licks.  Soon he relaxes below you, and you admire how broad and golden he looks against the crisp white sheets, eyes hazy and hands reaching for you.

“You taste like honey,” you say, sliding your hands down to unbutton his linen pants. His breath stutters as you ease him out of the last vestiges of clothing, bare and perfectly laid out. “My honey bear,” you say, dipping down to press a kiss to the underside of his cock.

“Mi sol, I haven’t even…please, let me…” Javi’s voice cracks as you see him warring with his otherwise gentlemanly bedroom manners. He always makes you cum, as many times as you’ll let him, before he takes his own pleasure. Tonight, you have something in store for the man who stole your heart. 

“Honey bear…” you whine, taking him in hand and sliding down to your elbows. With gentle pressure you guide his knees over your shoulders, breathing softly into the crease of his hip as he shudders. It’s new for him, letting you take his pleasure in hand this boldly, but you know exactly what you want to do to make him see stars.

“Okay, okay, yes, mi amor, whatever you want,” he breathes, stroking his thick fingers over the crown of your head. You reward him with a wet suckle over the head of his cock, his thighs clenching around your head. It rushes excitement down your spine and a burn of desire in your cunt as you slowly take him deeper and deeper into your mouth.

Javi’s cock surprised you the first time you saw it, expecting a broad sweet man to be more on the average side. But when you were treated to his girthy length you were impressed, and a little intimidated. Thankfully, Javi knew exactly how to use it, often, and with screaming success. But he rarely lets you suck him off, preferring a few licks before working himself inside you instead. Now, splayed out and trying to suppress his rocking hips, you hum with pride around him. 

“Princesa, you are…so perfect. Let me lick your pussy, please, let me make you cum,” he begs, but you don’t let up on your thorough journey down his shaft. The spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth aids your hand as you stroke the remaining length, cupping his heavy balls in your other hand. An experimental stroke makes him shout, shaking with the effort of not clamping around your head. Satisfied you can take him on your next descent, you pop off and stroke him faster, catching his eye with a shiny smile.

“Honey bear, can I give you something more?” you ask, licking your lips as his gaze darts across your face. 

“Anything,” he groans, bringing your wicked smile back. Returning to his cock, you descend at a steady pace, widening your jaw as your nose brushes the curls at his base. Just as you’re about to take him all, you press a spit-soaked thumb against his tight asshole and make even-pressured circles against him.

“Ay dios mío, mi amor, mierda, ohhhhhhh my god, please, please don’t stop, es muy bueno,” he moans, hips bucking against your hot mouth and forbidden touch. Speeding up, you deepthroat him with shallow strokes, swallowing hard around his thick cock, as you tease just the tip of your thumb against the quivering tautness of his asshole. 

Javi cums with a ragged shout, pumping cum down your willing throat as you drink every last drop. You debate trying to urge him into a second, but give him reprieve as you slide off his cock and soothe his hot skin with your hands. He’s beautifully pink all over, head tossed back and chest heaving as he reaches for you. Tucking you into his side, he presses a kiss to the top of your head before diving his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself.

“Fuck, Javi,” you say, and that gorgeous smile swims into sight as he looks down at you like you indeed are his true love. You know it’s true for you.

“I like the nickname. Honey bear. It makes me happy,” he says, and you wonder if Javi can make anyone glow or if it’s just you.

Then he slides down the bed so quickly a laugh escapes, tossing your legs over his shoulders and burying his nose in your clothed cunt.

“Mi amor, now it’s my turn.”

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[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

[chimielie]

little by little, we'll meet in the middle

summary: Oikawa x F!Reader (slight/past Iwaizumi x Reader). You and Oikawa are two moons - now that you've been pulled into each other's orbits, you can't seem to pull away. Even when you probably should. Sequel to Honeybee.

word count: 1k

cw: one mention of unhealthy eating practices. weird past-life-soulmateism. Yearning.

a/n: this is a part two, so i recommend reading in order to sort of understand the love triangle/knight x king/past life bullshit that's happening here, but honestly i don't know how much it'll help. it's a little bit of a the raven cycle au, but not quite? happy birthday IDIOT @ oikawa tooru. i love u or whatever

Your hands are calloused: at the base of the fingers and the web of the thumb. You brush a careful touch over the inside of Oikawa’s wrist, sweeping your thumb over his pulse point. Checking that he’s still alive. Warm touch and pulsing heart persisting.

You let go when he shifts the car into parking gear, pulling with both hands on the parking brake. It’s an old car, and only as reliable as its owner. 

He tries not to think about the combined delicacy and roughness of your hands, tries not to add another scrap of evidence to the pile that says he saw you first and he saw you true. It’s a pointless collection, like so many of his little passion projects. He couldn’t help building it, his jealous hoard of the moments where you were his and his alone. Guiltily, each brick had been laid and mortared from the moment he’d watched his best friend fall (clumsy and boyish, in a way he so rarely allowed himself to be) in love with you.

Even now, when Iwaizumi’s eyes are far from the both of you, even now that you are technically unburdened by belonging, the stiff line of duty is in your back and his vision. He keeps his eyes carefully away from you; if he looks at you for too long, his tongue finds words that shouldn’t be said. 

Your posture is as straight as the pines surrounding you, picking at the sandwiches you burned for lunch. Prosciutto and melted cheese you’d found unlabeled in the fridge, the crusts literally rimmed black, still a little warm to the touch even all the way into the blue mountains.

It’s a little fuck-you to him. He had called and said come on a drive with me. And you had fought him, snapped that you were in the middle of making lunch. Make me some, too, then, he had said indifferently, I haven’t eaten anything yet today. And you had been waiting at the curb, standing up straight with one hand shading your face and the other holding a bag of sandwiches. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, sliding into the passenger seat, stowing the sandwiches between you. This carefully curated space is present, always, a barrier never let down by both of you at the same time. 

“Nowhere,” he shrugged, kicking the car into gear. “Anywhere.”

The long-unused backroads are exactly in-between. Blue-green trees block out the sky, ushering in a soft not-quite night in the middle of the day, blurring that hard line. 

“They’re burnt,” you say, shoving the food into his hands. Three extras, just for him, because you worry about the way he gets distracted, gets obsessed, forgets to eat. Three burnt sandwiches, because you want to show him that love isn’t going to soften you, that whatever past you may have had (knight; king; lifetimes ago) your future doesn’t involve cooking at home while he rules the court. You wear your principals like you once wore gleaming metal armor.

He sees it in flashes. Reaching out, palms open. Hands calloused by the grip of your sword. A chalice, lifted to your lips, helmet removed and hair loose. Voice strong and sure, swearing fealty (voice soft, warning him of impropriety. Of the dangers of consorting with peasants). 

Lips, dry and still as he swallowed your fears.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and you look away from him. Everything feels raw and too real.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” You say, because you don’t know what to do with his vulnerability. With-your-friends Oikawa is so different from talking-to-adults Oikawa is so different from just-your-Tooru. He’s water, slipping through your fingers even as he’s still rising around you, threatening to swallow you whole. 

He knows what you’re doing, too, because he knows that the boys are planning a surprise party away from his family, that you’re not supposed to snitch on the plan but would in a second if he pushed. You can’t lie to him.

He worries that the corollary is true: That he can’t lie to you. That you see him for what he is. 

He gives you a wry smile, telling you that he’s playing your game. “I want to go to the moon.” He’s been saying it since he was five, even when it stopped being true and became a tradition he was locked into.

“Of course you only want what you can’t have,” you laugh, and the words don’t lodge as painfully as he thought they might. “I can give you a star, Tooru, is that enough?”

“I guess,” he gives a prissy shake of the shoulders. “I could accept a promise.”

You don’t laugh, like he’d planned for. Instead, when he looks over at you next, you’re looking at him with an expression like—the sunset, honey melting over the horizon. Warm.

Oikawa shivers.

“I can give you that,” you say, voice small in your throat. He feels wildly unmoored in time, slipping between this life and the last; this love and the last; doom and destiny, woven together in a single thread. His head is heavy. Outside, the trees block sheets of misty rain. “Can that be enough?”

Your face is serious when he looks at you (can’t look at you too long, can’t let it show on his face), but your eyes shine. You’re looking at him—he feels dizzy with it—like he’s the sun. Like he’s a king.

You wrap gentle fingers around his wrist and tug him closer. The world is quiet, here, with you. His and his alone.

You keep your eyes steady on his, chin lifted in determination, always ready to fight. He runs a finger over the back of your hand, the one holding him. You don’t look at his mouth and you don’t let go.

He knows what you want because he wants it, too.

He lifts both of your hands and puts your palm over the lower half of your face. The center of the universe is your mouth. You stay still while he positions you, not even surprised; you know him.

Slow: he leans in, presses his lips to the back of your hand. Your eyes shut; he watches you as he lingers. The barrier hasn't been knocked down, yet, but this is him laying siege.

“A promise,” he says against your skin. “Is all I need.”

[flauberries]

chapter update | stationary traveler | prosciutto x f!reader

After avoiding writing absolute debauchery for four months, I'm pleased to share that the next chapter of Stationary Traveler is up on Ao3. Check it out here!

Prosciutto reaches into the drawer of the nightstand, and out comes his pack of cigarettes and fancy lighter. He tucks his hair behind his ears before producing a drag, sticking it between his lips, and lighting it. You detect a hue upon his cheeks in the glow of the flame, and his hairline is slick with perspiration. His mouth, wrapped around the filter, is red from your lipstick. When the flame reaches his eyes – they dart from the lighter to your face – you at last find his solemn youth. You forget that he isn’t much older than you, not really anyways. Misery has a way of aging the soul. He ought to take a vacation.

[zephyrmonkey]

I posted 325 times in 2022

That's 325 more posts than 2021!

84 posts created (26%)

241 posts reblogged (74%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@zephyrmonkey

@foundationsretail

@jennniferwalters

@beautifulbows924

I tagged 81 of my posts in 2022

#marvel - 31 posts

#mcu - 29 posts

#agents of shield - 27 posts

#leo fitz - 21 posts

#aos - 18 posts

#the bad batch - 16 posts

#iain de caestecker - 15 posts

#jemma simmons - 14 posts

#bad batch - 14 posts

#marveledit - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 56 characters

#prosciutto buffalo mozzarella with a hint of pesto aioli

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Mother's Days with Marvel

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128 notes - Posted May 8, 2022

#4

My Comfort, Even On the Darkest Days

Request: Anonymous - Can you write Reader with depression and Steven tried to comfort them by cuddle pls.

Summary: Steven takes care of the reader while she’s feeling down.

Pairing: Steven Grant x reader

Warning: Nothing really, Reader has depression but it’s only hinted at, Caring Steven

Word Count: 614

A/N: Sorry it’s so short, but I hope you enjoy it!

(y/f/m) = your favorite movie

Darkness fills the apartment as (y/n) lays under the covers. The sound of keys entering a lock fills the place. The door is unlocked, and footsteps are heard. The door is shut and relocked.

“No, no, no. He can’t see me like this!” (y/n) thinks as she hears what is happening but makes no attempt to move.

“Love?” Steven’s voice comes through the apartment as he tries to find his girlfriend. He finally finds her in her bedroom after he deduced that it was her making the covers look like a weird lump on the bed. “Love, I’ve been calling you all day. Are you okay?” He turns on the lamp that’s on her bedside table and sits at the edge of her bed.

She doesn’t answer but moves a little, proving to him that she is still alive. “I’m going to lift the covers from your face. Is that okay?”

(y/n) doesn’t move, so Steven gently moves the blanket to reveal (y/n) with her face absent of makeup and full of tear stains. She closes her eyes at the sudden flood of light and turns to her other side so that Steven can’t see her face. “Love, are you alright?”

“How did you get in?” She ignores his question and tries to advert his attention elsewhere.

“The key was under your mat, and I hadn’t heard from you all day, so I was worried.” He stops to brush some hair off her face so that he can see part of it. “Please answer the question Love. Are you alright?”

“No,” Her voice cracks as she whispers the word.

“What’s wrong?” Steven pushes.

“I don’t know….I just woke up like this.” (y/n) lazily shrugging her shoulders, still facing away from her boyfriend.

“Can you turn around for me Sweetheart?” He puts his hand on her shoulder.

(y/n) shakes her head, “No, I look horrible.”

Steven looks at her with a slight smile on his face. “No matter what you look like, you are the most beautiful woman in the world to me.”

She weakly smiles and slowly turns around but doesn’t look at Steven. He puts his hand on her face and rubs his thumb over her cheek. “What do you need me to do to make you feel better?”

(y/n) shrugs, not knowing what to say.

“Okay, just sit there, and I’ll handle everything.” He tucks her in and quickly leaves to get everything ready.

Five, ten minutes later, (y/n) can’t tell, Steven softly walks into the room. “Okay Sweetheart. Everything is ready for you. Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you?”

(y/n) wordlessly and sluggishly gets up and lets Steven take most of her weight as he leads her to the living room.

The lights are off, and the television is lighting the space with (y/f/m) queued up. Setting her down on the sofa, Steven puts a fluffy blanket on (y/n). Once he’s sure she’s comfortable, he sits next to her and pulls her to him so that she is leaning on him. He turns the movie on and grabs another blanket to put on him.

(y/n) wraps her arms around Steven’s stomach and puts her head on his chest. The scent of cinnamon and old books fill her nose. Steven runs his hand over her back, starting to soothe her, and she visibly melts into his touch.

Kissing her forehead, he whispers to his girlfriend, “Whenever you are ready to talk about it, I’ll be here.”

She faintly nods and takes a bite from her food. “Thank you Steven.”

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191 notes - Posted April 28, 2022

#3

Bad Changes, Good Changes Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: After the reader gets hurt, she thinks her relationship is over, but she is in for a wonderful surprise.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! reader

Warnings: Mention of injuries, blood, self-doubt, fear of breaking up, loveable fluff, Bucky being an amazing boyfriend

Word Count: 2068 words

A/N: Spent waaaay too much time editing this! 😂 Hope you enjoy it!

(y/m/n)=your middle name

(y/l/n)=your last name

“(y/n)-come-in! Do—hear—come—!”

Everything was foggy as (Y/N) was slowly coming to consciousness. Not remembering what happened, (Y/N) looked around and noticed that her legs were pinned by debris, and she was sitting in the wreckage.

“Me—in! (y/n)! Do—copy?”

(Y/N) put her hand to her ear. “Hello? Does anyone copy?”

“Doll?” Bucky! (y/n) relaxed, hearing her boyfriend.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m trapped under some rubble.”

“Where—you?”

“I don’t know! And I can’t feel my legs! I think I hit my head because I feel dizzy.”

“Doll, Hang—I’m—Doll—…!”

(y/n) didn’t hear anything else due to her passing out from blood loss.

The first thing (y/n) heard before opening her eyes was the dreaded beeping sound of the heart monitor. The first thing she felt was metal and flesh hands covering her right hand. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a mop of brown hair resting on her bed.

She smiled at the fact her boyfriend hadn’t left her side. Before she could do anything, Bruce came into the room.

“Hey (y/n), I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Wha-what happened?” (y/n)’s voice was hoarse because of the medicine pumping through her system.

“What do you remember?”

“Um… Preparing for the mission, walking on the quinjet, and touching down. It’s blank until I woke up caught under the rubble, and I couldn’t feel my legs. Then I passed out. Next thing I knew, I’m here.”

“Well, you hit your head, so you might have some amnesia.”

“Will I ever remember what happened?”

“Because of how hard you hit your head, I doubt it. But you can always read the reports.” Bruce shrugged.

(y/n) moved a little to get more comfortable, but not too much to wake up Bucky. It was then that she felt, or really, the lack of feeling of something.

“Bruce.” (y/n) said with her voice wavering. “Why can’t I feel my legs?”

“(y/n),” Bruce solemnly looked at the woman in the bed. “You broke both your legs. You will be out of commission for at least a year.”

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269 notes - Posted March 28, 2022

#2

Shoulder to Cry On?

Prompt: “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Summary: Steven goes to the reader when he thinks he’s losing his mind.

Pairings: Steven Grant x reader; Marc Specter x reader

Warnings: Angst (I don’t want to give any more warnings because it’ll give away the story. There’s no blood, gore, or violence. All the warnings will be in the tags at the bottom.) No Spoilers! Occurs before the show.

Word Count: 1110 words

A/N: 1. This is for the writing challenge by @beautifulbows924!

2. This is my first time writing angst and I’m really excited about how it turned out!  I also wrote this in 2 hours and I’m really proud of myself for that!

Hope you enjoy!

Three quick knocks brought (y/n) from her computer to the door. Confused, she looks at the door and then at the clock on her laptop that reads 1:19 am. Before she could move, more knocks came through her apartment.

“(y/n). (y/n)! It’s me, Steven.” More knocks. “Are you there?”

(y/n) quickly sets her computer to the side as she hurries to the door. Opening it, she sees a very nervous, wide-eyed museum gift shop worker.

“Wha-what? Steven? What are you doing here?” She asks while letting her friend in.

He quickly walks in and stands in the middle of the room, looking around nervously and wringing his hands.

“Steven.” (y/n) calling his name brought his gaze to her. “Are you okay?”

“I-I-I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Steven, what’s wrong?” (y/n) cautiously starts walking toward the nervous brit.

“I-I think I’m going crazy.” He confesses to her.

She looks at him. Her expression shows half confusion and half concern. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m losing time. Having weird dreams that seem real. I-I don’t know what to do.” He starts to wave his hands wildly as he tries to explain what’s been happening to him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” She put her hands up and slowly put them on his shoulders. “Take a breath, and let’s sit down.”

He nods as she guides him to the couch she was previously sitting on. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.”

They sit down on the couch as Steven takes a breath. “When-uh-when was the last time you saw me?” He asked her after a few minutes.

She looks at him with a confused expression, but she answers his question. “It was…” She pauses to count the days. “… It was about eight da-no that can’t be right.” She pauses again to recount. “Yeah-uh-it was about eight days ago.”

“For me, it was three days ago.” Before she can say anything, he continues. “The dreams I’ve been having, they are so real. But…I don’t know what’s real anymore, and you are the only thing that I know for certain that is real….So, that I why, I came to you.”

(y/n) looked at her friend with sad eyes. “Steven…I don’t know what to say.”

“Can I stay here for the night?” He looks at her with sad eyes that she can’t say no to.

“Yes. Yes Steven. Of course, anything you need.”

“Could you-uh…” He looks down at his hands before looking at (y/n). “Could you watch over me and tell me in the morning if anything happens?” His eyes fill with nerves. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but-“

“Steven.” (y/n) cuts him off. “Of course I’ll watch over you. Besides, I have this report due in two days, so I’m gonna be up all night anyway.”

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362 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The Idiot Girlfriend Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: The reader learns a valuable lesson after making an idiot mistake.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: Reader talks about having a stomach ache, nausea, and diarrhea.

Word Count: 723 words

A/N: If anyone’s wondering who the idiot was that gave me the idea to write this. The answer is…me. I’m the idiot, this actually happened to me. 🤦

A groan from the couch brought Bucky out of his thoughts. Changing his course from the kitchen for a late-night snack to the living room which had the TV as the only light in the room, he saw his girlfriend, (y/n).

“Doll? What are you doing up this late? I thought you have a mission in the morning?”

Another groan escaped her lips as she tiredly sat up.

“Canceled it. I don’t feel good.”

Bucky immediately went into panic mode. “What’s wrong? When did you start feeling like this? What hurts? On a scale of 1 to 10 how bad is your pain?”

(y/n) weakly lifted her hand to stop him from continuing his questioning. “I’m just an idiot that’s all.”

Bucky looked at her confused and chuckled lowly. “How does being an idiot relate to you getting sick?”

Before she answered, (y/n) placed her head on Bucky’s shoulder and took a deep breath.

“You know how after training with Nat earlier I said that I was exhausted and if I was going on that mission tomorrow, I’m going to need energy?”

“Yes?” Bucky was still confused, but he went along with it.

“Well...” (y/n) started her explanation again. “I went to drink some Emergin-C and I may have made a mistake.”

Bucky turned his head as much as he could with his girlfriend on his shoulder. Looking at his face contorted in confusion, (y/n) would’ve laughed if she wasn’t feeling as bad as she was. Instead, she closed her eyes and prepared for the next part of her story.

“When I read the packaging, it said that one pack should be dumped into 4-6oz of water. So, I took a water bottle, that has about 16oz of water in it, and did some quick math.”

At this point, Bucky started to realize where the story was going.

“I thought that if one pack equals 4-6oz of water then, three pack equals 12-18oz of water. So, I put three packets of Emergin-C in my water bottle and drank it.”

(y/n) let out a weak laugh and lifted her head to look Bucky in the eye, who was looking at her with horror.

“I started to feel ill after drinking about 2/3 of the bottle. And after rereading the packet it turns out that ages 14 and above should only have one packet per day.

So, after doing a quick Google search, my stomach ache, nausea, and diarrhea is a side effect of having about three times the normal dosage of Vitamin C, Zinc, and other antioxidants in my system.”

(y/n) gave her boyfriend a weak smile to try and convince him that everything was alright. Needless to say, she was failing, miserably.

After a few moments of staring at her with his mouth agape, Bucky gently wrapped his arm around (y/n) and placed her head on his chest, which caused her to hear him lightly chuckling.

“Who knew that being an idiot could cause you to get sick?”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything, since she knew this was coming and he was doing it out of love, she let Bucky joke about for a few more minutes as she relished in the comforting feeling of her boyfriend holding her.

Once Bucky was done, he asked her a question she was prepared for. “Do you know how long you’ll is feeling like this?”

She shrugged. “Not long, I hope. The internet said that it has to flush out of my system.”

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575 notes - Posted June 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[la-principessa-della-squadra]

Hello, I'm back! How are ya doing? I was wondering if we could have some headcanons for La Squadra acting as mentors for a newbie to the squad! Whether or not they're interested in them is up to you :v

OMG!You always have the BEST ideas and scenarios! Sorry if it took so long! Hope you’ll like it!This ended up being more serious and informative than what I expected

La Squadra wants to mentor Fem!Reader-Ultraviolence

Tw: violence, strong language, curses, blasphemy, slurs, emetophobia, harassment

Risotto

Vico Pallonetto Santa Chiara 8, Naples, 8:45 a.m

That morning, the capo decides to snatch you away from the rest of the team under the guise of offering you a coffee that he 'owed' you since that time in Santorini.

“Si Potrebbe andare al bar, che dici figghiola?”

(We should have breakfast at the cafè, what do you think, figghiola?)

Strangely enough, the others still haven’t complained, as usual, that's how you know something is up. All your comrades are either suddenly busy or absorbed in their own affairs. Prosciutto has his face sunk in 'La Repubblica' together with Pesci, Ghiaccio is reading a ‘Topolino’ on the couch, Illuso is on a chair nearby filing his nails, and Formaggio’s making coffee while suspiciously whistling ‘Samarcanda’.

Only one person has not taken the hint. Melone. The lavender man raises his head from the uncanny laptop and exclaims:

“Vengo anch’io!”

(I'm coming too!)

“No, tu no”

(No, you’re not.)

Illuso immediately replies.

“E perchè?”

(But why?)

"PERCHE’ NO.”

(JUST NO.)

The entire team shushes him and Melone sadly lowers his head as a response.

Risotto rolls his eyes and shakes his head in silence as he beckons you to hurry up and get out. Once outside, he leads the way to one of the most prestigious cafè in Naples, the ‘Caffè Gambrinus’. The Caffè Gambrinus is a historic, private coffeehouse in via Chiaia. This place is also known for being a meeting site for intellectuals and artists, including Gabriele D'Annunzio. Therefore, a rich and scrummy breakfast awaits you. Although it's more than obvious that the boss didn't bring you there just to have a chat in front of a hot cappuccino. Judging by the way his black eyes are staring at your figure like two big drops of blood, it almost seems that you two are on a romantic date. In fact, Risotto is scanning you from head to toe as he undauntedly tries to meet your eyes while you're sipping your cappuccino. His gaze is so intense that it almost seems to pass under your clothes and skin, making you slightly shiver.

“Figghiola.”

He says charmingly smiling at you, clearly trying to make you feel at ease.

“Non ti scantari. U sapii che prima o poi ti facìa stu discussu. Rruau u momentu i fare du chiacchiere riguardo a to iniziazioni.”

@Non c’hai d’aver paura. Sapevi che prima o poi ti avrei fatto questo discorsetto. È giusto venuto il momento di fare due chiacchiere riguardo la tua iniziazione.@

(Don't be afraid. You knew that sooner or later I would give you this talk. The time has come to have a chat about your initiation.)

Judging by the way he's speaking to you, he almost sounds like a father who has just learned of his daughter's upcoming marriage. Risotto reaches out a hand towards your wrist and waits for you to give him permission to touch you before brushing his fingers against yours. The look on his face is a mixture of pride and sympathy.

It's been more than a month since you joined the organization as a freelancer, and according to Risotto, the time has come for you to through your official initiation.

“Tc’ra na para i jonna, ti fai ‘na bella ‘punciuta’. Non ta ‘ppreoccupare assolutamente, la ferita sarà solo superficiale, disolito si fa cu ‘n cuteddu, ‘nto nostcru casu un agu chi ti fazzu nesciri du mignulu. U sangu avi a nesciri finché non raggiunge a linea da vita.”

@Tra un paio di giorni, ti farai fare una bella ‘punciuta’. Non ti devi assolutamente preoccupare, la ferita sarà solo superficiale, disolito la si fa con un coltello…o nel nostro caso, un ago che ti farò uscire dal mignolino. Il sangue dovrà scorrere finchè non ha raggiunto la linea della vita.@

(In a couple of days, you're going to get through the 'punciuta' initiation. It’s just a symbolic initiation, you don’t have to worry. The wound will only be superficial, it's usually done with a knife...or in our special case, a thin needle that will come out of your pinky. You will let the blood flow until it reaches your hand’s lifeline.)

You hear him chuckle as he stops caressing your hand and suddenly traps the phalange of your pinky between his thumb and index finger.

“Ma prima picciotta, t’ha diri ‘na para i cosi”

@Ma prima picciotta, devo spiegarti alcune regole.@

(But first, I need to explain to you a few rules.)

His smiles fades as quickly as he slips his fingers between yours and presses his fingertips against your flesh.

“E si sbagghi, ti manciu l’anma. Non vorrai fare la fine d’autcro babbiddiu che fici ‘a spia. Ci su 10 regole fondamentali che non t’ha scuddari:”

@Bada bene.Se non le rispetti, i cani avranno di che mangiare.Non vorrai fare la fine di quell’altro picciotto che fece la spia? Ci sono 10 regole fondamentali che devi tenere a mente.@

(Beware little one...If you don't respect them, you’ll be pushing up daisies. There are 10 basic rules that you must keep in mind:)

With his free hand, the man begins to count on his fingers the 10 commandments of the mafia, adding a finger after each explanation.

“1 - «Non ci si può presentare da soli a un altro amico nostro, se non è un terzo a farlo»”

(1-«You can't introduce yourself to another friend of ours unless a third party does it.»)

“2 - «Non si guardano mogli di amici nostri»

Non pensu chi avrai problemi cu sta cosa. L’autri su di gran baciannichi chi quannu tcrovunu a ‘na figghiola o si sciarriunu pi cui si l’avi a pigghiari, finché chista non scappa o si mmazza. Si mmenza ma sta fimmina sopravvive pi 2 mesi, poi chista si rende conto chi fici na minchiata picchì si zita cu n’assassinu e subito scappa mi si marita cu un marisciallu. Già na vota vitti 3 figghiole finiri a sta manera, e siccome sugno un uomo d’onore, non ti dicu cu ci cuppa.”

@Non credo che tu avrai problemi con questo. I miei uomini sono dei tali coglioni che quando riescono a trovare una donna, o se la litigano tra di loro per chi se la deve pigliare finchè questa non scappa o s’ammazza. In casi eccezionali, la femmina sopravvive per ben due mesi, tutti gridano al miracolo e solo poi si accorge della cazzata che ha fatto a fidanzarsi con un assassino e subito scappa a sposarsi qualche caporegime…Ho già visto 3 figliole fare questa fine qui e siccome sono un signore, non ti dico per colpa di chi. @

(2- «You don't desire the wives of our associates» I don't think you'll have a problem with that, my men are such assholes that they will never find a good woman. And when they do, they either fight with each other over who has to date her first or kill her before she can even decide. In some exceptional cases, the girl survives for two months, everyone shouts at the miracle until she realizes how fucked up things are when you’re engaged to a hitman, and finally, she immediately runs off to marry some caporegime…I've already seen 3 girls ending up like this, and since I'm a signore, I won't tell you because of who.)

“3 - «Non si fanno comparati con gli sbirri». Mancu t’ha ‘vvicinari a na caserma, mancu o’ vigile urbano. Capisti?”

@Non ti ci devi neanche avvicinare a una caserma, nemmeno a un vigile urbano.Chiaro il concetto?@

(3 -«You don't make friends with cops» I don’t wanna see you get near a police station, not even a traffic cop. That’s off-limits for you.)

“4 - «Non si frequentano né taverne né circoli» Inteso al di fuori dei nosctri.”

(4 - «No hanging out in bars or clubs» outside of our owns, of course.)

“5 - «Si ha il dovere in qualsiasi momento di essere disponibile a Passione. Anche se c'è la moglie che sta per partorire». Immagino che non vali si si tu chi stai patturennu.”

@Immagino non valga se sei tu quella che sta per partorire.@

(5 - «Always be available to Passione. Even if there is a wife about to give birth» I guess it doesn't apply if you are the one about to give birth.)

Now Risotto begins to run his fingers over your wrist and after gently twisting it, he decides to use your own fingers to keep counting instead of his.

“6 - «Si rispettano in maniera categorica gli appuntamenti». Chista è importanti.Puntualità. Si non si puntuali, ti inchiodo come un crocifissu. Ora u sai picchì Ghiaccio e Melone hannu sempri i manu cupetti.”

@Questa è importante. Puntualità. Se non la rispetti, ti inchiodo come un crocifisso. Ora sai perché Ghiaccio e Melone hanno maniche e guanti che gli coprono i palmi delle mani.@

(6 - «Always be punctual» This one is important. Punctuality. Break this rule and I will nail you like a crucifix. Now you know why Ghiaccio and Melone have sleeves and gloves covering their palms.)

His eyes are locked on yours. While saying this, he passes his thumb over your palm, applying a gentle pressure on your lifeline with his fingernail.

“7 - «Si ci deve portare rispetto alla moglie». Comu ti dissi su tutti baciannichhi. Andiamo avanti…”

@Come ho già detto, qui nessuno ha una donna fissa per ovvi motivi. Ma passiamo oltre…@

(7 - «Always pay respect to the wife» As I said, no one here is married or engaged. But let's move on…)

"8 - «Quando si è chiamati a sapere qualcosa si dovrà dire la verità»

Semu na famigghia.Sangu du to sangu. Si tu soffri, anche noi soffriamo. S’ tu vinci, noi vinciamo con te. Le tue pene e i tuoi fardelli sono anche nostri. Devi fidarti della famigghia. Ha diri sempri a vrtà. Ricorda figghiola, i minchiati ‘ca intra non hannu sulu i jammi cutti,l’hannu direttamenti tagghiati.”

@Siamo una famiglia. Sangue del tuo sangue. Se tu soffri, anche noi soffriamo. Se tu vinci, noi vinciamo con te. Le tue pene e i tuoi fardelli sono anche nostri. Perciò devi fidarti della famiglia.Perciò dovrai sempre dire la verità. Ricorda ragazza mia, le bugie qui dentro non hanno solo le game corte, ce le hanno direttamente mozzate.@

(8 - «Always tell the truth when asked to» We are family. Your flesh and blood. If you suffer, we suffer. If you win, we win with you. Your sorrows and burdens are our sorrows and burdens. That is why you must trust the family. That is why you must always tell the truth. And remember. Lies always catch up to you but I can catch you first, if you know what I mean.)

“9 - «Non ci si può appropriare di soldi che sono di altri e di altre famiglie.»”

(9 - «Never steal money from other families and gangs.»)

“E Dulcis in fundu”

(For last but not least)

“10 - «Niente affiliazione per chi ha un parente stretto nelle varie forze dell'ordine, oppure chi ha tradimenti sentimentali in famiglia, o chi ha un comportamento pessimo e che non tiene ai valori morali»

(10 - «No membership for those who have a close family relative who works for the authorities, or those who have any family issue, or those who do not care about moral values»).

Finished counting, Risotto flees your hand, finally detaching his gaze from yours and reaches for his espresso.

“Ma soprattutto, ricoddittillu. Omertà. La legge del silenzio. Te lo dico in italiano così ti trasi bene in testa. Nessuna cooperazione con gli sbirri o con qualsiasi forma di autorità. Nun ti vogghiu a vidiri mancu parari ca a guardia forestale. Tu i testimoni li devi vedere sulu n’ta chiesa. Ti vogghiu comu u panellaro i Sciascia. Capisti, figghiola?”

@Ma soprattutto, ricordati bene.Omertà. La legge del silenzio. Nessuna cooperazione con gli sbirri o con qualsiasi forma di autorità. Non voglio vederti parlare nemmeno alla guardia forestale. Tu i testimoni li devi vedere solo in chiesa. Ti voglio come il panellaro di Sciascia. Capito, figghiola?@

(But above all, remember: Omertà. The code of silence. No cooperation with the police or any form of authority. I don't want to see you interacting with any kind of cops, not even a forest ranger. This is our Code of silence and code of honor. No cooperation with authorities, the government, or outsiders is allowed, especially during criminal investigations. This also means willfully ignoring and generally avoiding interference with illegal activities of ANY kind. Capisti, figghiola?)

Seeing you extremely tense, he brings the cup to his lips and then rests it back on the table to give you a warm smile complete with cheek dimples.

“Rilassati amica mia, Mancu u’ Canaru vidìa sti occhi i cani bastunatu. Oh! e fattilla na’ risata. Chi oggi campi e domani non si sapi.”

@...Rilassati amica mia…Manco er Canaro vedeva certi occhioni da cucciolo spaventato. Oh! E fattelo un sorriso! Oggi si vive e domani chi lo sa!@

Risotto finally savors his coffee gesturing you to do the same with your cappuccino.

“Prima che mu scoddu, i carusi si stannu scerriannu pi cui avi a ghiessiri u to maesctru. Volevo sapere con chi ti eri trovata meglio per ora”

@Prima che mi dimentichi, i ragazzi ti stanno litigando per chi vuole farti da mentore, volevo sapere con chi ti eri trovata meglio per ora.@

(Before I forget, the guys are fighting over who wants to mentor you, I wanted to know who you've gotten along best with so far.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prosciutto e Pesci (Calma)

Rocca Busambra, Sicily, 3 weeks before

6:04 a.m

"Non sarà una buona cosa..."

(I got a bad feeling about this...)

This is what Pesci was able to whisper to you before getting into the car, careful not to be heard by Prosciutto. The three of you stayed in Palermo for a couple of days just to double-check on some mysterious witnesses which, according to the rumors were still alive. Luckily for you, those rumors happened to be fake.

However, the day you have to take the plane to get back to Naples, Prosciutto decides to wake you and Pesci up at 5 a.m and to take both of you on a 'surprise field trip'. The silence in the car is almost suffocating during the whole journey, you could feel the icy eyes of Prosciutto spying on you from the rearview mirror. It's impossible to understand what he's plotting but you're definitely feeling uneasy.

After an hour, the car stops.

"Dove siamo?"

(Where are we?)

You whisper to Pesci in a worried tone while opening the car door, finding yourself in what looks like a small comune (municipality) lost in the countryside. It's 6 a.m and the sun begins to rise.

"Roccamena."

The boy whispers back without trying to sound confident but he's also worried about Prosciutto's intentions. He never liked going easy on newbies and that field trip was probably organized to test you. Before you can ask Pesci for more details a cold hand traps your cheeks, grabbing them firmly and forcing you to abruptly twist your head towards an unlit Marlboro. Prosciutto has his ice blue eyes locked into yours as he's holding a thin cigarette between his even thinner lips.

“Ascoltami bene ragazzina, perché non mi ripeterò. Prova a distrarti o a interrompermi e ti faccio perdere la sensibilità a quel tuo bel faccino, capisti, picciriddazza?Seguitemi in fila senza fiatare. Muti”

(Listen to me little girl, cause I'm not going to repeat myself. Try to distract yourself or interrupt me and that pretty little face of yours will lose its sensitivity, capisti, picciriddazza? Follow me in a straight line. Quietly.)

The smell of nicotine tickles your nose. You hear a slight click. His fingers are holding your chin as if to make sure you have understood his orders and before letting you go he brings the flame of his lighter closer between your lips and the cigarette. The flame is incredibly hot and he seems to be trying to burn you on purpose. The smoke begins to rise.

"Datevi na mossa."

(Let's move.)

He finally says, casually stroking your bottom lip with his thumb as he frees your face from his grasp and blows the rest of the smoke up in the air.

Prosciutto leads you and Pesci to a very steep, shrub-studded path. At first glance, it really looks like you're going on a hike until you reach a rocky terrain in the mountains full of ravines and sinkholes. The man seems to know these paths like the back of his hand and is smoothly moving between the various ledges. On the contrary, you and Pesci are having a hard time following him because of the little light and the inaccessibility of the area. It is obvious that the path was not made for tourists.

After what seems like an eternity, Prosciutto stops climbing and lits his third cigarette of the morning while silently waiting for you. You feel like you've been climbing that mountain for hours and you're almost breathless. However, when raising your head to look at the view your eyes are irradiated by an even more breathtaking sight. The sunrise is caressing the countryside and Trapani, the city nearby, with its crimson rays.

The colors and lights make you think of a romantic movie and for a sudden moment, Prosciutto seems to go along with this vision of yours as you sense his presence getting closer behind you. The smell of Marlboro stings your nose while the fire of his cigarette casually warms up your cheek.

Strangely enough, or rather, suspiciously, Pesci stands well away from the two of you and doesn't seem to be enjoying the view.

Prosciutto whispers to your ear.

"Guarda un po' qua, carusa. Tu sai cos'è questa? Qui è dove gli uomini incontrano il Creatore"

(Check this out, carusa. Do you know what this is? This is where men meet the Creator.)

"Trapani?"

You answer naively. A light chuckle leaves Prosciutto's mouth. You've never heard him laugh before. His chuckle is by no means loud, on the contrary, it is soft and slightly sharp. From its tone, it is obvious that he's laughing at you and not with you. For some reason, his laughter sends shivers down your spine and when the man puts his hand on your shoulder you can't help but wince.

"hahaha...Voi donne avete sempre la testa per aria."

(hahaha...You women always have your head in the clouds.)

The man's hand slides dangerously from your shoulder to the back of your head. You're standing there, paralyzed. You feel his fingers casually graze your carotid artery. Your pupils absently follow a cigarette butt rolling through some rocks and then being stepped on by a Prada size 42 shoe.

"...Ma ci penso io a rimettertela apposto, picciriddazza, non hai che da chiederlo."

(Do not worry babe, Let me help you with that, picciriddazza.)

Before your brain can even formulate a meaningful response, Prosciutto grabs you by the roots of your hair and with a sudden tug throws your head towards a deep and dark crevasse nearby, forcing you to bend over the ledge without being able to look up. You're close. Too close to the edge. So close you can actually feel the ground almost missing under your feet.

"FRA' ASPETTA!"

(FRA, WAIT!)

shouts Pesci behind you but is immediately and mercilessly shushed by Prosciutto.

"PESCI!SI NON TI STAI FERMO TI FAZZU TORNARE CU CASCIABANCU. ZITTO E BUONO."

(PESCI! IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP YOU'LL COME BACK TO NAPOLI IN A HEARSE. SHUT UP AND BEHAVE.)

Meanwhile, your eyes are fixed in that dark crevasse, the harder you try, the more you can't see. Finally, some red rays of the sun reach even the depths of that terrifying ravine. After he's done arguing with Pesci, Prosciutto slips his head between your collarbone and your jaw, sinking his face into your neck as he enjoys the dreadful feeling that's crushing your body. The man languidly inspires your scent and then whispers:

"Guarda attentamente bambina mia, guarda com'è fatto il paradiso dei traditori."

(Look carefully my little girl, see what a traitor's paradise looks like.)

Those crimson luminescences manage to make you discern the shape of an object stuck between the rocks, which looks like a holed soccer ball. As you look more closely and with the help of the light you realize that what looked like a deflated ball is nothing more than the swollen and mangled head of a young boy whose eyes have been gouged out.

What you have in front of you is not a simple ravine, but rather a foiba. The sun quickly turns that hollow into a bloodbath. At the bottom of the sinkhole, there are at least twenty mutilated and butchered corpses, some of them are women and little kids.

You close your eyes shut and start trembling.

"Guardali attentamente carusa, Voglio che li guardi negli occhi...chi ce ne ha.Osservali bene. Quelli non sono segni di decomposizione, a quella femmina l'hanno sventrata a forza di scoparsela...e a quell'uomo gli hanno aperto la gabbia toracica mentre era ancora cosciente...ci sta un'intera famiglia qui sotto..."

(I want you to look them in the eye,carusa... who still has any. Look at them carefully. You see that little girl over there? Those aren't signs of decomposition, they fucked her so hard she ended being gutted... and that man over there had his rib cage broken... there's a whole family down there...)

Why does Prosciutto want to show you such a cruel display? Who were these people? Why were they thrown in that sinkhole? What did they do to deserve it?

Suddenly, you feel like you're gasping for air and your legs start to weaken, and before you know it, Prosciutto is holding you tight with both arms to prevent you from falling into the pit. Something is running up your throat, a mixture of puke and saliva. The vomit comes out of your mouth as naturally as a breath. It is at that moment that Prosciutto, disgusted, decides to pull your head upwards and force you to step back from the ledge.

"Che minchia stai facendo, picciriddazza?!Perchè le donne sono così stupide?!MANNAIA LA CULONNA, non mi cascare disotto!!"

(What the fuck are you doing, picciriddazza? Why are women always so stupid?! MANNAIA LA CULONNA, are you trying to kill yourself??)

Pesci immediately comes to your rescue and together with Prosciutto, they drag you away from the ledge to make breathe and prevent you from vomiting again. Pesci can't even look you in the eyes, he clearly knew what Prosciutto was going to do to you and he didn't have the guts to stop him, maybe because he also had to suffer the same anguish as a newbie and had internalized this kind of psychological abuse. Deep down you know that in the end, it was all Prosciutto's fault.

"C-Chi sono quelli?"

(W-who are those?)

You mutter as you restart to breathe normally.

"Traditori...Testimoni-"

(Taritors...Witnesses-)

"Ragazzini??"

(Kids??)

You counter, interrupting Pesci and making Prosciutto sigh.

"Allora tu non hai capito una minchia, carusa. Tutti quanti vanno nella foiba. Tutti! I carusi, i picciotti, le fimmine, i vecchi...Tutti. Chista che hai appena visto è una minchia di foiba. Una fossa comune. Il paradiso eterno di chi ha visto troppo o di chi sa troppo. Dove credi sia finita tutta quella gente scomparsa negli anni '40? Cosa Nostra li ha fatti finire tutti a Rocca Busambra."

( You haven't understood a damn thing, carusa. That's a foiba. Everyone: men, women, kids, the old ... Everyone is thrown in the same mass grave. In the same shit hole. That's the eternal paradise of those who have seen too much or those who know too much. Did you really think that all those people in the '40s suddenly disappeared out of thin air? Cosa Nostra killed them all and throw them in Rocca Busambra.)

The man rudely cups your cheeks once more with the same cold hand, forcing you to look at him directly in the eyes. He speaks to you in a very strict Sicilian dialect and with gritted teeth. This is the first time he has ever spoken to you in this way. Before now you have only heard the capo speak in a strict Sicilian.

"St'organizzazioni non vadda a nuddru 'nta facci e tu a sapiri chiddu chi fa n' assassinu."

(We're assassins, act like one or you're gonna end up just like that woman in the sinkhole.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Formaggio and Illuso (Sangue)

Febal Casa factory, Cosenza, a few days later

2:05 a.m.

“...Me chiamavano er ‘sensei’ e manco l’ho visto karate kid!Però so comunque un fenomeno, chicca!Fidate che te insegno un sacco de cose! ”

(...Ya know what they used to call me? They used to call me 'sensei' and I haven't even seen that karate kid bullshit! I AM black belt shit anyway, chicca! Sooo…Trust me and I’ll teach you a lot of fun things!)

Formaggio is really excited to take you on a mission with him for 2 main reasons. 1. He finds you cute and this is one way like another to spend time with you. 2. He always wanted to teach a newbie all his tricks instead of Prosciutto and the boss has finally given him a chance to show off. After picking you up from your own house at an ungodly hour, you drive for three hours and a half from Napoli to Cosenza.

When the two of you get out of the car, you’re coldly welcomed by the tall and slender figure of Illuso, leaning against the shutter of a seeming furniture factory. The man is sheltering himself from an annoying drizzle under the only neon light still on in the whole structure.

“We sempre i in ritardo voi terroni. Ho cominciato già senza di voi”

(Of course you terroni are late. I have already started without you)

“Stai a di’ ‘na calla. Nun sta a fa’ er bavetta,Lulù. Nun semo in ritardo.”

(You’re lying. That’s a filthy lie, Lulu. We aren’t late!)

“Dovevate essere qui alle 2 e sono le 2 e 05.”

(You were supposed to be here at two o'clock and it's now 2:05.)

“Chicca tienimi, tienimi prima che cinquini il teschio di sto polentone figlio de na’ mignotta. DAJE! Apriamo sta cazzo de saracinesca.”

(Chicca, hold me, hold me before I slap this polentone son of a bitch. DAJE! Let’s open the fucking shutter!)

Formaggio is still hyped up to be your teacher and immediately squats down, signaling Illuso to move away from the only light in the radius of kilometers, so he can manually lift the huge shutter of the factory with extreme difficulty and absolutely no success.

“GNNNN!!! …HHH….È TRANQUA 'N CULO! PERCHE’ NON S’ARZA?”

(UURGH…WHY IS IT SO HEAV-GNN!! WHY WON’T YOU OPEEEENNN?)

Illuso smirks and winks at you before unleashing a remote control from his left pocket as if it were some kind of sword and finally presses the button to open the shutter.

“SEEEEE!DAJE!DAJEEE!!DA-Ma allora dillo che sei un figlio de una mignotta e me voi cojonà.”

(YES!!!YES, I’M DOING IT I’M-Why did you do this to me Lulu. Why do you take pleasure in shattering my dreams? Why do you get hard by watching me fail.)

At this point, Formaggio does not even have the strength to get angry anymore. As soon as he realizes the stunt put in place by Illuso, he immediately drops his arms with a huge sigh. His tone is full of disappointment rather than despise like he doesn’t even feel like trying anymore. Illuso quickly shoves Formaggio inside the building by pushing him on the back, sparing you the same mean treatment for some uknown reason.

“Va’ da via ai pe!PIRLA!”

"Get out of my way, PIRLA!”

Unlike Formaggio, Illuso can't stand newbies, and He even less can he stand having to babysit them. So when he found out he had to keep an eye on you that night, he wasn't exactly over the moon about it. But being Illuso himself a depraved narcissist à la 'American Psycho' he's equally excited to show you his interrogation skills.

“Bela gnocca, dimmi che sei di stomaco forte che domani sui giornali vedrai scritto ‘Lupara Bianca’.”

(Hey pretty babe, please tell me you have a strong heart because tomorrow you’ll read 'Lupara Bianca' on the front page of every newspaper.)

As Illuso leads you into this giant warehouse, you notice that the structure has been divided by a huge plastic curtain. Before you can ask about what is it hiding, Formaggio grabs your shoulders from behind and gently shakes them before trapping you with his left arm. This man is thrilled again, almost psyched. Apparently, Illuso’s being a buzz killer didn’t alter his mood.

"Sei pronta, pischella mia?! SE SCHIZZAMO COR COCCOLINO, CHICCA! La tua prima 'interrogazione!"

(Are you ready pischella?! I'M SO PUMPED! Are you ready for your first inquisition, babe?!)

"'Interrogatorio. Si dice interrogatorio,Pirla. Non 'interrogazione'. Cos'è?sei rimasto all'elementari? "

(This is no 'inquisition'. It's an interrogation at best. There's nothing 'Holy' here, you dumbfuck.)

“Illuso so’ qui da 5 minuti e già ho voglia di sparecchiarti la faccia. La Lupara Bianca la facciamo con quelle code di ratto che chiami codini.”

(Illuso, I’m here for five minutes and I already want to smack you back from the cave you came from. Stop being a pain in the ass, or you will also be part of this Lupara Bianca.).

The name ‘Lupara Bianca’ starts sounding familiar. Hearing those words for the second time, you remember that Risotto has already mentioned them once during a casual conversation, but you are still not really sure about their meaning. Formaggio keeps trying to hype you up as you’re immersed in your memories, consequentially interrupting your stream of thoughts.

“Ricorda chicca, Nessuna pietà per li cellerini. LI CELLERINI SO' TUTTI 'NFAMI! Sai come si dice dalle mie parti?! CELERINO FIGLIO DI PUTTANAA~!"

(Remember babe, cellerini are pigs. Pigs do not deserve your mercy. PIGS ONLY DESERVE THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE! You know what we say in Rome? CELERINO FIGLIO DI PUTTANAA~!)

By pressing a button on the same remote shown before, Illuso opens the giant curtains revealing an extremely crude scene. Tied to a chair with thick adhesive tape, there’s a man in a police uniform surrounded by large patches of blood in which are floating undefined whitish pieces. The man has his head down and both hands glued to the arms of the chair, as soon as he feels the curtain move, he immediately regains his consciousness by slowly raising his head. He looks rather young, but you can’t really tell because his face is too swollen and covered in purple livids, looking almost deformed. Plus, his eyes and mouth have been shut with the same tape used to tie his body to the chair.

There's something strange though, despite the bruises on his face, no cuts are shown on his cheeks or forehead, yet the blood is all over the floor and his uniform is untouched. As your eyes trail over his figure, you finally notice a red stream coming from his hands, which at a first glance looked like they were resting on the armrests, but now you clearly see his palms were nailed to the wood of the chair facing the ceiling. Lowering your gaze even more, you see an iron bar lying a few feet away from him. That’s how Illuso has spent these last few hours.

“Sveglia,sveglia carambino…”

(Rise and shine my little officer…)

Formaggio, who still has one hand around your shoulders, makes you approach the poor victim as if he were some amusement park attraction. Only now, you can notice that the objects stuck in the depths of his palms are not nails but screws. Your gaze suddenly swifts to a long wooden table not far away from the iron bar, where an electric drill lies along with other various carpentry tools. This is a furniture factory after all.

“Buongiorno, principessa! ma Lulù, sto qua nun è un cellerino! è ‘n pizzardone! Aò! c’avemo tra le mani un vigile urbano. Vediamo un po’ come t’antitoli, principessa”

(Buongiorno principessa! Lulu! This is not a cellerino! Aò!This is a pizzardone!A traffic cop! The spy's a traffic cop! What's your name, principessa?)

Suddenly you remember everything about the ‘Lupara Bianca’ and you know exactly what Formaggio and Illuso are going to do. Risotto once specifically told about how the Corleonesi family invented this infamous technique of corpse disposal during the 40s and the newspapers at the time started calling it ‘Lupara Bianca’. The victim is usually kidnapped, interrogated, and tortured. The body is cut into pieces and then fed to the pigs or crows. This cruel and refined death leaves no evidence, and it’s reserved for spies, snitches, and traitors, i.e. those who do not deserve to die by a shot. Over the years, the corpses of the victims have been buried in the countryside, melted in acid, or tossed in the mixture of concrete used to build pillars in large construction sites controlled by Cosa Nostra.

The images of the mutilated corpses Prosciutto showed you in Roccamena suddenly resurface in your mind.

Formaggio lets go of you after softly stroking your cheek. The man takes a good look at the ‘attraction’ and decides it’s time to have some fun. While Illuso is busy looking for something in his jacket, Formaggio jokingly sits on the man’s lap, spreading his legs, and confiscates the wallet from the right pocket of the cop's uniform. Formaggio opens it and before taking out the identity card, he pockets 500,000 lire without saying a word, then grabs the document he was looking for and begins to scan the policeman's face with a sadistic grin.

“Giacomo Caputo. S’antitola Caputo. Aò Lulù Co' la faccia che s’aritrova sto pizzardone, pija più pizze lui che’n forno er sabato sera!Gli hai fatto un favore!”

(Name's Caputo. Giacomo Caputo. And I thought you started without us…He was already ugly by default! You actually fixed him!)

He says, reading the info on the ID card and quickly checking the differences between the picture and reality. After satisfying his curiosity, Formaggio tosses the ID card on the ground, gives the wallet to Illuso, and finally stands up to reach for something on the table nearby.

Your eyes are glued to Formaggio’s figure, you’re curious to know what he’s going to do now, but before you can even ask, Illuso places a hand on your shoulder to recall your attention.

“Tel chi el terùn.Un ghisa ficcanaso e pure terùn! We b��la tusa, prendi un po’ la macchinetta per le foto e fai un paio di scatti sto sbirro coglione.”

(Caputo's a southerner name. Un terùn! A nosey cop who's also a terùn! Hey baby, fetch! Take some pictures of this fucking pig.)

After checking something in the man’s wallet, the mirror man hands you over a disposable kodak and pushes you closer to the poor man, so you can take a good look at his injuries. The hand on your shoulder starts digging its nails into your skin, it feels like a languid claw.

“Cos’è quel faccino? scatta e zumma bene sulle mani.”

(What’s that sad look on your face? Take a good shot of his hands.)

As you bring the camera lens closer to your gaze and move the zoom wheel with your index, you notice the repugnant state of the officer's hands. The fingers had been flayed with a sharp unidentified object and the skin has been peeled off in thin and tiny strings, just like a clementine. Lowering your eyes to escape that revolting show, your pupils are set on the blood pool once again. This is when you finally realize that those little white bits floating you’ve noticed before are his fingernails that Illuso ripped off.

Before you can shoot again, you are startled by the sudden music coming from a stereo.

*ANIMA MIAAAAA..TORNA A CASA TUAAAA…*

"Sta robaccia nun se po' sentire."

(I can’t listen to this garbage.)

"Guarda che i ‘Cugini di Campagna’ hanno riempito gli stadi di tutta Italia!"

(GARBAGE?‘I Cugini di Campagna’ have filled the stadiums all over Italy!)

"Pure la Roma ma non ti costringo a sentire la roba che gridano allo stadio. E poi sono delle checche.”

(The Roma soccer team too, but I won't force you to listen to the stuff they're shouting at the stadium. Plus, they're a bunch of queers.)

Turning around, you see Formaggio pulling a cassette from a very old stereo, holding it between his index finger and thumb as if it were a piece of trash. Shortly after, he replaces the cassette with a second one. ‘Il gatto e la volpe’ starts playing as you see him nonchalantly dropping what looks like a minuscule pebble into a glass of water.

*Quanta fretta ma dove corri, dove vai?Se ci ascolti per un momento, capirai..*

Meanwhile, Illuso has stepped behind the policeman to violently tear away the tape from his mouth, purposely scratching his left cheek in doing so. Formaggio also gets closer and both men start cheerfully singing along…

“Lui è il gatto!” Formaggio points at Illuso.

“...ed io la volpe!” and then points back to himself before crouching next to the policeman and bringing the glass to his trembling lips.

*Siamo in società!*

“Apri la bocca per piacere.”

(Open your mouth please.)

*Di noi… ti puoi fidar…*

The policeman’s sweating and crying under all that constrictive tape. However, he tries to desist by keeping his mouth shut, and Formaggio slaps him in the face with his free hand.

“T’HO PURE CHIESTO PER PIACERE MANNAGGIADDIO!APRI LA BOCCA CELERINO DEMMERDA!! O PREFERISCI CHE TI FICCHI L’INTERO BICCHIERE SU PER IL CULO?!APRI.”

(I SAID ‘PLEASE OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH’, CELERINO!!! IT’S AN ORDER, NOT A SUGGESTION!! OPEN WIDE OR I’M GONNA SHOVE THIS ENTIRE GLASS UP YOUR ASS! OPEN WIDE, BITCH!)

“Sto qua è abituato a ciapà altre cose in bocca…”

(This guy is used to taking other things in his mouth…)

“Ingoia cellerino.ingoia. bravo. Proprio come mammina tua.”

(Swallow, cellerino. Swallow. Good.Just like your mother.)

After forcing the poor cop to drink the entire contents of the glass, Formaggio stands up satisfied to make way for Illuso. The two men exchange a knowing look and Formaggio goes to lean on the table to 'relieve' his friend. Illuso laughs and before properly standing up, he nonchalantly picks up a hammer from the table.

“Tu lo sai perchè ti trovi qui, vero terrone? è perchè non sei capace di farti i cazzi tuoi che sei qua, lo sai questo, pirletta?Dove avete portato tutta la bamba eh? dove?”

(You know why you're here, don't you? You’re here ‘cause can't mind your own fucking business, that’s why you're here, you know that, pirletta? Where have you taken all the coke, uh? Where?)

Illuso asks after crouching closer to the cop using the hammer's peen to raise his chin.

“V-V–”

“Mh? Non ti sento…”

(Mh? I can’t hear you…)

Illuso brings his ear closer to the man’s mouth.

“..V-Vafammocc a mammeta.”

“...”

Illuso looks baffled, confused. He slowly turns to Formaggio, looking extremely astonished without saying a word, just nodding.

After a brief exchange of gazes, Formaggio folds his arms and begins to nod as well, putting his hand under his chin, as if the poor man in the chair had actually said something quite right.

Then the two gangsters both start looking in your direction. Specifically, Illuso is staring straight into your soul and has begun to snicker without ever taking his eyes off your face. You’ve never seen him like this. The red in his irises is the same color as blood. His pupils are stripping you. Not just off your clothes. You feel his eyes under your skin and this makes you involuntary shiver, but you can’t look away. Your eyes are locked with his. It’s almost as if he’s trying to use your gaze as a mirror. The chuckle stops.

With absolutely no forewarning, he violently slams the hammer against the policeman's wrist. Illuso is still looking at you. There’s lust in his eyes, a lust that you had never seen before.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAH”

The excruciating screams of the policeman are covered by Formaggio's thunderous laughter and Bennato's song. After enjoying your traumatized reaction, Illuso begins to violently hammer the man's hand, shouting the worst things at him.

“BRUTTO TERRONE FROCIO PEZZO DI MERDA IO TI STRAPPO LA PELLE E CI FACCIO UN PORCODIO DI CAPPOTTO! E SAI COSA FACCIO A QUELLA TROIA DI TUA MOGLIE E A QUELLA CAGNA DI TUA FIGLIA? IO QUELLA MALEDETTA PUTTANA ME LA SCOPO… E POI MI SCOPO ANCHE TUA FIGLIA, LA APRO IN DUE. HAI CAPITO?! ANZI!”

(I'M GONNA SKIN YOU ALIVE LIKE A FUCKING RABBIT! AND YOU KNOW WHAT I'LL DO TO YOUR FUCKING BITCH-WIFE? I'M GOING TO FUCK THAT GODDAMN BITCH AND THEN I'M GOING TO KILL YOUR DAUGHTER TOO, I'M GONNA RIP HER IN TWO, WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?! ACTUALLY…)

Illuso pauses to angrily toss the hammer on the floor. Formaggio sighs and rolls his eyes as the mirror man takes a nail gun from the table and points it to the poor man, who’s still screaming.

“...LA SFONDO E LA RIEMPO DI COLTELLATE E COSTRINGO LA MADRE A GUARDARLA MENTRE GODE COME UNA CAGNA IN CALORE. E QUESTO QUELLO CHE VUOI?! E’ QUESTO?!”

(...ACTUALLY, I’M GOING TO FUCK YOUR DAUGHTER REALLY HARD AND FORCE HER MOTHER TO WATCH HER ENJOY IT LIKE A FUCKING BITCH IN HEAT. YOU WANT THIS!? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!)

“NO, NON LO E’!!”

(NO IT’S NOT!!)

Iluso lowers the gun and turns back to you with an expression full of hysteria and amusement, gesturing you to come closer. Then he ironically and calmly states:

“...E allora pianta di parlare come un terrone ‘ue ue uagliò’ e dicci dove avete nascosto il carico.”

(...Then stop talking like a fucking bitch and tell us where did you hide the load.)

“Nun è difficile dai, ci vuole solo un minimo di concentrazione. Se ce lo dici, Lulù nun te la tocca la figlia. La moglie? Forse tua moglie du’ botte di reni se le fa dare…sai no, con tutto er tempo che avete impiegato nelle indagini su Passione, si sarà sgrillettata parecchio in tua assenza.”

(It's not that hard, you just need to focus. If you tell us, Lulu is not going to lay a finger on your daughter. Your wife? Maybe your wife would enjoy getting laid...You know, with all that time you’ve wasted in your investigation on Passione, she would definitely love to get some dick.)

"Zitto Formaggio. Ricominciamo da capo…Dove avete nascosto il carico di Passione?"

("Shut Up Formaggio. Let's start over...Where did you hide Passione’s load of cocaine?)

Silence. You take another picture.

" n-non..non lo so. Le informazioni erano riservate, solo il maresciallo-"

(I-I..I don't know. The information was classified, only the Maresciallo-)

“Ma quale Maresciallo!È stato lui a farci la soffiata!"

(The Maresciallo he says! The Maresciallo was the one who tipped us off!)

"Mo questo ha rotto il cazzo pure a me. Fagli una foto, chicca…Fagli la mappa de li’ denti che mo’ glieli mischio."

(Now I'm also pissed. Take a good picture of his teeth,chicca… After I finished with you, not even your mother will recognize you.)

Illuso approaches you once again, and this time he places the nail gun in your free hand and says:

“Fermo Formaggio, ora tocca a lei. E tu, basta foto. Ora voglio che tieni questa in mano. Prosciutto ti ha insegnato a sparare, no? Non mi deludere, pulcino. Abbiamo appena iniziato.”

(Hold it Formaggio, now it's her turn. You took enough pictures. I want you to take this. Prosciutto taught you how to use a gun, didn't he? Don't let me down, babe. We just started…)

With no chance to counter, Illuso snatches the camera from your other hand and forces you to stick both hands on the nail gun while he directs it straight to the man’s chest.

"Sparagli."

(Shoot him.)

He coldly whispers into your ear. Formaggio is watching with a huge Cheshire grin.

“Daje chicca.”

(You can do it, chicca)

The policeman is still blindfolded, so he probably thinks you’re holding some kind of gun as he starts crying again. You hesitate. Illuso firmly grabs you by the shoulders.

"SPARA!"

(SHOOT HIM!)

You are saved by the sound of an intercom. Someone is ringing at the front door. All three of you look at each other, extremely bewildered and pale. Illuso and Formaggio are covered in cold sweat.

"…"

"Ma chi è?"

(Who could it be?)

“...”

“Sicuramente non è la pula. Non sanno manco com’è fatto un citofono. Vabbè. Pausa”

(It's definitely not the police. What butt-for-brains cop would ring the bell? Whatever. Let’s take a break.)

Formaggio sighs and pulls a huge gun out of his pants pocket you haven’t noticed before. Meanwhile, Illuso is back to his calm and Stoic mood, not pressuring you anymore. The man has let go of you and is nonchalantly trying to look at the pictures you’ve taken, forgetting there’s no such option on a disposable kodak.

“Vado io, ho capito. E tu smettila di frignare, pizzardone!”

(I’ll check. And you better stop crying, pizzardone!)

You watch Formaggio threatening the policeman one more time before starting to run through the entire warehouse just to reach the intercom.

The crying stops.

Still facing the door, you hear a wet sound as if someone had just plunged a shoe into a large muddy puddle. Your left ear is grazed by something warm and wet, like a raindrop. You look up, it would be strange if there was a hole in the roof, you would have noticed it sooner.

When you reach your earlobe to see what touched you, your fingers are suddenly bloodstained. Shivering, your head slowly turns to the cop just to witness an even more gruesome show.

A circular saw blade has just sliced through the inside of the policeman's guts, sawing him in two.

The nail gun slips from your hands and falls noisily to the ground. Illuso, who was still looking at the photos with a grotesque grin, finally raises his head. Being the one closest to the stereo, he hadn't noticed anything until now. When He turns around, his face goes blank. You see him catching a quick breath.

“...FORMAGGIO BRUTTO DEFICENTE CRETINO FROCIO INCULAMORTI BASTARDO!! TI SEI ALLONTANATO. TI SEI ALLONTANATO BRUTTO COGLIONE!!GUARDA COS’HAI COMBINATO!!”

(...FORMAGGIO, YOU STUPID BASTARD, FUCKING IDIOTIC, ASS-LICKING FAGGOT! YOU WALKED TOO FAR AWAY. YOU WALKED TOO FAR, YOU FUCKING MORON! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!)

“AO’ Nun me scassa che non ce sto a capì un cazzo qui-OH. AHO’!M’ero scordato di avergli fatto bere quella roba- MA STO CAPANNONE è GIGANTE!MANNAGGIA AR CORE DE CRISTO ME SO ALLONTANATO.E ADESSO?”

(Stop bothering me, How does this thing work - OH. AHO'! I forgot that I made him drink that shit - FUCK! THIS WAREHOUSE IS HUGE! MANNAGGIA AR CORE DE CRISTO, I'M TOO FAR AWAY. NOW WHAT?)

Formaggio turns around and stops messing with the intercom, and immediately starts running towards you, also risking tumbling on the floor in his haste, but it's too late. The damage is done. Breathless, Formaggio observes the dead body from top to bottom and then looks at Illuso questioningly, then he looks at you.

“Chicca, te se fatta male??”

(Chicca, are you hurt?)

“MA Lascia perdere sta troia!Non abbiamo più testimoni! Prendi un barile che sciogliamo questo stronzo!”

(FORGET this bitch! We don't have any more witnesses! Go get a barrel, we'll melt this fucker!)

The two men start loudly arguing as they keep threatening each other while keeping their guard up, waiting for the first one to strike.

���E DOVE LO TROVO UN BARILE DE LISCIVIA A QUEST ORA??S’era detto di farlo a pezzi a Nocera e di scioglierlo lì!!”

(AND WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND A BARREL OF ACID AT THIS UNGODLY HOUR? We were told to cut and melt the body up in Nocera!)

“Nocera inferiore?”

(Nocera Inferiore?)

Formaggio counters ironically:

“No. Nocera obliqua-CERTO CHE è NOCERA INFERIORE, QUANTE ALTRE NOCERA CONOSCI?"

(No. Nocera obliqua-OF COURSE IT’S NOCERA INFERIORE. HOW MANY ‘NOCERA’ DO YOU KNOW?)

“ESISTE PURE NOCERA SUPERIORE CHE PERÒ STA LATERALE!!NON LO SO COME CAZZO CHIAMATE LE CITTA’ VOI TERRONI DI MERDA!”

(NOCERA SUPERIORE ALSO EXISTS, WHICH, HOWEVER, IT’S LOCATED ON THE EAST SIDE AND NOT ON THE NORTH! FUCK IT! I DON’T CARE!)

Formaggio slams both hands on his own face, he’s exasperated.

“IO LO SAPEVO CHE QUALCOSA QUI NON ANDAVA! QUA FAMO COME A PRAGA: ANNA SE SBATTE E REMO SE PAGA! Io mo’ il capo non lo chiamo.”

(I KNEW SOMETHING WOULD HAVE GONE WRONG HERE! I'm not calling the boss now.)

“Va a dà via el cu!!IL DANNO L’HAI FATTO TU! TU CHIAMI!”

(Are you serious?! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO FUCKED UP! YOU CALL!)

“MO TE PARTO DE CAPOCCIA E TE APRO COME 'NA SDRAIO!! Chicca luce dei miei occhi, chiamalo tu! Lulù! Tu aiutami ad arzarlo!”

(I'M GOING TO RIP YOU OPEN LIKE THIS MOTHERFUCKER RIGHT HERE! Chicca, Light of my life, you call the boss! Lulu! Help me pick this asshole up!)

The two men finally decide that raising their hands on each other is not the best solution and they immediately get to work. without a knife at hand, Illuso cuts the tape that kept the policeman tied up to the chair using the only sharp thing he finds in his pockets, in this case, the keys of the Alfa Romeo.

In the meantime, Formaggio very carefully and gradually removes the circular saw from the man's guts making you witness a choreography of red springs.

“Bella la fontana de Trevi, chicca?HAHAHAHA”

(Have you ever seen the Trevi Fountain before, chicca? Now you do. HAHAHAHA)

"Dai,Dai, Dai, Si sta facendo mattina!! Tu prendilo per i piedi. Io lo prendo il busto. Cerchiamo di non farlo staccare. Al mio tre lo tiriamo su!Uno…Due...”

(Hurry up Formaggio!! It’s getting late! You hold his legs. I'll hold his torso. Let’s try not to tear him apart. On the count of three, we'll lift him up. Let's do this! One…Two..."

The two gangsters look intensely into each other's eyes.

“TRE!”

(THREE)

At Illuso’s three the body has something similar to an internal collapse and the stomach with all its organs unnervingly spills out in a truculent puddle at the feet of the two. Absolutely repulsed and gagging, the two men roll their eyes to the ceiling to avoid throwing up. Only what looks like a stretch of the stomach is left to keep the corpse 'tied up', which now just looks like a macabre jump rope.

“Non ho il coraggio di guardare. Cazzo”

(Fuck. I can’t look.)

Formaggio slightly lowers his gaze daringly and immediately bursts out laughing.

“HAHAHAHAH-Un filo, Cerrimasto un filo. Un filo de budello. SEMBRA ER TELEFONO!Pronto Centodicioddoo?”

(HAHHAHAHAH-A strand! It’s hanging on a strand. A strand of gut. IT’S LIKE A TELEPHONE! Hello? 118?)

Suddenly your phone rings. Everyone goes silent. Illuso looks at Formaggio directly in the eye and with a defeated expression lets the corpse fall down.

“è LUI! è IL CAPO!!! SIAMO FREGATI!!FREGATI”

(IT’S HIM! THE BOSS!!! WE’RE FUCKED!!!FUCKED!)

“LULU MANNAGGIA LA MADONNA, VIENI A DARMI UNA MANO!!!!STO A FA' 'N BAMBINELLO!!”

(LULU YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT, COME GIVE ME A HAND!!!!I’M SUFFERING HERE!!!)

You cautiously answer the phone

“Pronto?No siamo ancora al magazzino…Ah. Eri tu a suonare Ghiaccio?....Perchè?.”

(Hello? No, we're still at the warehouse...Ah. It was you at the intercom, Ghiaccio?... Why?)

“Ghiaccio??"

(Ghiaccio??)

"fiufff …stavo per diventà camorrista. Che vuole?"

(Phew… I was about to ask Camorra for protection. What he wants?)

"Sì. Sì. Adesso glielo di-va bene ti metto in viva voce"

(Yes. Yes… Alright, now I'm gonna put you on speakerphone.)

"DIO STRABICO BASTARDO E SPÒRCO MA SIETE SORDI DIO CARTONE?! AVRÒ SUONATO 27 VOLTE FIÒL DE NA PUTTA- "

(ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF TOU FUCKING TWATS??! I’VE RINGED THE INTERCOM 27 TIMES, YOU MOTHERFU-)

“Sicuro il veneto ci aiuta.”

(I’m sure he’s gonna help us.)

Counters Illuso, snatching the phone off you to close the call. Formaggio runs back to the table to switch off the stereo:

*Di noi ti puoi fida-*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ghiaccio and Melone (Freddo)

Salerno-Reggio Calabria highway, the day after

18:36 (06:36 p.m)

The Salerno–Reggio Calabria is a 432-km-long Italian highway in the south of Italy. Running between the towns of Fisciano, in the Province of Salerno, and Villa San Giovanni, this highway is known to be one of the worst ever built. With only two lanes and no emergency lane, being stuck in traffic is part of the ‘fun’.

After the little accident that happened with Illuso and Formaggio, you've been picked up by Ghiaccio and Melone while the other men stayed in Cosenza to eliminate all the evidence left in the warehouse.

Now You know why Melone has his own motorcycle. He just can’t shut up. But the worst part of the journey is definitely Ghiaccio.

“Le già mezòra che xò en colonna, MEZORA! Brutto quel triplo brusegato de Cristo, Madonna Quadrata…”

(We’ve been stuck in the traffic for Thirty. Fucking.Minutes. THIRTY FUCKING MINUTES! Madonna Quadrata.)

"Guarda qua, cittina!"

(Hey cittina, Look here!)

Meanwhile, Melone, who's sitting in the back, has glued himself to the front seat, resting his arms on your shoulders, almost hugging you from behind. The man is showing you some erotic pictures on his uncanny laptop by placing it on your thighs with a creepy grin on his face. Melone keeps the computer steady on your legs with one hand, taking advantage of this convenient position to caress your inner thigh.

Meanwhile, Ghiaccio lets out a noisy and deep sigh as He's gradually resting his head on the wheel with a resigned frown. When you shift your gaze to the blue-haired driver, Melone quickly brings your chin back to the pictures with his gloved hand. His head resting on your shoulder.

“Boia deh bimba, ti devi concentrare! Non distrarti,cittina! La posizione è importantissima!”

(C’mon baby girl, you gotta focus! focus,cittina! The sex position is fundamental!)

He says excitedly forcing you to look at them, and it's in that precise moment that you notice that those pictures have what looks like an 'amateur touch' as He was the one who personally took them…

"...Ti stavo dicendo he una vorta ancora gliò usaho du parenti, ubriahe fradice! ma sai come si dice: stappaha la bottiglia, stappi anche la madre e la figlia…'he bella rimpatriata però. Questo ovviamente è successo prima ‘he usassi lo stand e ti giuro ce l’avevo barzo-”

(...What was I saying? Oh right. One time I’ve used babyface on a mother and her daughter…they were drunk of course. You should have seen the mother’s face as the daughter was begging for more…Such a lovely family dinner~...Anyway. This happened before I used my stand, and I was so- )

“Brutto-FIOL DE NA TRO-IA!!!”

(FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!!FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING ‘TARD!!!)

Luckily, Ghiaccio spares you the rest of Melone's story, interrupting your conversation by smashing the honk with a punch.

“AAAAAARGH!!!! MI ME DOMANDO, mi me domando diocàn com'è che fa la gente a voler sorpassare e poi stringere, diocàn, 'n curva co ‘n camion, brusegata quea troia de tua madre che t'ha fatto diocàn, assieme a chel super-fiol de na PUTTANA che ta dà la patente! Che ti morissi ti e dio canaja la madonna…”

(AAAAAARGH!!!! I WONDER, I wonder why, diocàn, why is it that people want to overtake and then squeeze you with their fucking truck in the fucking curve?? I wonder why their bitch of a mother didn't drown them at birth, diocàn, together with the super-son of a bitch who gave them a license! I hope you all die in a fucking car crash, dio canaja la madonna…)

Melone stops bothering you and as he takes back his uncanny laptop, he decides to annoy Ghiaccio instead. The lavender man is a little displeased that you’re not showing much appreciation for his pictures, but he understands that maybe you want to wait until the two of you are finally alone.

“Oioi, guarda ‘he ci sono tutti i finestrini abbassati,ti sentono sihuro."

(Oioi, they can hear you, you know? All their windows are down)

“Spero che m'abbiano sentito dio can! cha 'l torni ndreu! Spero che l'abbia la spacciataggine,diocàn,de tornare ndreu cha!Ghe esplodo 15-20 pugni in faccia diocàn, fiol de na merda ti e dio cane il signore diocàn. Ma varda la gente dio bestia cha gha inferocirme, DIO PORCO!! Tosi, non ci arriveremo mai a Napoli.”

(I fucking hope they heard me. I fucking hope they have the audacity to turn back here, diocàn! I'll fucking punch them in the face 15, AT LEAST 20 times! Those fucking son of a bitch, diocàn... All these fucking retards are making me insane, DIO PORCO!Tosi, we'll never get to Napoli.)

“Si dice tu vehi Napoli e po tu crepi, io un lo so se gliè vero ma ni dubbio sposterei la base da n'artra parte. Che poi che cazzo metti l'ova nelle lasagne, testa a pinolo!! Cucinano di merda e NON PARLIAMO DELLA BRACELLA CHE LI’ MAREMMA DIHAOLA MI INCAZZO! Parlando di bracell te l'ho ma detto della vorta che si dette foho a una parte de parco della maremma? Gli aveho 12 anni…”

(People say: ‘see Naples and die’, I don't know if it's true but I would move the headquarters elsewhere just to feel safe. And why the fuck do people in Naples put eggs in the lasagna? They cook like shit and DON'T MAKE ME START TALKING ABOUT THEIR BARBECUES, MAREMMA DIHAOLA! I GET PISSED EVERY TIME THEY OVERCOOK A STEAK! Speaking of barbecue and steaks, have I ever told you about the time they set fire to a part of the Maremma National Park? I was 12 years old…)

Melone insists, but Ghiaccio keeps ignoring him, focusing on his own rant.

“Dio càn. Tosa! Dov’è la prossima uscita??”

(Dio càn, tosa! Where's the next exit?)

You're caught off guard, Ghiaccio usually tries not to bother the newbies, because he'd be pissed off more than anything. In a hurry, you grab your map and check out the route.

“Allora...Prosegui a destra alla biforcazione e segui le indicazioni per Salerno…poi arriviamo al casello e finalmente siamo sulla A45”

(Let's see…Keep right at the fork, follow signs for Salerno, and merge onto E45.)

“Ma ‘he brava sta’bimba ‘he sa riconoscere le strade.”

(Such an excellent co-driver! You're a good girl...)

“Melone,guarda che si impara a leggere già dalla seconda elementare-DIO-Ci MANCAVA SOLO LA VOLANTE COI CARAMBA CHE VÒLE PASSARE. MALEDETTO IL DOPPIO DIO!”

(Melone, stop hyping her up for doing the bare minim-FUCK!!OF COURSE! THE ONLY THING MISSING WAS THE FUCKING POLICE CAR STUCK IN THE FUCKING TRAFFIC WITH US! I’M GONNA SKIN THOSE FUCKING PIGS! MALEDETTO IL DOPPIO DIO!)

Screams Ghiaccio noticing the red and blue lights behind you.

“Parlando poi de carabinieri ma sehondo te, peicchè si 'hiama vol-ante la macchina? Miha vola? E un mi dire volano sui posto che li vedo più a fassi le pippe 'n duomo che a fa i loro mestiere, na volta stavamo a Grosseto e un ci stava una cittina guardia ‘he mi volea arrestare picchè l’era briaco e ‘disturbavo la quiete pubblica’ e m’ha messo le manette. Già gli’era barzotto, poi ‘huando m’ha spinto dentro la volante un ti diho ‘he ho pensato di spingere io i dove-."

(Speaking of pigs, did you know that Maremma is full of wild pigs? You should come and see them, cittina! They’re everywhere! Once I was in Grosseto and there was this police girl who wanted to arrest me because I was a drunk and I was ‘disturbing the public peace'. The moment she handcuffed me and pushed me into the car, I knew she was a feisty one. Once she locked the doors, I waited for her to reach an isolated spot near the Maremma…guess who was wearing the handcuffs, naked, while getting railed on a trunk with-)

Ghiaccio suddenly decided he has put up with Melone for long enough and rightfully begins to violently punch the dashboard and steering wheel...15?at least 20 times.

“TASIIIIII! TASI DIOCANCAROOOOOOOOOO!!!!! TASI DIOBOIA CHE te dò uno sciafon che te impituro su pal muro, to mare putana che te copo diocàn!!”

(SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE FUUUUCK UUUUP!!!! SHUT IT DIOBOIA! I'll slap you so hard that your blood will be used to paint the walls, I’ll fucking kill you diocàn!!)

Pause.

“NON VOGLIO PIU’ SENTIRE UN FIATO IN STA MACCHINA DIOBOIA!!!SOPRATUTTO DA CHI HA LASCIATO LE ‘C’ DENTRO AL CULO DI QUEL BRUSEGATO DE CRISTO DIO MERDA!!! C’AVEMO UN MORTO NEL BAGAGLIAIO E SEMO BLOCCATI NELLA SALERNO-REGGIO CALABRIA-”

(I DON'T WANT TO HEAR A SINGLE WORD IN THIS CAR AGAIN!!! ESPECIALLY FROM SOMEONE WHO HAS SUCH A HEAVY ACCENT THAT HE DOESN'T EVEN SPEAK PROPER ITALIAN!!! WE'VE GOT A DEAD BODY IN THE TRUNK AND WE'RE STUCK IN THE SALERNO-REGGIO CALABRIA-)

“E gliò da pisciare.”

(And I gotta pee.)

“EGLIA’ DA PISCIA-COSA!??NO NO NO, TU ORA TE LA TIENI. LA TIENI FINO A NOCERA BRUTTO MONA TESTA DI CAZZO!!”

(AND HE TO P-WHAT?! NO NO NO! HOLD IT. NOW YOU HOLD IT UNTIL WE GET TO NOCERA, YOU STUPID DICKHEAD!!)

“Ferma sto trabiccolo e un tu voi i fiume giallo n macchina, accosta nini.”

(Stop the car if you don't want to experience the high water outside of Venezia. Pull over, ninì.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Risotto listens to your stories in silence with one hand covering his lips and nodding from time to time. From his expression, you can't tell if he's really disappointed by his peers or rather exasperated by their behavior. You are sure, however, that he was already aware of every little detail that you mentioned.

“Minchia, fannu unu chiu schifu i l’autru.Capemmu va, ti insignu jò"

@Minchia. Uno fa più schifo dell’altro. Ho già capito. ti insegno io.@

(Minchia. One worse than the other.I got it. I'll be your mentor.)

[moodys-art]

la squadra esecuzioni - gestures of love : aesthetic and ideas.

risotto : lightly grazing his fingertips through the roots of your hair. warmth and an overwhelming feeling of peace in early mornings when he hugs you before starting the day. electricity sometimes when you both touch hands. a feeling of safety no matter where you are, knowing that even when he's not here, he'll never let anyone hurt and manipulate you.

prosciutto : late night talks, more chill and affectionate ones than he usually gives to his colleagues. forehead touches, and the sweet smell of strawberry pancakes when you wake up on a foggy morning. taking you on long car rides in his vintage convertible car, treating you to a day of self-care to the countryside. going sightseeing, sharing a delicious meal under beautiful autumn trees, and peaceful naps against his chest.

formaggio : drinking boba tea on a sunny afternoon in a park, rambling and gossiping about his team. fingers sticky from eating fruits all evening, perched up in a tree, on the highest branch that gives you access to the inside of risotto's office. fits of giggles when you try to knock on his window without getting noticed, formaggio stealing you a kiss in the process.

illuso : kissing under neon lights at night. combing your hair delicately, creating an intricate replica of his own braids. showing you photos he keeps carefully locked away, of loved ones he doesn't get to see anymore and of things that matter to him.

pesci : sharing soup under a cozy blanket, safe from the rain pouring outdoors. playing hide and seek in the hideout, scaring prosciutto to death when one of you accidentally stumble upon him while looking for a place to hide. baking pastries on sundays, going to the beach to taste them and sunbathe a bit.

melone : designing each other's outfits before going dancing to the club. bringing each other up each time before you both go out. silly jokes under the sheets, causing you to laugh so hard that you'll need to sit up to get some air. softly taking your face in both of his hands, admiring your beauty and bravery, the fact that you're still living and facing life, as difficult as it can be nowadays. picking up flowers from you, and handing them under your nose to let you smell the lavender and rose scent it gives off. stars in his eyes when he sees you blush from all his gifts.

ghiaccio : holding hands while leaving the cinema, the strange feeling of coming back to the real world, after having watched an excellent fantastic or sci-fi movie. sitting close to one another. your head lying in his lap while he awkwardly tries do caress your hair, looking away with a slight blush on his cheeks. eating a plate of good spaghettis with some basilic and a glass of lemonade. while in winter, trying to catch all the snowflakes to show their different shapes to ghiaccio, and he recreates them all in the exact same way with his stand, even gifting you a giant snowflake that will be able to last for a few hours. kisses under the full moon in the safety of your room, hugs in the privacy of an alley while coming back from a mission.

[silvernyxchariot]

My favorite song to slow dance to with my romantic F/O is “All About Us” by He is We ft. Owl City.

F/O Villain Imagines:

You’ve come home from a tiring day at work. You were on your feet all day, dealing with unreasonable requests or complaints, and want nothing more than to be with the person you love. No matter how nefarious they seem. When you enter your shared home, they’re on the couch, watching TV or reading a book. Who are we kidding? They’re cleaning and maintaining their endless line of weapons or maybe contacting their dealers and subordinates. They hear you exhale loudly. When they look over, the cold and callous glint in their eyes disappears. You’re falling into their embrace, and they catch you easily like it’s a routine. You want to be held, so they hold you tight. They sink down further into the cushions until you’re on top of them and they even wrap their legs around you. The two of you are left like that for what feels like hours, just until you’re ready to get back on your feet.

You raise your head and look at them. There’s something you’d like to request from your F/O, “It’s stupid,” you say after you’ve told them. But they tell you that nothing you request from them is “stupid.” What was it this time? Did you want something, but couldn’t afford it? They’ll steal it for you. Was someone giving you a hard time? They’ll “invite them over for dinner.” But it’s none of the above. You mention that you’ve never had a proper slow dance. You’d like to do something to soothe yourself. It didn’t matter what the occasion was, a school dance, someone’s wedding, or a birthday party, you’ve never had that cute moment for yourself. They chuckle. Just a little bit. They put on a playlist of slow songs that you like. When the music starts, they hold out one of your hands and wrap the other around you. They’re awkward and the dance is more like swaying. After getting into the hang of it, they start to twirl you around every so often.

The playlist ends, but the two of you are still there in the middle of the living room. It goes back to slow swaying, but now you have it. That memory of being close to someone who would give into your smallest, sweetest request, and that moment where no one else matters.

[shadowywerewolf-main]

Imagine Prosciutto wearing a pair of focus mitts and helping you strengthen your jabs.

He keeps egging you on to perform better.

Is that the best you can do?

You aren't focused enough.

GO HARD WITH IT DAMMIT!

YEAH PERFECT!

Training you to perform your best is something he takes very seriously.

[joestarwhore]

Proscuitto Headcanons (18+)

Proscuitto’s mansion was spacious, none the less. After he brought you to his home, your insolence was maddening.

So locking you in a spare room for a few days to deprive you of contact would do just the trick to straighten you out. You needed to learn that he was simply all you needed.

When Proscuitto’s coworkers would come to the estate, Pros would attach you to his hip. You weren’t to talk, look, or to speak to any of them.

So imagine how he felt when Melone started ogling your breasts, slowly getting closer to you. Blind rage took over just before Melone could grip your ass, Pros beating the ever loving shit out of him right in front on you & the other men.

After Melone had learned his lesson, Proscuitto demanded that everyone leave his house, which no one argued against. After the door closed behind them, all that was heard was Proscuittos mid paced breathing. He was pissed.

It wasn’t long until he shoved you over the counter & ram his member into you. Your whimpers and moans only making him go faster, harder, calling you his ‘perfect little slut’ & ‘a fucking whore for attention’.

After you came all over him, you felt him finish deep inside you, kneading your breasts as he slowly pumped himself in & out.

Pros picked you up & led you to the bedroom, laying you both on your assigned sides.

“They can ogle you all they want. You just make damn well sure that you remember who owns you, Cara.”

“Or i’ll make you remember.”

[pseudo-possum]

A couple miscellaneous N SFW headcanons for everyone's favorite ham under the cut.

Rough and passionate, definitely bites. Look at him. See that little glimpse of teeth? That man is gonna bite you. Not too hard, pretty gently actually. It's like a love language

He'll have his hands all over you. Will touch every inch of your body. If you're insecure, kiss your insecurities goodbye because there's no way they'll survive his relentless worship. He does body worship in a really dominant way. Like, pinning you down and making sure you know without a doubt that you're perfect.

Man has a thing for licking his own cum off of his partner. Don't matter where he nutted, he's licking you there. Pussy? Ass? Tits? Mouth? He likes it when you swallow, but he likes it even more when you share.

Has a daddy kink but if that's not your thing he'll understand. Call him Signore and he'll probably bite you or something. He loves that.

He'll probably pull you into a dressing room for a quickie... He'll always clean you up after.

Not as degrading as you'd think. But still can be degrading.

His caring side comes out in his aftercare. There's a lot of praise. Probably a backrub, you're definitely sore, so he'll help you to the bath (after licking up his cum)

These are all the ones I can think of off the top of my head. There might be more at some point.

[icollectyoursins]

Prosciutto x Fem!Reader NSFW

Pseudo_Possum said: "May I ever so politely request Prosciutto with a fem reader, with like... Cuddling that leads to smut? Just some soft pros... NSFW please. Oh and guess who got a tumblr? Me, Pseudo_Possum... "

I’m not saying that I love how much Prosciutto requests I got, but I am certainly not complaining!

Someone was getting a little too tired during movie night for Prosciutto’s liking, so he does what he does best. He wakes you up a little.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Cuddling, teasing, dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, hickies, sucking on nipples, blowjob, squirting. 

Word Count: 1469

     Prosciutto flopped onto the couch, stretching his legs out while wrapping his arm around the back of the couch. With the other hand, he grabbed the popcorn bowl from you, setting it aside so you could join him. You easily snuggled up into him, sitting between his spread legs, humming pleasantly when his arm was wrapped around you. A kiss was placed on the top of your head before he passed the bowl back to you, settling in for a nice relaxing movie night. 

     The movie was well... it had an acquired taste? Um, slow to start? 

     Okay, it was boring. Very boring. It was supposed to be a thriller-horror thing about sharks or something. Both of you didn’t seem to be enjoying it and the popcorn was pretty much done within the first few minutes, leaving nothing but butter smeared across the bottom. He loudly licked the grease off his fingers, rubbing your back with the free hand, which only lulled you to sleep more.

     “Getting tired, piccola?” His low voice vibrated through his chest.

     “Mhmm,” you hummed in reply, nuzzling into him more. He was so warm, so comfortable. It would be so easy to just... sleep. Prosciutto laughed, running his fingers through your hair.

     “Poor baby, so tired. Did you have a long day? Oh, povera piccola. What am I going to do with you?” Prosciutto leaned forward, bringing you up with him. You groaned in protest. “Don’t be like that.” Little pecks were littered across your cheeks before he whispered in your ear, low and gravelly. “What can I do to wake you up, hm?” 

     You rolled your eyes, tucking your head under his chin, making yourself comfortable again. You felt the rumble from the hum he let out throughout your body. 

     “(Y/N).” His hand drifted from your cheek, down your arm, dancing over your side and then slid between your thighs. You held back a small moan as you held them open just a little to give him more access to your clothed sex, blood already pumping fast enough to wake you up. “(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N). La mia bella troietta. Do you like that?” He pressed harder, making you jump slightly. “Take off your clothes, mia cara. Don’t keep me waiting.”

     Carefully, you got up, taking off your shirt first, shivering when Prosciutto sighed as he admired your form. He ran his fingers over your ribs delicately before leaning forward to gently litter your shoulder with kisses while you took off your bra. Almost instantly, his hand moved to your breast, massaging into it, teasing your nipple. You gasped when he latched onto your neck, suckling on your soft skin. When he was satisfied with one mark, he moved onto the next one, rolling your nipple between his index finger and his thumb all while you wriggled with pleasure.

     “Prosciuto~” You moaned, leaning into him. He pulled away, leaning back with his arms resting on the back and arm of the couch, intently watching your every move. You stood up, sliding your bottoms off quickly then sitting in his lap again. Immediately, you pressed your lips into his, running your hands over his chest, slowly undoing the buttons.

     He chuckles into the kiss, then swallows your moan when you feel his fingers press into your already wet folds, easily sliding up and down your slick. You keen, rocking your hips in time. Again, he returns his mouth to your neck, teeth grazing over your sensitive spot before chomping down, eliciting another cry from you.

     Prosciutto smiled, listening to the beautiful sounds filling the room. Deviously, he began sliding his thumb up and down your clit. Your head fell back, holding onto his shoulders as you gave yourself over to him. 

     “Oh~ That feels so good. Aaah! Don’t stop.” You cried out shamelessly. 

     “I don’t plan on it, bella.” His breath tickled your skin. “Do you like this, cara? Do you like how my fingers feel? I know exactly what to do, don’t I? Do you like not being able to think straight?” You could only moan and cry at his words, too turned on to form coherent thoughts. “You’re so good, (Y/N). So good.”

      Your lack of response wasn’t a surprise to him. He took advantage of your distractedness and pressed two fingers into you, immediately curling into your G-spot. The more he curled them, the more sounds fell from your mouth. He felt so heavenly, pushing into every part that made you squirm. His tongue flicked your nipple, then you felt his lips wrap around it. The dual stimulation was almost too much. Your release was fast approaching.

     His movements were magical, completely turning off your ability to think like he said. Soon, his thumb was replaced by the base of his palm as he picked up the speed. His fingers fucked in and out of you easily, making you shake. God, you were so close. You would have told him so if you could say anything, all you could do was scream with pleasure. Tears stung the corners of your eyes. Please, please, please, let me cum, you thought.

     Prosciutto watched you with hungry eyes. He knew you were close. Of course, he did. There was something so beautiful about your face before you came, he couldn’t help himself from enjoying the show a little. Oh, but how cruel it would be to just pull out his fingers? Only one way to find out.

     Your disapproval when he stopped was all too evident. A high sound, almost a squeal rang throughout his ears. You leaned into him desperately, kissing him over and over while whimpering various no’s.

     “What?” He said, nonchalantly.

     “What do you mean, what?” You replied.

     “Sorry, did you want more?” 

     “Yess!~”

     He laughed. “Take care of this first and I’ll think about it.” He gestured to the bulge in his pants. You quickly undid his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down with some help. Then, you eagerly wrapped your hand around his cock, flicking your tongue over the tip. You would do anything to get that orgasm. Soon, you had worked up to a rhythm of sucking on his head while pumping the rest of him, relishing every grunt that came out of his mouth.

     Prosciutto’s hand tangled into your hair, pushing you down little by little until you had to take away your hand to keep going. He jerked his hips up into your warm, tight throat. Drool dripped from the corner of your lips as your eyes rolled back into your head. You loved when he took control, as pushy as he could be. The hand tightened, signalling he was close. Good. The faster he was done, the faster he could get to making you cum.

     Before you could prepare yourself, he pushed you down completely, hilting in your mouth and spilling his release into your throat. He held you there until he was done, briefly ignoring your choking. Then, you were able to sit up, scrambling for a breath. A soft hand cupped your cheek, pulling you close to him while you calmed down a bit. 

     Without another word, his hand slipped between your fold again, fingers taking their place inside you. He quickly curled into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again until your vision when blank and you cried out your orgasm, gushing onto his hand as well as anything else underneath you. The two of you panted, relaxing just enough to catch the tail end of the movie, watching the credits scroll by. 

     “I didn’t know he was in this,” you said, recognizing a name.

     “You were asleep for that part,” Prosciutto laughed, pulling a blanket over your body while pulling you closer to him. 

     You sighed happily. “Am I free to sleep now?”

     “Yes, you can sleep now.” The two of you chuckled before settling into comfortable positions, letting your post-orgasm bliss settle over you while the next movie started.

--------

Piccola = baby girl

povera piccola = poor little thing

La mia bella troietta. = my pretty little slut

Mia cara = my dear, my darling, dearie, etc.

Bella = pretty/beautiful