#prosciutto x reader not sfw

[wri0thesley]

disciplinarian - prosciutto x reader (3k)

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

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

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

It’s your own fault. 

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

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

“Tesoro? I’m home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your voice cracks.

“I-I’m sorry--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prosciutto’s bedroom. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hand rests lightly on the curve of your ass. 

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

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

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

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

“One!” You say. “Th-thank you!”

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

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

“Thank you, carissimo--?”

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

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

So you don’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“. . . I . . .’m sorry--”

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

“I’m not. . .”

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

“Prosciutto . . .”

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

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

“I’ll even help you along.”

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

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

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

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

You are suddenly aware of every part of your body. 

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

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

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

“I-- I burnt dinner--”

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

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

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

“B-but . . . the window--”

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

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

[jellyluchi]

Rosa's Delightful Disaster

A/N: Concept is not my own, the idea of the transformation chocolate is a prompt from a server!

Pairing: Prosciutto x reader Genre: NSFW. Warnings: Dubious consent, daddy kink, possessive behavior, scent kink, markings, breeding kink, claiming kink, lactation kink, squirting, cat hybrid character, reader is called girl Summary: You decide get a box of chocolates for your husband as an extremely last minute Valentine's gift, not realizing the consequences to come.

Includes: Dubcon (?) markings, breeding kink, claiming kink, lactation kink, squirting, daddy kink, cat hybrid character, animalistic behavior, reader is called girl, 

You should have known it would come to this the minute you realized it was too late to find any open shops. As you walked down the almost empty streets with the night slowly maturing into a late dark, you thought of going back home and simply making your husband some homemade chocolate from the baking supplies in your cupboards.

It should have been that way… yet you remember spotting the pretty pink lighting of one shop, the only one open so late. You thought it was your only chance, forgetting the previous plan completely, you stare at the neon pink sign reading “Rosa’s Delights.” 

With an inviting interior decorated beautifully, you thought how lucky you must be to find this shop nearly at the dead of night. Dim lights make it somewhat difficult to see the products inside but you were able to spot a few boxes of what seemed like chocolate. 

“May I help you?” A sudden, rather deep voice greeted you from behind and you nearly got a heart attack from it. 

You turned to find a beautiful woman with long pink hair and shimmer green eyes with a hat covering most of her head. Have you seen her before somewhere?...

“Oh yes, I was wondering, are these chocolates on display?” 

The woman chuckles and you look on confusedly. 

“Why yes, they’re quite special. Are you looking to treat someone for a special occasion? Then I’d say they’re perfect.” 

You smiled politely, looking back at the display and being met with five unique boxes. The chocolate held inside was also displayed next to them, looking mouth watering from just the designs. You wondered how rich they must taste. 

“Perfect, I’ll take this one please.” You pointed to a white box with one red gem, the most expensive looking one, practically made for your husband. 

“Of course, right this way.” The heavily cloaked woman led you to the counter and it almost felt as though she wasn’t walking, rather floating on the floor from one place to another. 

She rang you up wrapping the box skilfully before you made your way out of the place with a pep in your step. How exciting you thought it would be to see your husband’s face when he receives his gift.  

Now you almost wished you’d have not gone through with it. Almost. 

Walking into your home, you find your enthusiastic husband greeting you with a kiss, twirling you in his arms before you settle together in the living room. 

“Where did you go off to, tesoro mio?” Prosciutto asks, nestling you closely on the couch. You let him know your intention of getting him a special gift for Valentine’s which surprises him mildly, as he’d checked the time you left your shared home. At the time, he was almost against the affair altogether but had you not convinced him you wouldn’t get the chance to treat him like this. 

“Getting you a treat, of course. What kind of wife would I be if I couldn’t even get my dear husband something for Valentine’s?” 

The words are pleasing to Prosciutto, playing into the type of dynamic he loves to maintain between you two. He chuckles, his hand caressing over your sides affectionately. You think perhaps the special day isn’t completely ruined. With Prosciutto having made you a beautiful meal before your trip and these gorgeous pieces of chocolate you got, it would surely end well. 

“Then show me.” Despite his warm smile and sweet demeanor, there’s a demand to Prosciutto’s tone that affects you, a type of intrinsic authority that coerces you into obedience without having to try. Gulping with nervousness and excitement, you take out the box you bought less than an hour ago for your beloved with much pride. As you undo the complicated wrapping, the red gem shines from the lighting, catching your husband’s eye. 

“Isn’t it beautiful? I thought it would only be fitting for… a man such as yourself.” Batting your eyelashes on purpose, you try to hand him the box but Prosciutto’s hand makes no move to receive it.

“Open it for me,” he whispers, still having you against his chest with his fingers pressing gently to your bare skin, heat radiating in waves from the tips. Prosciutto’s deep blues fixate on your own.  

“Of course,” you pipe up, not second guessing his words and falling into step of following his natural authority. Holding the box gingerly, you look at one of the circular pieces, intricate lines of sweet caramel drizzled over the top. 

Typically you would never buy such sweet treats for a man of such bitter tastes, yet as a last minute gift it seems like the perfect save for having forgotten. Picking it up, you extend the piece of chocolate to him not even doubting that he would open his mouth for you. And as expected Prosciutto bites the sweet without hesitation, his sensual gaze falling over your figure while your fingertips kiss the soft flesh of his lips. 

Just as you were about to retrieve your hand, Prosciutto grips your wrist keeping it in place to eat the rest of the chocolate and takes your fingers in his mouth with it, his tongue smoothing over the residue as he moans at the taste without breaking eye contact for a single second. It brings heat to your cheeks seeing the unwavering lust in his eyes paired with the sound of his deep voice releasing tones of pleasure. 

“Do you like it?” Your voice comes out meeker than you expect, your heart thundering in your chest after the lewd kiss he almost gives to your fingers, now somewhat wet with his saliva. You bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning in unison, still holding Prosciutto’s gaze the best you can. 

It only takes seconds for his eyes to change completely. What was once a glazing of lust over the dark blue, turns into something much deeper than you could fathom. Freezing, Prosciutto lets go of you to clutch at his own body, groaning with pain. Furrowed brows that you are so familiar with turn feral and his being quite literally mutates right in front of you, igniting both fear and uncertainty within your mind. 

Prosciutto’s soft touch turns bruising and you hear what sounds like a hiss and a deep growl as he pins you onto the cushion of the couch much more forcefully than he usually would, almost as though he’s let go of all his self control. 

“Pros? What’s wrong?!” Alarms set off as your husband’s teeth bare at you and you wonder where those canines came from 

As he transforms right before your eyes, you notice his ears change into something cat-like, a yellow tail swinging behind his head in your peripheral vision, and you realize the bruising grip comes from his claws on your skin. He snarls at you wildly, hot breath hitting your skin in waves; his behavior having changed from the sweet, loving man you once knew to someone completely untamed. 

Prosciutto doesn’t answer your question, bringing you closer to his body to shove his flaring nostrils at your collarbones and neck. Finally, you get a whiff of the musk emanating directly from his body, something you wouldn’t have taken note of otherwise only to realize it somehow makes you feel more aroused. With all your senses filled to the brim with his very being, you can’t help but feel overwhelmed from this turn of events. 

“Prosciutto what’s going on, what happened to you?” You try to get a good look at him, lifting his face but his grip keeps your in place and he refuses to take any of your questions or bidding, forcing his way into your neck to give you your first bit; despite being such a painful endeavor you couldn’t help moaning from the way his body vibrates against you, heat bursting through his clothes. 

“Mine,” Prosciutto mumbles into your flesh, his scratchy tongue licking against your skin before more bites marr the area near your collarbone. “All mine.” 

Being distracted with Prosciutto’s appearance you didn’t realize the way your bodies were splayed over the couch in a compromising position until you felt his knees spreading your legs apart. 

“Wait, Prosciutto!” Yet he stops you from protesting with a biting kiss, holding you by the waist in a grip so tight you are sure it will leave a mark. Prosciutto’s tongue is invasive and leaves no time before meeting your own, tasting of the chocolate he ate just minutes ago. 

Whatever strange aphrodisiac transformation concoction was in there seemed to affect you as well, making you moan into his kiss. The sensation forces your body in submission, allowing your legs to spread easily and for him to grind on your legs, letting you feel the massive erection poking into you. When did he get so aroused?!

Repeating the same words as before, Prosciutto continues his assault of your neck to slowly move down your breasts, each bite eliciting a moan that you try to suppress. With his claws on you this way, there’s no chance of escape and even if you were to run out of the house you know he would give chase; he would stop at nothing to claim you as his. Feeling completely defeated, you accept the situation as something out of your control, letting him do as he pleases with your body. 

Looking down to his head, you notice the marks covering your skin, lovebites that keep you at the edge of frenzy, the heady scent of him nearly driving you crazy. Suddenly, Prosciutto starts sniffing wildly, looking up at you with feline-like eyes only to crawl down your body to your clothed entrance. His claws make quick work of the fabric covering your privates before it’s exposed to him. 

“No, don’t!” You try to say, not sure whether it’s because you cared for the pieces of clothing or because you really wouldn’t like him to proceed. Yet, the thrill of his new features interacting with your body brings more fluid between your legs. The hot sting at the pit of your stomach only gets worse when Prosciutto sniffs right above your entrance before his nostrils flare angrily, the air giving your sex in a pleasurable sensation. 

You squirm in his hold of your thighs, breathing completely uneven from the sudden shame in front of your transformed lover. Had it been any other situation you would have been much more compliant to his actions. Yet, the circumstances cloud your mind from making any decision clearly. 

Gripping you with a new sense of possessiveness, Prosciutto’s tongue makes one languid motion against your entrance, his teeth teasing the sensitive spots on your pelvis, his mouth so warm and wet. 

“Sweet little girl,” he says, tasting you, your moan only adding to his pleasure as he almost grinds his neglected erection on the cushion. His flaring nostrils blow warm air to your peaked bud, the sensation making you shiver with pleasure. 

It’s almost as if smelling your arousal feeds into his behavior as Prosciutto continues to bite the pudgy, soft flesh of your thighs, taking handfuls of into his claws to keep you from moving too much. Writhing from his bites and licks you try to minimize your sounds and fail miserably, your voice and moans echoing through the living room in unisom to his licks. 

Without anything to grip, you clutch at Prosciutto’s hair as he works his tongue into your entrance, the persisting muscle bringing you near climax from the non-stop circular motions, the pleasure descending your mind into a deep subspace before you manage to catch yourself. 

“Daddy not yet, please!” But your words fall on deaf furry ears, as your Daddy is unyielding, greedily drinking every drop of your essence, making you clench around his tongue. With your eyes lolling to the back of your head, you cannot hold yourself back any longer, fluid gushing from you into his mouth, hips bucking to meet his lips for more friction. 

Prosciutto’s tail wiggles in satisfaction, drinking with fervor, the very scent of your essence brings heat between his legs. Grinding on the couch, he decides it’s not enough friction as his privates tighten his pants to an unimaginable degree. You cannot see what is made of his clothing as he lifts himself from between your legs to crawl up your body. 

By now you’ve learned to not question what he does, your head and face completely red with heat and the climax you just experienced moments ago. Noticing his heavy cock now free of its coverings, a fresh wave of arousal washes over your body as you pant in unison to your heartbeat. 

There’s hardly a moment of silence as you hear the purr from deep within your Daddy's throat. Even with the number of markings, lovebites, and fluid covering your body, he is yet unaccomplished from what he wants. 

Giving you a sinister grin that shows off his canines, your Daddy lowers himself to your stomach, the point of his teeth a perfect contrast to the softness of his tongue as he delivers more bites. Kissing up to your neck, his claws hold you flush against his body, nails dangerously close to piercing your skin. 

Hell bent on marking you to his satisfaction, he doesn’t seem to care much whether you’re pleasured or not. “Mine mine mine…” he keeps murmuring, deciding to fixate on your chest, biting freely at every inch of available flesh. You moan when he sucks a particularly sensitive spot near your nipple before flicking the bud with his tongue. 

“It’s time.. I must make you mine for good..” The musk he seems to be releasing combined with the effect of his words fog your mind with a strong haze, heightening your need to be filled and bred to your Daddy’s desire, as if you only exist as his precious fuckdoll. 

“But I’m already yours Daddy! Please take me!” You beg him desperately hoping he would give you some respite with his still hardened cock. 

“Say that again,” he demands. “Tell me who you belong to.”  Without ceasing the stimulation on your chest even for a second, you feel him grind on your unclothed sex desperately, clearly just as eager to be inside you. Moaning helplessly, you try to string words together cohesively, the growing heat within your body making the act of speaking difficult. 

“Yours! I’m yours Daddy!” 

Groaning in unison with your words, your Daddy’s clever tongue swirls over your chest, adding pressure with his fingers. Detecting droplets of milk with his cat-like tongue, he laps at your chest in satisfaction, feeding eagerly and moaning around your nipple from the sweet, warm taste.  

You hardly realize he’s feeding until a squeeze to your chest spurts milk, allowing for your lover to lick while he continues to rut against your sex with more fervor. Unable to take any more of the teasing your mind allows you to only repeat yourself like a broken, lustful record. 

“Please! Please  please please…More please!” 

“Patience, little one!” Your Daddy growls, forcing you to obey while your sex only gets wetter and demands stimulation. You whimper as he feeds aggressively, your legs shaking from his member teasing your sex before he’s finally satisfied. Licking his lips, Prosciutto finally admire his handy work, looking down at you with lidded, slitted blue eyes, he purrs seductively at the various marks adorning your body, accompanied by your defiled state and panting, wide open mouth perfectly swollen from his kisses. 

“Dolce bambina…” your Daddy calls out, caressing your face with a clawed hand. Without much warning, he penetrates you, delighting at the yelp and how you clench around him desperately. 

Yelling out his title, you grip his shoulders for some balance, finally full to the very brim.

“My filthy little broodmare… you will carry Daddy’s children, yes?” 

Closing your eyes, you let your body fall completely at his mercy. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Please!” The thought of belly swelling full of his children makes your climax imminent as he pistons into you with increasing speed, hitting every ridge inside your already sensitive walls. Intertwining your legs around his waist, you let your voice cry out.

 One of his fingers finds its way between your legs, adding to the stimulation muddling your thoughts into mush making the need for release your only wish. It isn’t until you feel his member twitch and spill inside with a growl that you finally feel your legs shake out of control before a loud cry escapes you into your walls squeezing every bit of seed out of him, making sure you’re truly full. 

Panting out of breath, you find yourself going limp under Prosciutto’s body, eyes closed and body numb from all the stimulation. Your legs don’t unlatch from his waist and you notice your lover hasn’t unsheathed himself from you. 

“Pros…” Your voice is weak, restrained from all your cries and feeling quite raspy. As your senses get back to you, you realize Prosciutto is still kissing and lapping at your neck. 

“So good for me,” he praises, making your belly flip from the butterflies. “Made for me.” The possessiveness makes you moan once more. 

“Prosciutto please,” this time you find your will to take him by his head to look into his eyes, still resembling that of a blue eyed feline. “This chocolate is dangerous, are you still not satisfied?” You sound tired to yourself yet Prosciutto seems energetic as he was before your play time. 

Purring, he thrusts a couple times stirring the liquid still inside you as if to keep it locked inside. Chuckling, Prosciutto pinches a nipple playfully, startling you as you gasp. He examines you carefully, looking up your body and then down, seemingly staring intently at the spot where you’re still joined as one. Gripping your hips, Prosciutto thrusts watching his seed pour out with a devilish smirk. 

Biting your lip, you try not to let the stimulation allow your body to arouse itself more. 

“I’m afraid my work here is not quite finished, bambina. Look here…” Trailing his hand around your sides, he sways your attention there. “No marks. That won’t do.” 

“What?” Your pitch rises an octave as the implication of his words settle into your stomach. 

But Prosciutto only bends to kiss you where he intended. “Inch by inch I’ll mark you as mine,” he murmurs, the moment you realize a long Valentine's night waits ahead of you. 

[tubbypeddle]

Prosciutto x nurse!fem!reader (sfw, nsfw)

headcanons are like,,so fun. I'll actually be at work writing these bc i love doing them 🤧

(also, very loosely based off of the matchup trade i did with endless lady (and by very loosely i mean not that loosely))

(authors note: i have not been to a doctors office in literal years, and the last time i spoke to any sort of nurse was when a hospice nurse came to help my grandmother pass, so i apologize for any inaccuracies)

(sfw)

-you met him when he was admitted to your hospital for a head injury. The grown boy accompanying him (Pesci) was wailing and generally causing a big scene out of worry, and he was just coherent enough to watch with awe as you managed to calm Pesci down enough that he could sit in the waiting room without him

-After that, when you came to his side to tend to his equipment, he mustered up the courage to ask you

-"You helped my overgrown manbaby brother...why?"

-You'd laugh and say "He definitely wasn't the worst patient I've ever had. Besides, he's only worried about you, it must be scary to see your big brother hooked up to all these intimidating machines."

-which, yknow...is understandable

-After he's been released from the hospital, he puts in a request to Risotto to have you as the squad's personal medic

-youd be paid handsomely, of course, with whatever the Boss decided you were worth. But Prosciutto knew your worth.

-if you're accepted to work for La Squadra, congratulations! You've got an arrogant man constantly in your infirmary!

-Even if the Boss denies Prosciutto's request, he'd still find his way to your hospital.

-Prosciutto's not even injured most of the time, he just wants to see you.

-his form of courting you is...weird. He critiques tiny things about you; how you've organized your equipment, how you've organized your files (how did he even get into those? those are confidential-), how you talk to your patients

-Honestly, at first, you actually don't even notice that he's romantically interested in you. he just seems so rude and mean and critical

-really though, he's just tryna keep you "up to his standards"

-he's got a bit of an ego, he believes that when he wants someone by his side, he wants them to be as presentable as he is, or even more than he is. (which is the case with you, he already thinks you're pretty perfect, but it's a habit he can't break)

-it really takes a long time before you notice he wants to date you

-when you finally do notice though, you're a little endeared by his odd habits. you learn to brush off his nitpicking, learn about his friends turned family.

-when he introduces you to them, his family, formaggio in particular is shocked. like, what? Prosciutto?? found this super hot nurse chick?? AND managed to impress her enough that she'd date his hot mess ass? like....why?

(nsfw below the cut)

(nsfw)

-he tends to switch between wanting something slow and sensual, real love-making, or something raw and fast and mean, depending on his mood.

-when he's feeling something slower, he'll bed you right, believe it

-candle lit dinner in his apartment, flowers, rose petals on the bed, the whole fucking show

-when he's feeling rough, though...pray for your legs and yo pussy, gurl, bc he's mean.

-he don't care where you two are, he'll fuck you in a bathroom stall, a greenhouse, his fucking car, even in your own fucking nurse's office. he does not care. he's taking you wherever he can

-BOOBS

-he loves BOOBS

-he's giving you specific outfits with very pretty boob windows just so he can stare at you in them. and then fuck you in the cafe restroom, because he just cannot help himself.

-and oral

-this man has an oral fixation, and he wants his mouth on you ALWAYS. giving you nASTY head, or sucking on your tits, or leaving so many hickeys on you that you need to wear concealer even WITH your scrubs.

-biter

[cophene]

iv. boutique.

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pairing : p. fugo x gn reader summary : after finding a pensive, choleric ghost, a sales clerk must do everything in their power to help him cross over. but that becomes unfairly difficult when it's so easy to forget that he's already dead. notes : 20th century au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.8k+

⊱ WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO mean?” you asked, fighting to keep your voice even. “I don’t feel well so I’m not coming to work. Shouldn’t you be glad I’m not getting snot all over the boutique?”

“You don’t sound sick,” Prosciutto was quick to retort. “Our spring sale is today. I’ve been telling you that for the past two months. I need all clerks on the floor. Like hell am I going to let you stay home on our biggest sale of the year.”

“You can’t let me off this one time? I’ve never missed a day before. I’ll make it up next week. I just need to take today off. You can take it out of my paycheck.”

“Look, kid, either you show up or lose your job. If you’re well enough to run your mouth, you’re well enough to sell some pants. Doors open in an hour. You better be here by then.”

Prosciutto hung up before you could argue. It took everything in you not to slam the phone into the receiver.

Narancia and Fugo were both staring at you. “Who was that?” Narancia asked.

“I’m going to have to go into work today or lose my job,” you said. You slunk back to the sink to finish the dishes.

“Oh shoot, work!” Narancia shot to his feet. “I gotta go. I’ll find you two tonight and we’ll make a plan for all of this. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out for anyone that looks like a stabber.” He was out the door before either of you could say goodbye. If you could have even a fraction of his energy, things would be so much easier.

“What do you work as?” Fugo asked.

“I’m a sales clerk at a boutique downtown,” you answered.

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

It wasn’t. Actually, it would be a great job if it weren’t for the uptight, waspish blonde that called himself Prosciutto.

You dried your hands on your pants and then ducked into your bedroom to change. The black shirt and trousers that the boutique made you wear were still in a crumpled heap at the foot of your bed. You quickly changed into them, then hurried back into the kitchen. You frowned at the space, Fugo included. 

“I’ll be back at around eight or so,” you said. “Try to keep yourself occupied until then.”

“You’re leaving me here?” A touch of alarm sharpened his voice. 

“Only until I get back. It’ll be too hard to keep an eye on you at the boutique.”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

“I can’t bring a ghost to work.”

“No one will hear or see me. Just take me with you. You said you wanted me to remember my past life. What happened to ‘going through the motions’?”

“Narancia saw you. We can’t be sure that no one else will. It’d just be easier if you stayed here. I’ll be too distracted at work to keep an eye on you.”

“You can’t just leave me here like a dog,” Fugo snapped. “Let me come with you! What’s so hard about that?” 

“If something happens to you, I’m not gonna be able to help! What if someone—”

“What can they do to me? I’m already dead. They’ll have a hell of a time hauling me off to a prison cell, now won’t they?”

The tether between the two of you tightened and you both paused, feeling it keenly. You stared at Fugo, the lines of his figure softly blurred. You knew there wasn’t much anyone could do even if they saw him, but there was still the irrational fear that something could harm him. In a way, he was your ward and you were responsible for him. It was obvious there was a lot you didn’t know about ghosts. You would feel a lot better if Fugo stayed in your apartment rather than accompany you to work where a myriad of terrible things could happen.

“Just take me with you,” Fugo said, softer this time. “I won’t bother you. I just want my memories back. Wandering around on my own didn’t seem to help much, so maybe going with you will.”

“I’ll have to act like you don’t exist,” you said. “I won’t be able to speak to you.”

Fugo nodded. “That’s fine. It’s bad for both of us if people think you’re crazy.”

You wondered if Fugo’s eyes had looked the same when he was alive. You didn’t know how people could have stood to look at him if his eyes had been just as anxious, just as tentative. They pulled on something, those eyes.

“I’m a ghost, not a child,” Fugo said. “I’ll be fine.”

You looked away from him. “If you say so.”

If you were being technical about it, you shouldn’t have had the job at the boutique to begin with. It had been pure luck that you had managed to walk in just when Prosciutto was missing a clerk. Prior to it, you had had no sales experience, and even now, your customer service skills were lacking at best. What you had going for you was that you were efficient and did what you were told. Perhaps more than anything, Prosciutto appreciated employees that he could boss around.

Things at the boutique weren’t bad, exactly. Although you griped about it at every opportunity, you got paid enough. The hours were alright and the customers were all regulars with familiar requests and tastes. The other clerks weren’t half-bad, either. Friendly, in the way that coworkers inevitably became when you saw them everyday. 

It was really just Prosciutto, you realized. He was too high-strung for you to enjoy anything.

Because you couldn’t, unfortunately, lose your job, you opted to take the trolley instead of the half-hour walk to the boutique. They came along every quarter-hour or so, and would be perfectly convenient modes of transport if it weren’t for the fact that they were perpetually loud, crowded, and rattled like the devil’s bones.

You narrowly missed the trolley and leapt onto the back railing, even though the drivers always gave you hell for it. You’d be off before they noticed, anyhow. Fugo had no problem keeping up with you, and now leaned over the railing, drinking in the town like those tourists that came from bigger cities.

“I’ve never been on a trolley before,” Fugo said, and you started.

“Do you remember that?”

“Yes, actually. I don’t think I ever had to take the trolley before.”

“That either means you were terribly rich or terribly poor.”

Fugo shook his head. “It’s lucky I’m a ghost or I’d be having terrible motion-sickness right now. Do you take the trolley everyday?”

“Only when my jerk boss forces me to.”

“Do you hate him?”

“I respect him as a businessman but I still hate his guts.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Fugo said. He didn’t have time to say anything else before the back door slid open and a woman stepped out, moving directly into the space that Fugo was occupying. You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to yell at her as Fugo stepped hastily out of the way, a deep grimace on the face as he was forced to pass through the woman’s body.

She barely reacted. “Chilly out here,” the woman said, rubbing her arms. You glared at her for the rest of the ride while Fugo pressed himself uncomfortably into the wall of the trolley, practically phasing through it. 

You ducked quietly into the boutique once you got off the trolley, bracing yourself for Prosciutto to start barking at you. You heard him talking to someone in the employee lounge, his words already tinted with annoyance. Sending up a quick prayer of thanks, you slipped behind the counter, Fugo close behind.

“Here, you can take this stool,” you said, dragging it from under the counter and setting it against the back wall for Fugo. “Is it alright if I put my messenger bag on the stool too? No one will sit on you that way.”

“It’s not like I’ll feel it,” he replied.

You left him to his own devices. 

There were still ten minutes before the boutique opened. Prosciutto hated people who sat around on their ass, so you went into the back storage to see if anything needed to be brought out. Someone else was already there.

“Morning, Illuso,” you said. “Need a hand?”

Illuso glanced over his shoulder. “Where were you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“I wasn’t planning on coming here at all, matter of fact.” You reached around him for another box of tailored navy pants and together, you brought them outside.

“Story of my life,” Illuso muttered. “I wanted to take today off but the bastard said he’d fire me if I did.”

“He pulled that baloney on you too?”

Illuso shrugged. The longest running gag in the boutique was that everyone wanted to quit. It was funnier on some days than on others.

Melone and Formaggio were already on the floor, making last-minute adjustments to the mannequins and busts. Although sales clerks were meant to share all work equally around the boutique, you’d found yourself dividing up jobs regardless. Melone and Formaggio dealt with clients, because they were slippery sons-of-bitches who could get anyone to buy anything. Ghiaccio and Pesci were storage, as they had some meticulous system that only they could decipher and could somehow manage to locate even the smallest bowtie, down to the designer, colour, and style. You and Illuso were on the fringes, you supposed. The register, mostly, because you could both crunch numbers and shut down clients who got too cocky. 

All that left was—

“And don’t you forget it, Risotto.” Prosciutto all but growled as he stalked out of his office. Following behind him was the boutique's white-haired assistant manager. The only person who could actually withstand a tongue-lashing from Prosciutto while remaining perfectly stolid. If rumours from Melone were to be believed (and they weren’t) the boutique had belonged to Risotto’s family before they sold it to Prosciutto. Why Risotto would still be working here then was anyone’s guess. At any rate, he mostly kept to himself and didn’t seem to mind the goings-on at the boutique.

“What was that about?” Illuso murmured from the corner of his mouth to Risotto, pretending to fold a pair of trousers as Prosciutto passed by.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before,” Risotto replied evenly. He would react to the news of a stabbing the same way he reacted to someone’s baby shower. Which was to say he wouldn’t react at all. 

“How’s the pot?” Risotto asked you. He’d heard from somewhere along the grapevine that you liked plants and had donated a few clay pots to you without your asking. You’d teasingly asked once if he moulded them himself but the joke hadn’t landed.

“I cracked it by accident,” you said, wincing. “It’s still usable, though.”

“Cracked it? How?”

Your gaze unwittingly went to Fugo still sitting on the stool behind the counter. You could make out your messenger bag through his indistinct form. He had one hand propped on his knee as he looked expectantly out the window, his hair falling into his face. Your chest ached a little at the sight although you didn’t know why.

“I tripped,” you said. Both you and Risotto were content to leave it at that.

A few minutes later, Prosciutto clapped his hands together like he was the leader of some theatre troupe. The waxy, overly-bright smile you’d come to expect on big sales days was already plastered on his face. You thought of Ghiaccio’s comment about his donkey teeth and had to hide a snort. 

 “Alright everyone, doors will open shortly. Please be reminded to be on your best behaviour, and to treat our clients with respect. I don’t call this our biggest sale of the year for nothing.” At this, everyone hid a collective eye roll. 

“As an added incentive, whoever receives the most commission today will also receive an extra ten dollar bonus to line your pockets.”

This was something. You could count on one hand the amount of times Prosciutto had ever offered a bonus. He must really be feeling generous today.

Prosciutto flipped the boutique’s sign to Open. “Let’s dress our clients well today, everyone.”

As most people in the sales business knew, there was a fair amount of mucking-up and condescension involved with selling anything to anyone. Compliments and critiques had to be handed out judiciously, suggestions were always gentle, and you had to be just the right amount of assertive to get them to buy that velvet green waistcoat. Part of your job was pushing people out of their boundaries. The boutique didn’t make its living by selling run-of-the-mill suits in charcoal greys to the laymen. No, it catered to the young, voguish crowd who were eager to wear snappy colours, bold combinations. and risque creations. Sometimes you thought they looked like clowns more than models, but other times something would just work, and something new and exciting would be walking down the street.

Unfortunately, this young, voguish crowd liked to look down their noses at you. Sure you lacked experience, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t tell a badly cut suit jacket or improperly fitted trousers when it came down to it. You always relished the dumbfounded look on their faces when you affirmed that yes, you did know what the difference was between single and double breasted suits, and were they absolutely sure they wanted a lined coat when a double-faced one would do just as well?

You might not have liked your job, but no one could call you incompetent.

You didn’t have anywhere near the amount of clients that Melone and Formaggio did, so you weren’t going to get your hopes up about that bonus. Still, you ran around all day trying to up your commission so Prosciutto wouldn’t get on your ass about it. The sale did its job and you saw nearly the same amount of clientele you would expect in a week. Between consultations and fittings, there was barely any time to speak to Fugo. You tried your best to keep an eye on him, afraid that at any minute, someone would inexplicably be able to see him and demand to know what he was doing.

Fugo did his best to hide his restlessness from you. After the first few hours, he was always somewhere different when you looked for him. Peering at the ledger book at the front counter. Brushing invisible fingers over the sleeves of silk jackets. Curiously observing clients in front of the mirrors. He was trying to remember, you knew. He was waiting for something to snag at his memory and tug a thread loose. You had noticed the cut and quality of his green suit was fine, not something he could have just picked up at a department store. He would have gone to a boutique like this one to have it fitted. But not this specific one, because you felt sure that you would have recognized him. 

Finally, evening darkened the town. Everyone’s shoulders slouched and the plastic smiles were peeled off. Prosciutto actually retreated to his office without any end-of-day scoldings, so that was a relief. You took up your post by the register to sum all of the sales and commissions. It looked like Formaggio would be getting that bonus, the bastard.

“Are you going home after this?” Fugo asked. He had come back to the stool, and stood guarding your messenger bag.

“Yeah. I’m beat.”

It was no use asking him if he’d remembered anything. He would’ve told you if he had. You had no right to feel disappointed. You had no right to be harping on a ghost about their old life when you were still living yours. You had to support Fugo. All there was was to be patient—

A tremor went through your hands. The pen you were holding skittered across the counter and when you tried to grab it, a knifepoint of dizziness twisted through your head.

Fugo was beside you in an instant. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

You screwed your eyes shut and gripped the edge of the counter. You didn’t see how it would help anything if he knew. Indeed, it would only make things worse.

“Just tired,” you muttered.

When you opened your eyes, his hand was just shy of gripping your arm. He pulled it back quickly when you noticed, looking sheepish.

“Do you get headaches a lot?” No. Only since I found you. “As often as anyone else. I’ll pick up some aspirin on our way home.” You paused at that. On our way home. It made it seem like you and Fugo were living together, sharing a home. Fugo didn’t seem fazed by it. You looked back to the ledger book, scribbling out the mistake you’d made. No need to overthink things.

All of a sudden, Fugo straightened. This time, he didn’t stop himself before he tried to grab your sleeve, sending a wave of chills through your arm.

His voice made you stiffen. Alarm. Surprise. 

Recognition.

“Who is that?”

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[anikasenkujo]

Let’s Celebrate Love: a Valentine’s Day Collab

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." —Lao Tzu.

As February not only marks as the month of love (with Valentine’s Day), but also, according to fanon, the birthday month for Jotaro, and as a personal milestone, it’s been a year since I created Anika (her birthday is in December, same as mine) and a year since I selfshipped with Jotaro, I decided to create this Valentine’s Day collab dedicated to only oc x canon shippers and selfshippers for fandoms. Here are the details:

A collab for self-shippers, self-insert x canon and oc x canon shippers, so feel free to be as self-indulgent as you want. <3

I also accept polyamorous relationships and love triangles if you wanted to include them ^_^

As it is a NSFW collab, all genres are allowed, INCLUDING dark content. That being said, minors, ageless blogs, blank blogs, b0ts, and pro-shippers, please DNI with this collab.

Fandoms: Mainly JJBA (since this is predominantly a JJBA OC and selfshipping blog), but I do extend this to all fandoms.

For this, it’s preferable to follow my main and/or nsfw blogs (@jotatetsuken & @musings-and-moans , i am on a mini hiatus there rn, but i may be active here) and if you're especially of the jjba fandom, it's preferable to also follow me on this blog (@/anikasenkujo) for oc x canon and selfshipping content. I’d also appreciate it if you don’t unfollow me after you’ve posted <3

You can club your entry for this collab with other collabs as well provided the other party agrees.

How many times can you enter? As many as you want, but, one oc x canon piece and one selfship piece for the fandoms you will be writing.

For example: I am allowed to only write once for Jotaro x Shyna (selfship) and for Jotaro x Anika (oc x canon), once for Nanami x Shyna (selfship) and once for Nanami x Akane (my JJK OC), etc

If you do have multiple OCs for the same fandom, I shall get back to you on that soon ✨

Writing and drawing in all forms are allowed (drabbles, fics, oneshots, headcanons, moodboards, sketches, linearts, etc). Even playlists as well. <3

No limit to word count, however, please do include a read more if your fic is 500+ words to avoid clogging the dashboard.

Soft Deadline: 28th February, 2023 (Ideal to post on or before Valentine's Day, but if you're unable to post by then, it's not an issue, but just let me know please)

Please do rb this post so that many people would know, and once when you’ve posted for the collab, please tag @/anikasenkujo and use this tag: 🌹celebrate love collab

How to Join:

-> Please send me your requests to join the collab through asks (to @/anikasenkujo) and not private DMs.

-> Please do specify if it’s a write-up (with the type of write up: fic/drabble/hcs), artwork, or even moodboards.

-> Please be especially respectful in your asks.

-> I will also allow changes if necessary (change of character, type of ship, dropping from the collab). So, you can send me an ask or DM me (only if we’re moots) if you want to drop out or change anything in your collab entry.

-> Do specify if it will be a sfw, nsfw, angst or dc, or a combo (it can be nsfw and dc or sfw and angst, etc)

Format: I would like to join the Valentine's Day collab, by writing a nsfw drabble and moodboard for Jotaro Kujo x Anika Sen (Jojo OC)

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

Jotaro Kujo x Anika Sen (Jojo OC) (NSFW Drabble + Moodboard) - @/anikasenkujo LavBruAbba (Lavanda Di Costa (Jojo OC) x Bruno Bucciarati x Leone Abbacchio) - @spicyrequiem (NSFW Oneshot) Jotaro Kujo x Ziza Kahn (Jojo S/I) x Noriaki Kakyoin (Polyship) - @tangytiramisu (SFW art) Jotaro x Madison (Jojo OC) x Kakyoin (Polyship) (SFW Art) - @aeons-domain Melone x Avelino (Jojo OC) x Pesci (Polyship) (SFW fic) - @angelminci

Prosciutto x Reader (NSFW fic) - @jellyluchi

Black Clover

Fuegoleon Vermillion x Solara Equinox (Black Clover OC) (SFW Art + Fic) - @thoughtfullyrainynightmare

Tagging:

@jellyluchi @mapesandoval @magthemage @theschneckenhouse @spookysinner45 @widdlepeets @flowers-n-felines @shaylistic @weeb-coffee @amberswords @bowcherry @aeons-domain @abellaheart-blog @mrsgiovanna @ofallthingswhythis @whinestonecowgirl @wakatshi @i4sgwr

@nyaaaaanma @blueparadis @romiyaro @kagejima @ceo-of-daichi @zorotits @sennsational @cherrykamado @alterbubs @sookisaurus @suguruenjoyer @thoughtfullyrainynightmare

[iggysolosgoku]

Get to know me

Name: Johnny

Age: 19

Requests are open!

Wattpad: IGGYSOLOSGOKU

TikTok: Hxhandjjbafan

Favorite animes: Hunter x Hunter, Jojo's bizarre adventure, jujutsu kaisen,demon slayer and sailor moon

Favorite movies: Scott pilgrim vs the world, repo the genetic opera, scream, the whole Chucky franchise, five nights at Freddy's, the whole trolls franchise, nightmare before Christmas, and Edward scissorhands

Stuff I will write: Fluff, found family, platonic stuff, nsfw, sfw, LGBTQ, yandere, autistic reader, chubby reader,any character reader (ex: mitsuri reader), and poly

Stuff I won't write: incest, angst, age gap,any trolls character x reader cause that's just weird, and animal x reader

Animes and movies I write for: Hunter x Hunter, Jojo's bizarre adventure, Jujutsu kaisen, demon slayer, and Scott pilgrim vs the world

Characters from hunter x hunter I write for: Gon freeces (platonic ONLY), Killua Zoldyck (platonic ONLY), kurapika, leorio, Bisky, wing, illumi Zoldyck, the whole phantom troupe (minus bonolenov, kortopi, and Franklin I like them but not like that), Kite, and Knuckle bine

Characters from Scott pilgrim vs the world I write for: Scott pilgrim, Ramona Flowers, Kim Pine, Stephen Stills, Young Neil, Knives Chau (platonic ONLY), Julie Powers, Stacey Pilgrim, Lucas Lee, Roxie Richter, Gideon Graves, Katayangi Twins, Matthew Patel, Envy Adams, Todd Ingram, and Wallace wells (platonic for girls)

Characters from Jjba part 1 I write for: Jonathan Joestar, Robert E.O Speedwagon, Erina Pendolton, and Dio Brando

Characters from Jjba part 2 I write for: Joseph Joestar, Caesar Zeppeli, Lisa Lisa, Suzi Q, Kars, Wammu, Esidisi, And Santanna

Characters from Jjba part 3 I write for: Jotaro Kujo, Noriaki Kakyoin, Muhammad Avdol, Jean Pierre Polnareff, Joseph Joestar (platonic ONLY), Holly Kujo and Dio Brando

Characters from Jjba part 4 I write for: Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu nijimura, koichi hirose, Rohan kishibe, yukako yamagishi, toshikazu hazamada (I don't support his actions), Tonio trussaradi, Yoshikage Kira, Reimi Sugimoto, and Mikitaka hazekura

Characters from Jjba part 5 I write for: Giorno Giovanna, bruno bucciarati, Leone abbachio, Trish una, narancia ghirga, mista Guido, panncotta fugo, risotto Nero, melone, formaggio, illuso, prosciutto, pesci (platonic ONLY), diavolo, doppio vinegar, squala, tiziano, cioccolata, sorbet, gelato, and ghiaccio

Characters from Jjba part 6 I write for: Jolyne Kujo, ermes Costello, narsico anasui, weather report, foo fighters, and Enrico pucci

Characters from Jjba part 7 I write for: Johnny Joestar, Gyro Zeppeli, hot pants, Diego Brando, and Lucy steel (platonic ONLY)

Characters for jjba part 8 I write for: I have not read part 8 yet

Characters from demon slayer I write for: Tanjiro Kamado, zenitsu agastuma, inosuke hashibira, nezuko Kamado (platonic ONLY), genya, and all the hashira

Characters from jujutsu kaisen I write for: Yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, nobara kugisaki, maki zenin, toge inumaki, satoru gojo, nanami kento, kamo choso, and geto suguru

I will NOT write for: Hisoka Morrow

[silvernyxchariot]

Happy Valentine's Day. . .

Oh shit. Oh no. It's past Valentine's Day for most timezones and I didn't get to work on this until last minute. Very sad, anyway./s Prosciutto won the roulette so you're getting a Prosciutto one-shot. *insert extra feral Ghiaccio here because the wheel actually stopped on him but I forgot I wrote one for him earlier* No! You already got a one-shot! You got your chance!

Synopsis: Prosciutto trying to make amends with a gift but I also like torturing him, GN!Reader x Prosciutto, SFW

⚠️TW: profanity, blood, and death⚠️

WC: 1,608 words

Rain fell heavily on Prosciutto's shoulders. Pesci and the target were nowhere to be found. "Fuck," the target got away and he was in no shape to follow them. Guess it was up to Pesci, not that Prosciutto had zero faith in the boy. He just wanted to see his partner butcher their target. Prosciutto's hair was disheveled and falling around his neck. He wiped the blood from the side of his face using the sleeve of his black suit. His yellow collared shirt and the white lines of his blazer were stained red. "Switch targets," they said. "It'll be a good learning experience for Pesci," they said," he murmured to himself. He shouldn't have taken teaching advice from Gelato and Sorbet. It turned out this target was a Stand user.

Prosciutto looked around to be sure he wasn't being followed. Grey buildings, gloomy sky, darkness at every corner, and some homeless dog wandering around, "Get off me!" He wasn't having it today and shrugged the dog away from his leather shoes. The only thing he could hear was the shower of rain on the cement. The alleys were clear, but his head was not. His mind started to become foggy from blood loss and his lips started to turn blue from the cold night. He couldn't think properly. Right now, Prosciutto could only think of survival. He thought of grabbing some string, needles, bandages, whatever he could get because he was not going to a damn hospital. There would be too many questions.

He removed his suit blazer and wrapped it around his elbow to smash open the window of a nearby door. More blood poured out from the slash at his side and Prosciutto pressed his blazer down onto it to stop the bleeding. He grimaced and looked down as he unlocked the door to see the skin of his calf barely hanging on. The place seemed empty and the warmth from the inside of the building made him shudder from the sudden temperature change. He leaned against the wall and his breathing was labored as he made his way to the bathroom. The light flickered on with a loud buzzing sound when he flipped the switch. It was fairly well kept with some jewelry, two different deodorants, and two toothbrushes around the sink. After limping his way to the sink, he slid down on the ground with an audible thud and squelch from his wounds. He started digging through the cabinet underneath. "Dental floss, some syringe needles, and towels..." it wasn't much, but damn was this bathroom barren. He'd have to stitch himself up somehow.

The dental floss stung as he laced it through his skin. He double-checked the other wound on his calf. With the depth of both wounds, he was lucky it was only skin and a bit of flesh. If Pesci hadn't knocked him off his feet with Beach Boy, the enemy's Stand would have sliced him clean in half. "This'll have to do," he glared at himself in the bathroom mirror, "I have to find that bastard before we lose him entirely." He pulled out a watch from the chest pocket of his blazer.

12:22. . .

He needed to get this done and fast. Although light-headed and hardly able to walk, Prosciutto pulled his hair into a low ponytail with what few hairbands he had left before heading for the door. He limped each step of the way and shifted his weight to his good leg. He turned the doorknob and opened the front door just a few centimeters before it was slammed into him with the weight of a full-grown man on the other side. He grunted and felt his stitches strain to stay together. The two men slammed against the living room wall and through the pieces of the destroyed door, Prosciutto came face to face with Pesci and Beach Boy. "Pesci! What are you doing?!"

"Big Bro!?" They stared at each other for a moment until they heard Beach Boy's clicking and saw the line undulating. The target was fleeing.

"What the fuck ARE YOU Doing?! Reel them in!"

Pesci leaned back and pulled his Stand closer to him while turning the spinning reel. It was an arduous task and Pesci was sweating bullets. Prosciutto pushed his partner to the side, ducked around Beach Boy, and followed the line out the door. It looked like the line caught on something. Lo and behold, their target, a seemingly lanky man but with enough strength to match Risotto's punches, was desperately holding a dumpster like the worthless little shit he was. Prosciutto swept his hair back with one hand. He didn't have his gun at the moment, so he summoned Grateful Dead.

Prosciutto stared down at the man with cold yet furious eyes. "Stop whimpering. It's your fault for attacking us first." The Eldrich-like creature of a Stand, although affected by its user's injuries and moving sluggishly for them, latched onto the man's legs and drained the life from his body as it aged him. Each of its green and yellow eyes held a silent rage in them and it glared down at the man with a suffocating intensity. Prosciutto watched as a once youthful and vibrant face was contorted in fear and withered into bones. Slowly, due to the chilling night and running around, the man lost all his strength.

He sighed in relief and nudged the fishing line with his foot, "Pesci, bring it back. We're done here." Beach Boy's line pulled back as Prosciutto made his way to his junior. Grateful Dead closed its eyes and dissipated from sight. Around the corner, Pesci grinned and celebrated triumphantly. Seeing his partner's joy, made Prosciutto smirk ever so slightly. Not enough for the other hitman to notice though.

Prosciutto looked up to the sky where the clouds had given the moon permission to peek through. The harsh rain had subsided but still sprinkled down every so often. The blonde man pulled out his pocket watch again. 12:54. The base would be silent at this time as everyone else either had plans in the red district or was asleep, he thought to himself. Prosciutto and Pesci made their way to their shared vehicle. Despite his battered state, Prosciutto insisted on driving. He had the keys after all.

The ride back to the base was silent. Prosciutto rolled his eyes as Pesci knocked out almost immediately. "You're too soft." Almost immediately after reaching the base in Naples, the blonde man shuffled Pesci out of the car and started rolling away as if he needed somewhere else to be, but Pesci didn't question it and made his way inside the base. The younger man figured he'd start the report for his big bro after a nice nap.

At 01:34, you were woken up by a banging on the back door. Getting up off the couch, you yawned and stretched before sliding on your house slippers. You groggily walked over to the door where the incessant banging continued. If this had been a normal visit from someone, you wouldn't have had a problem with it. But at this hour, when everyone should be asleep or celebrating the night with their lovers? It made you on edge. Before even placing your hand on the door, you pulled out a revolver from a nearby drawer and pulled back the hammer. You unlocked the door during the split second in between knocks and stepped back. "Who is it?!" You didn't really care for an answer and aimed directly at the silhouette's head when it entered. Unfortunately, when you pulled the trigger, the shadow was much faster than you.

"It's me!" Prosciutto held your arms in his hands and slid them down to meet yours. He pulled the revolver from your grasp and turned on the light. He was a mere breath away from your face. Prosciutto steadily released the hammer and it clicked back into place, "If you're going to use a gun, shoot. Don't ask "who is it"."

After hearing the scruffy voice of your boyfriend, your body relaxed and a large ear-to-ear grin formed on your face. "Who's "me" though?" you asked and received a flick to the forehead. You thought it was cute but you guessed he didn't. "Welcome back," you said and enveloped his torso in your arms. He was still a little damp. From being outside in the rain, you thought, but the extra scent of iron told you otherwise. "Let's fix up your wounds, mkay?" Prosciutto's eyes softened as he ushered you deeper into the house. He closed and locked the door behind him before you pulled him to your shared bathroom.

"Before that," he tucked the revolver into his belt, "that's mine." And then, he dug into the pocket of his trousers to pull out what seemed to be a large brooch. It was silver and black but the small diamonds made a web pattern with a little purple arachnid on the edge. "You said my suit looked like a spider web. So, I got you something to match."

Prosciutto placed the brooch in your waiting hands as you looked on in adoration. "Wait, are these real diamonds?" It was a rhetorical question. Of course he'd be able to get something like this easily. You turned the brooch over in your hands to inspect it while Prosciutto sat down at the edge of the bathtub and started to expose his wounds. They had barely managed to stay together this entire time.

He gave you a tired smile. "Yeah. I picked it up on my last hit."

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I think I had a little too much fun having Prosciutto suffer from his wounds.

Tbh, that clock app kept pushing tarot reading vids to me, specifically for "love and relationships" VDay and all that yk, so I thought "why not." The reading I used as a reference was about "someone with heavy burdens remembering how valuable you are to them and how they don't want to lose you" and how "you are this person's precious sunshine." Cheesy, but it made this prompt with Hitmen all the more fun.

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

Hey Syd!! If you're taking jojo requests may I request Prosciutto + 11 and 12? Thank you!! 🙂💞

Pairing: Yandere! Prosciutto x reader

Prompt(s): "I want to touch you so much, I can hardly hold myself back". & "My heart, my love, my touch... It's all yours for the taking."

Description: With a grunt and a heavy sigh, you pull yourself into the strange machine and settle into it. Though it was comfortable, you can't help but be nervous you had to leave all your equipment with Charon. Not like you could use it in a simulation, but still... Your felt naked without a gun. You were alone here in this vault. But in one of these other chambers sat your father and you would have to pull him out...

Rating: sfw

Content Warning: yandere, simulations, there is so much gaslight gatekeeping girlbossing done by pros, cross over with fallout 3 because I wanted it but dw I just stole setting, umm imprisonment, manipulation, ask to tag

Word Count: 2092

Notes: Happy 4 am tumblr I am now making this fic your problem! I had a lot of fun with this one despite it being my first time writing pros sdlfkjsdfklj I hope I did him justice Taha but this idea came to me in a 1 am haze and I’ve sat here working on it for the past few hours.

Edited: The Same Day, actually. Don’t post things at 4 am folks they’re be riddled with mistakes

When you came here, you knew it was with a purpose. There was something you had to do. Someone you were here to see… to save, even. But as time went by, minutes melting to hours in pleasant nothingness, it was getting so hard to remember, and much easier to forget.

You weren’t use to such perfectness. But pretty blue skies and soft, green grass were welcome feelings; they certainly weren’t bad just unfamiliar. But what was it that you were use to…? Your hands felt empty often. Even in such a safe place, there was always a feeling of dread stalking you. As if you always had to watch your back.

But Tranquility Lane welcomed you all the same, with familiar and strange smiling faces.

“I don’t think I belong here.” You sit, idle, at the small park in the center of the cul de sac. You swing gently on a swing a little too small for your frame. You’re one true friend here, the only creature you felt you could trust, your dog sits silent at your feet. ��Dogmeat…” The familiar name falls off your lips but you get the feeling that… this isn’t Dogmeat.

But, what other dog could it be?

“Do you remember how we got here, Dogmeat?” You look down to the dog that rests are your feet, watching the way his ears fold down at your words. “Where… were we before we moved here?” You hadn’t been here long, or at least you thought that…

“_____, there you are.” A smooth voice pulls you from your thoughts. “I was looking for you.”

“Oh, Prosciutto.” His name falls from your lips easily. You smile, just so he doesn’t worry over your long face. He was the first person to warm up to you here, after all. The only one that really opened up to you. “I’m sorry I was just… thinking, is all.”

“Thinking?” He pauses in front of you, sending a fleeting, unreadable glance to the dog by your feet. “What about?” He leans casually against the shiny pole of the swing set.

“You’ll think it’s silly…” For some reason, when he was near, it got harder to think. Harder to remember.

Easier to forget.

“But… I feel like I don’t belong here, sometimes.” You admit to him. Your eyes don’t leave Dogmeat. He stands and moves to sit behind you. Away from Prosciutto. “I mean… Dogmeat and I stick out like a sore thumb.” You laugh a little.

“I don’t think so.” He shakes his head as you meet his gaze. “You guys brought new life to this place. I’m glad you’re here.” He gives you a charming smile. One where you can see the little gap between his front teeth. It comforts you, if only a little.

“Thank you for saying that. But… Sometimes I get these dreams. Some of them are just strange… others, really scary.” You grip the chain of the swing, eyes trained on the perfect shine of Prosciutto’s shoes. You couldn’t even think of what they were called. Only that they were much fancier than anything you had ever owned.

“They’re just dreams, _____. I wouldn’t worry too much about them.” He sounds so confident. So sure of himself.

“They feel so real though.” You run your hands down the length of the chains, until you reach the bottom. You then stand, frowning as you catch his gaze. “The world in my dreams… isn’t very pretty. In fact, it’s ugly. It’s not easy to survive there.” You look to Dogmeat. “The two of us… Dogmeat and I. We wondered that wasteland. I never went anywhere without a gun in my hand.” Your fingers twitch against a trigger that’s not there.

“You know that’s not real though, _____.” Prosciutto grabs your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re safe here. Those dreams can’t get you.” He grows a little bolder, other hand grasping your shoulder. “I won’t let anything hurt you.” You feel your heart pound fast in a moment of embarrassment, before you compose yourself.

“I can take care of myself, thank you.” You retract yourself from him, and make a fair distance between the two of you. Ever careful, Dogmeat rises with you. You can tell he’s watching Prosciutto as much as you are now. “I thought… you would understand, but I suppose I was mistaken.” You shake your head. “Sorry to bother you, Prosciutto.” You turn to take your leave, going to return to the house that was yours. Or at least, that you claimed as your own.

“____, wait.” You pause as Prosciutto jogs a moment to catch up to you. The nice dress you’re wearing feels itchy and strange all the sudden. Too clean. “Please, I didn’t mean to brush you off, I just…” He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me for being so bold… I meant only that if you feel scared, or that you fee you are in danger, you can rely on me.”

“Well…” You pause on the word, looking to Dogmeat before looking back to Prosciutto. “I suppose I forgive you.” You sigh. The next breath you take feels heavy and thick. “I think I’m just on edge. There’s definitely something wrong here. I’m gonna figure it out… but it would be nice if I could count of you while I do that.” Dogmeat whimpers, pulling on the skirt of your dress to get your attention. You pat his head to comfort him, keeping your eyes trained on Prosciutto.

“Oh dear…” You see Prosciutto sigh, and roll his eyes. You feel a sudden chill go through you, and the urge to defend yourself hits you. But your shock, your horror, keeps you rooted in place. The air has changed between the two of you. “You’re just too smart for your own good… and you ask too many questions, just like your father.”

“My father?” Realization hits you straight in the face. “W-wait those aren’t just dreams… this, this isn’t reality.” You take a step back, back into Dogmeat. But… it wasn’t really him.

Who was this dog? He wasn’t a dog at all... You remember. There had to be a person behind that facade...

“Prosciutto I…” Your head hurts, so bad. You know its not real. That this is a simulation. But you’re not in control here. “You keep… keep making me forget.” You hold your head, nails digging into your hair. This pain is worse than the shot of a gun, or the deafening blow of a grenade.

“Shh, you’re okay…” Prosciutto is ready to support you, take you into his arms and support your quickly crumpling weight. “You just need to relax. And forget. Just let me take care of it.” You’re powerless to escape his hold. To fight whatever power he has over you here.

“I… need to save my father. I gotta.. gotta leave…” You lean heavily on Prosciutto for support.

“Still so eager to leave me?” He sighs softly as he holds you. “Surely what I have to offer is much better then what you’ve faced in that wasteland. Why would you want to go back?” He huffs. Your thoughts are still thick, foggy like bad weather in the capital wasteland, but you manage to speak.

“People… need our help.” It was so far away but you could barely recall. Something your dad had talked about all your life… He wanted it so bad that you, too wanted it. What was that dream you shared…?

“People need you?” Prosciutto snorts. It's the most imperfect, the most ugly, you can recall him being.

You get the feeling the two of you have been in this situation before.

This wouldn’t be the last time.

“What about me? I need you! I want to touch you so much I can hardly hold myself back.” His words make you feel strange. You feel like that should make you recoil. If anyone else had said that to you they would be met with a bullet in the hand that dared grab you.

But Prosciutto just holds you tighter.

“Why do you have to make this so difficult? I play the perfect gentlemen every time. I take it slow. I play cat and mouse with you time and time again. But you always seem to remember that something isn’t right here.”

The world has changed, you think. That, or in your confused state, Prosciutto has taken you somewhere alone. No one else here could help you, though. They’re just as powerless as you.

Why were you fighting with Prosciutto again?

“_____, you’ve lit a flame I thought died in me centuries ago.” The number rings in your head. Prosciutto didn’t look older than 30… “My heart, my love, my touch… it’s all yours for the taking. I made this world for us to share.”

“I… don’t need anything like that.” Even as you said the words though, you doubted them. Were you anything without Prosciutto?

“Last time, you told me that you’d be trapped in the body a dog like your father then be forced to be with me.” You hear the words he says, but you can’t ascribe any meaning to them. They’re just as hollow as you. “Maybe this next time, you’ll tell me you love me.” Empty as you are, forced into this role, you can’t help but feel unhappy. Something compels you to speak-- a memory, nearly forgotten.

“You don’t… deserve my love.” You can hardly remember what those words mean, but they certainly have Prosciutto frowning.

“Well then I suppose it’s a good thing I can take it by force, isn’t it?” His words don’t carry the venom he wants them too. Your eyes have already closed, off to have another bad dream of a faraway wasteland with guns and wars.

Still, Prosciutto sighs.

You and your father have already been here for 3 months. It was taking longer and longer for you each time to recall this was a simulation but… would he always be able to stop you before it was too late?

Would he ever be able to convince you, the only person that had managed to capture his attention in all his years in this simulation, to love him?

When you came here, you knew it was with a purpose…

“...Prosciutto?” For some reason, you expect him to be lying right next to you in bed. But the spot remains cold and empty, crumpled blankets that had been once pressed clean and neat push aside in your restless sleep.

There was something you had to do.

“I… want to go see him.” Your heart beat fast at the thought of seeing him. Though still tired, you set about your morning as you usually would. The house felt more quiet than it usually did, but you paid it no mind. Just your still sleep riddled brain teasing you with the idea of maybe one day sharing a home with Prosciutto…

There was someone you were here to see.

As you leave your house, you’re excited to see him walking up your steps. “Prosciutto, hello!” Your voice is bright and cheery. He greets you with a smooth smile. “I wanted to see you.” You admit the words to him freely, happily.

He was so polished and perfect.

You felt like you didn’t compare, but it brought a strange sense of comfort over you regardless. He felt familiar.

He made you happy.

“I wanted to see you too.” His words have color rising to your cheeks. You don’t remember a time you felt so embarrassed. But that was okay… because Prosciutto was with you. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me this morning?” He holds his hand out to you.

Your hand twitched. It felt wrong that it was empty.

You eagerly take his offered hand.

“I’d like that.” You allow him to lead you away from your house, towards the street that lead out of the cul de sac. You feel the urge to look behind you, so you do for a moment.

A lone dog lays in the shade of a tree, tied to a post in the park. He looks so sad. But Prosciutto’s voice draws you back in.

“I’m happy you came to Tranquility Lane, _____. You brought new life to this place.” His words have a small smile crawl upon your lips.

“You think so?” You can’t help the girlish giggle that leaves you. “Honestly, I am too. I feel like I belong here.”

[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

[gmofreejojos]

Poly La Squadra/Reader Group Sex Scenarios

18+ Only, Minors DNI.

cw: breeding, degradation, humiliation, anal, exhibitionism (some dubious consent, but mostly consensual), afab reader but written gender neutral

Starting off my first post on this blog with a bang, I guess lol. Really graphic stuff ahead! Sorry.

In this scenario, reader is dating all of the La Squadra members, but they are not dating each other.

Melone, Illuso, Formaggio, Ghiaccio, Risotto

Group sex is fairly uncommon among La Squadra, as most of them are deeply possessive. It's only through their dedication to each other as a team that allows for you to be shared at all.

However, Melone is an exception. And he doesn't just not mind sharing, he *loves* sharing. He has a thing for fucking you after one of his teammates has had you because he loves how wet and sloppy you are afterwards. He's very into the idea of you being oversexed, overstimulated, and constantly full of cum. He wants you dirty and he likes feeling dirty himself, and knowing that he's fucking another man's cum into you makes him feel very dirtyZ It also plays heavily into his breeding kink. He likes to imagine that he and his teammates are breeding you, so the more cum, the better.

The idea of you having everyone's cum in you at the same time drives him wild and eventually, he tries to organize it. Prosciutto doesn't want anything to do with it--too proud and he'd find his teammates more distracting than anything. Pesci's too shy and worries he'll be mocked for his technique. Risotto is content to watch. Illuso agrees only if he can go first. Formaggio is all for it, as it's been something he's secretly wanted to but didn't want to deal with his teammates making fun of him. Ghiaccio, initially, is very opposed.

And so, the fun begins. Illuso takes you first, with you on your back and your legs around his waist. His sexual prowess is a point of pride for him so he puts his all in to making sure you have a *very* good time. He doesn't plow into you mindlessly, but fucks you deep and hard, grinding his pelvis against yours so that your g-spot is massaged. He won't shut up about how wet you are for him and how tightly you're clenching down on his cock, but the dirty talk is more directed at his teammates than at you; he wants to prove to them that he's a better lover.

Jokes on him though, Formaggio and Melone are just turned on by the dirty talk and are stroking themselves while they watch. Risotto is inscrutable as always, but there's a bulge in his pants that betrays his enjoyment. But by the time Illuso finishes, Formaggio is raring to go. Illuso kisses you, long and deep, just to spite Formaggio and then steps back to watch. Unlike Melone, he doesn't jerk off. He's here to be a bitch.

Formaggio climbs onto you eagerly, forcing your knees to your chest and spreading your legs wide so he can get a good look. The sight of cum dripping out of your entrance does *a lot* for him--it's even better than he'd though it'd be. It doesn't even matter that it's Illuso's cum. He pushes into you without care for your comfort, groaning at how wet and sloppy you've become and mesmerized by the loud, lewd squelches your hole makes when he pushes in and out. Your whimpers of overstimulation just egg him on as he thrusts away, chasing his own pleasure. Normally he'd be a bit more careful because he's fairly girthy, but you're looser after taking Illuso and he's aroused by the knowledge that he can just plow you without fear--never mind that the intensity of marathon sex is making you melt. He cums quickly, pushing himself in all the way to make sure he really gets in there. When he pulls out, you're so wet that strings of cum cling to his cock. It nearly gets him going again, but...

Surprise! Ghiaccio busts in. He couldn't help but overhear your cries of pleasure and the squeaking bed frame and got too horny to concentrate. He's annoyed and still grossed out by the idea of having anyone's sloppy seconds (or thirds), but too horny to care. He's mad, horny, and needs an outlet and there you are, naked and ready for him. Melone is all too happy to let him go and Formaggio doesn't mind the break.

Ghiaccio fucks you with a vengeance, flipping you over onto your knees and pushing your face into the bed as he mounts you from behind. As always, his pace is furious and desperate; generally, sessions with Ghiaccio require at least a day of recovery and you're already boneless from Illuso and Formaggio's ministrations. Fortunately, Ghiaccio isn't very big and he can afford to be rough and rough he is, with his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise and occasionally slapping your ass when he gets too excited by how it bounces as he fucks you. He has a *filthy* mouth, rambling on about what a cock hungry whore you are, how they keep you around only as a cum dump (it's not true, but thinking about it gets Ghiaccio going).

He yanks your head up by the hair when he cums, but to everyone's surprise he only slows down for a second before he keeps going. You're babbling nonsense at this point, unable to do anything other than squeal and squirm. Through your hazy vision, you can see Risotto staring directly into your eyes and it both arouses and embarrasses you--as weird as it sounds, you want him to see you this way, see how much of a slut you really are.

When Ghiaccio cums for a second time, he collapses over your body and just pants for a good 30 seconds. You're worried he's going to fall asleep right then and there, but Formaggio eventually tells him to move as watching you get pounded into oblivion really got him going. He slips his fingers inside you and pushes them in and out, and the sound it makes nearly makes him cum again. He takes you like that, with your chest to the bed and his chest against your back.

Once Formaggio has cum again, Melone is finally ready to go. This whole process has been sweet agony to him. Watching how well you take the rough poundings, hearing and seeing how messy you've become, it's been driving him wild and he's been desperate to cum for what feels like ages. He flips you over and pushes your knees to your chest, carefully scooping up any cum that's leaked out of you and pressing it back inside and lectures you with a grin about how important it is to not waste a drop. Without any resistance, he presses three fingers into you and, to your embarrassment, turns to Risotto, Formaggio, and Illuso and tells them to look at how loose you've become. You cover your face with your hands, embarrassed, but Melone peels them away from your face and tells you not to be embarrassed--the vagina is a muscle and it'll tighten back up in no time, and you being loose now just means you must really love getting bred by multiple men. Somehow, that's even worse.

When he enters you, Melone pushes your ankles up towards your head and lays his weight against the back of your knees into a mating press. He fucks you slow, hard, and deep, trying to find angles that make the most noise as he fucks you. He cums three times without pulling out, all in the span of 20 minutes, overwhelmed by how wet you are.

(Eroticized pregnancy talk warning) For his first two orgasms, he can hardly speak as his eyes roll back into his head. But after the first two, the dirty talk starts. It's talk that the rest of his teammates aren't really into, at least not openly. He starts going on about how you're definitely going to get pregnant after being filled with so much cum (hope you're on birth control, because if you aren't he timed this for the fertile window of your cycle). He babbles on about how he won't be able to keep his hands off of you when your breasts and belly swell up, how he'll milk you himself when you start lactating. Illuso and Formaggio are definitely giving each other "what the fuck" looks.

After he cums for the third time, Melone asks you to keep your legs in the air for a bit. You're exhausted from the rough treatment, but you do it anyway. A part of you loves how full and sore you feel. Melone and Formaggio curl up on either side of you for cuddling, despite how sweaty you all are. Illuso turns his nose up at the thought of cuddling his teammates, so he leaves.

(More breeding talk, oops) Eventually Risotto entices you up and out of the arms of Melone and Formaggio. He carries you to the bathroom and brings you into the shower with him. Youre too exhausted to be embarrassed by the constant stream of cum down your thighs and Risotto is polite enough not to comment. He praises you for how well you took his men as he gently washes you. Eventually, his hands creep between your legs and he presses two fingers into you, whispering in your ear that he's not the kind of man to take anyone's sloppy seconds, but if Melone's trying to breed you, he wants in on it. You're too exhausted to protest when he turns you around and tells you to place your hands on the wall. Risotto's a big man with the tool to match, but for the first time, you take him without any trouble. Risotto fucks you while you whimper uselessly, too tired to even squirm. Afterwards, he dries you off and carries you nude to his bed and bundles you up in blankets. You conk out immediately.

Prosciutto & Pesci

Prosciutto has absolutely no interest in group sex, knowing that he wouldn't be able to concentrate with all of his teammates chattering on.

But, he admits to himself that the idea *does* intrigue him. He's fantasized before about hearing you gag and choke on another cock while he fucks you hard and fast. Though he prefers to ~make love~ to you, there's a part of him that wants to debase you and use you. And who better to share you with than Pesci, who will do just as he says?

The next time Prosciutto has you to himself, he calls Pesci up to his room. Prosciutto is already fucking you at this point and poor Pesci sputters and goes bright red when he opens the door to see your legs wrapped around Prosciutto's waist while he fucks you.

Pesci tries to leave, but Prosciutto calls him back--he's decided that Pesci needs to learn how to fuck like a man, not like a boy (poor Pesci does a decent enough job, but he's ever so careful with you). He commands Pesci to watch and watch he does, incredibly embarrassed and hard as well. Prosciutto explains exactly what he's doing to you as Pesci looks on, approaching it from a clinical angle but it's clear that he's riling himself. He starts going on about how Pesci needs to assert himself more, needs to fuck you and remind you of your place.

Eventually, Prosciutto beckons Pesci over and tells him to take out his cock. Pesci panics, but Prosciutto turns you over on to your knees and slips back inside of you, yanking your hair back to open your mouth. He tells Pesci that you're eager for it and truly, you're happy to comply.

Pesci's a *big* boy. He's thick and long and Prosciutto feels his dick twitch when he thinks about all that meat stretching you open. You take Pesci into your mouth, letting him thrust at his leisure. But it's not good enough for Prosciutto; he wants to hear you *choke*. He tells Pesci to stop being a pussy and to fuck your throat properly.

And he does. It's *brutal*. The incessant pounding from both ends of your body is almost too much to handle, but it doesn't last long--Pesci's always been a quick shot and Prosciutto's driven wild by the wet sounds of Pesci fucking your throat and the obvious strain.

Prosciutto loses it when he feels you cum around his cock with Pesci's dick lodged down your throat.

Bonus: Risotto + All

Risotto's fine with his men fucking your pussy, but he's insistent that your ass is his and he wants them to know that.

At first, you're not so sure about that; after all, he's very big and you've never really been one for anal.

But Risotto takes the time to train you up to it. And not just stretch you--he wants you to *like* it, to crave it, to cum from getting your ass fucked.

He starts with just eating your ass while he vibes your clit, then eases you onto one of his fingers. Your ass is a vice and it makes him feel eager to truly destroy it and make it his own little cocksleeve. You enjoy how the thick finger in your ass makes your vaginal walls rub together and, despite the new sensations, end up cumming a couple of times.

He does this everyday, increasing the amount of fingers, all the while fantasizing about fucking you where no one else can. Then he has you wearing plugs, constantly, gradually increasing in size. You do eventually come to love it. Even without clitoral stimulation, the sensation of something stretching out your ass gets you wet. The constant arousal isn't too terrible, as you have seven men around you that want to bone you. No one seems to mind that you're much tighter with a plug in your ass.

The day Risotto feels confident that you can finally take his cock, he tells you to wear a skirt or a dress w/ nothing underneath. And absolutely no sex or masturbation. You spend the day hopelessly aroused, pressing your thighs together and terrified you'd start dripping down your legs.

Towards the end of the day, Risotto calls everyone together. Assuming it's a meeting of some sort, everyone looks pretty bored. Until he calls you in.

He beckons you over and turns you so that your backside is to everyone else. You're just as confused. But when he bends you over and flips up your skirt to show his men your bare pussy, wet from neglect, you understand. You want to curl up and die from the embarrassment, but the arousal is too strong.

You moan as Risotto slowly eases the plug out of your ass and discards it. Risotto turns you around and lifts you on to his lap from his seated position so that you face his men. Their faces express a range of emotions--shocked, embarrassed, angry, but, most of all, aroused. You hide your face from them, too ashamed to look at them.

When he pulls out his hard cock, the length of it slaps against your pussy, making you squeak. Then he lifts you up and slowly spears you on his massive length. It's a sensation like no other--you have never felt so full. But the stretching did its job and there's only pressure, no pain. More than anything, it feels *good*.

Risotto inches you down his considerable length and each inch is a throb of heat through your gut. You're so worked up from not cumming all day that everything feels amplified. When you reach the base, he gives your clit a single, gentle rub and you cum, unable to hold back. It's one of the strongest orgasms you've ever had and you squirm through it, anchored by Risotto's hands on your hips.

After your orgasm subsides, Risotto grips your waist and begins to bounce you on his cock. You forget about the rest of the squad and can only feel the burning heat of Risotto inside you. You can't help but rub your clit, cumming multiple times as he fucks you.

Risotto cums with a groan, holding you against his pelvis as he rocks up into you. After a moment, he lifts you out of his lap and lets his cock slide out of you. He slips the plug back into your ass and stands, placing you in the chair he once occupied. Wordlessly, he leaves. He's made his point--that hole is his, and his men can do what they like with the rest of you.

And they do.

[wri0thesley]

risotto jerks off to chubby reader in the next room on an assassination mission in a shitty hotel where the walls are too thin; presses one hand to his mouth to muffle any stray groans and has the other wrapped around his cock as he imagines using Metallica to make handcuffs and how the metal would bite into the plump flesh of your wrists.

formaggio jerks off to chubby reader whining and huffing and puffing as he thinks of that look of surprise on your face when he calls you honey-sweetie-baby and thinks about crooning even lewder things into your ear whilst you bounce on his cock and he gets to enjoy the view of just how much of you bounces with every movement.

illuso jerks off to chubby reader in the mirror realm, where he can be as shamelessly loud as he wants. he catches sight of himself in a mirror, actually, looking tousled and blissed - and he imagines settling you in front of him with a mirror before you, so that you too can watch how your body accommodates the stretch and girth of his cock. you look so pretty with the plump lips of your cunt clinging to him.

prosciutto jerks off to chubby reader in annoyance that you’ve distracted him from the mission at hand - his overbite digging into his lip as he thinks about stockings digging into your full thighs and how they pinch at the chub, digging in - imagines his own hands and just how far they’d sink into that same chub, as he used them to spread your thighs wider and wider and takes his time giving you the most thorough fucking of your life.

pesci jerks off to chubby reader with guilt churning in his gut; but the strength of that guilt does not come close to the powerful strength of wanting that flashes through him when you drop honeyed words of encouragement into his ear. he imagines those same words of encouragement dropping from your lips now, as he also envisions himself between your thighs with his mouth pressed against your core. he imagines your soft thighs warming his ears, and how prettily your words would sound broken up by whimpers and gasps of his name.

melone jerks off to chubby reader without a care in the world on being caught; imagines your body bent into almost painful contortions as he fucks into you and has your name on his lips with every pump of his cock. his mind can’t help straying back to your generous hips, though - and just how pretty they’d look with the added decoration of his hands squeezing them, the soft flesh pooling between his fingers. too, he thinks of the curve of your ass splattered with his come - though it’s the thought of burying that come deep inside of you that pushes him over the edge.

ghiaccio jerks off to chubby reader with his teeth grit and his cheeks red, annoyed that images of your chest and your tummy and your hips and thighs when you wear tight clothes are seared into his mind when he just wants to jerk off in peace. he gives into his imagination far too easily, though - and imagines fucking you from behind and how good every bump of his hips against the softness of your ass as he bottoms out inside you would feel.

sorbet and gelato jerk each other off to the thought of chubby reader; sorbet whispering darkly into gelato’s ear about just how roughly he would treat you, and just how pretty you’d look speared and squirming and speared on every inch of sorbet’s huge cock. gelato responds, his voice hoarder even than usual, with describing how he’d like to see your chubby cheeks and glossy lips wrapped around his cock - and how, too, he’d love to see his come decorating and ruining that pretty much doe-eyed, clueless expression you’re always giving them when they press you a little too tightly and hungrily between them.

[jellyluchi]

Mi dai sui nervi!

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

Ao3 Link

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Pros, I-” 

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

“What?” 

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

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

“Prosciutto! What’s going on?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like some water?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

support my work

[yanderememes]

nsfw //

darling who enjoys the sex and the sex alone. they HATE any other sort of physical touches like hugs, cuddles, holding hands,,,, ,, which yanderes wouldn’t care and which would be heartbroken at this revelation 👁👁

👁️👄👁️

What an amazing question, anon~

Yanderes who wouldn't care:

Jotaro, Joseph, Johnny, Gyro, Dio, Diego, Valentine, Risotto, Diavolo, Formaggio, Prosciutto, Jolyne, Ermes, F.F., Abbacchio, Fugo, Polnareff, Rohan, Keicho, Kira, Kars, Mista, Ghiaccio, Illuso,

These yanderes don't care because they can enjoy the sex for what it is. While it may irk them a little when darling doesn't allow them to do other physical touches like hugs or hand-holding, it's not enough for them to be upset. Being with darling and having them to themselves whether it's through sex or not is enough for these yanderes.

Yanderes who would be heartbroken:

Anasui, Giorno, Bucciarati, Trish, Koichi, Josuke, Jonathan, Okuyasu, Caesar, Narancia, Kakyoin, Avdol, Yukako, Pucci, Doppio, Weather

These yanderes would be heartbroken by this revelation because they are the type to yearn for more. It's more than just an obsession for them. They want a true and loving relationship with darling. To do all the couple stuff from cooking together to spending the rest of their lives and celebrating anniversaries. So to hear and be treated like just another hookup, someone that is disposable, is heartbreaking.

[tubbypeddle]

Prosciutto x reader imagine: he feeds you grapes

Sfw but it gets a lil suggestive

(dedicated to my dear friend, one miss @lady-of-endless 🥹)

(author's note: credits to gif owners, of course, I don't own any of them. Also, miss lady endless has been so busy lately (overworking, of course), and I want to help her feel better by giving her a little present 🫂)

"What are you doing, my dear?"

The question startles you. Well, he startles you in general. He's so quiet when he walks, he just sneaks up behind you. Comes with being an assassin, you guess.

"I'm eating grapes," you tell him. Stuff another grape into your mouth.

His eyes narrow. Such piercing blue eyes. "Why?"

"Wha-?! Because I'm hungry, Prosciutto."

Prosciutto simply shakes his head and steps up to where you're seated on the sofa. "No, no, that won't do, darling. No woman of mine is going to get her hands dirty just to eat some fruit. Give them here."

It's startling again when he snatches the bowl of grapes from you and plops in front of you. It's when he's pressing a grape to your mouth that you finally react, cheeks burning red.

"Open, precious," he purrs, voice low.

You let your mouth fall open, and he presses the grape in, gentle. The crunch of the grape is almost as delicious as the look of adoration on his face.

"There we go." He takes a tissue and wipes the condensation from the grapes off of your fingers.

You realize then, grapes aren't really messy fruits. He really just wanted any excuse to touch you. The thought sends a flutter through your heart.

He'd been too shy to really ask for what he wanted from you. So he disguised it as something else.

He really was too cute sometimes.

"Next time you want to eat something so messy, come to me instead. I'll feed you."

May the Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on your soul, there's no way you aren't going to hell with the heat that just curled in your core at that.

[cophene]

g. mista ending || ✦.⁺ ginger ale.

table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : a college student tries getting the attention of some of the most admired and attractive people on campus, only to get caught up with stands and vigilante groups in the process. notes : modern au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn't follow canon plot word count : 2.5k+

═ ☆. IT WASN'T UNTIL AFTER MISTA opened his centre console that (y/n) noticed the sleek glass bottle catching the light.

"You are not bringing that."

"Hell yes, I am. My guy will thank us for it, trust me."

"Did you get that from Prosciutto?"

"Who else? He may be a questionable guy, but when it comes to suits and alcohol, he does not go wrong."

(Y/n) wrinkled their nose at the bottle. They were barely out of the hospital, and the thought of ingesting anything of that sort made them queasy.

"Hey, Prosciutto gave me his word this was a good batch. I owe him like, 200 euros for it, the bastard." Mista took out the bottle with a self-assured smile.

(Y/n) got out of the car with a sigh. They'd been pleasantly surprised when Mista had suggested visiting Scolippi. The poor sculptor had slipped (y/n)'s head the past few weeks. Hopefully, he was doing well.

The two of them asked to see Scolippi at the front desk. The receptionist sent up a call and allowed them to take the elevator to the seventh floor.

"Actually, we'll take the stairs, if that's alright," said Mista.

The man blinked. "Yes, of course. Feel free."

Mista swung the bottle of alcohol jauntily at his side as he led (y/n) up the staircase. (Y/n) was a little miffed. Even if they were at a hundred percent health, they did not enjoy traversing seven flights of stairs.

"Tell me what was wrong with the elevator?"

"I want to check something," replied Mista. He was dressed in bright-red joggers and a blue-and-white windbreaker that rustled loudly with every movement. He had been a little too pleased at the compliment (y/n) paid his high-top sneakers, doing a terrifying dance in the custom Sex Pistols shoes that mortified (y/n) and every passersby on the street.

No more compliments for Mista.

The stairs were like some vertical memory lane for (y/n), which they realized must have been the reason Mista had insisted on them. Actually, this entire trip had a delicious sort of irony to it, the sharp contrast to how they'd first met Scolippi to now. If they concentrated, (y/n) could almost hear Rolling Stones slamming down the stairs.

"Aw, look, the window is still broken." Mista stopped in front of said window with an almost wistful smile on his face. It was such an odd expression that (y/n) laughed.

"Ah, yes, I too fondly remember the time you nearly fell to your death out here."

"But you caught me," said Mista, "and that makes all the difference."

(Y/n)'s heart tripped a little at the tone of Mista's voice. They were about to say something when Mista continued up the stairs.

They finally reached the seventh floor. (Y/n) tried to hide how winded they were while Mista counted the rooms down to Scolippi's.

"Gross, 484," Mista muttered, knocking on the door.

"It's unlocked, you come in," Scolippi called from the other side. "Just be careful of—"

There was a crash and a screech that (y/n) wasn't sure came from Scolippi or Mista. They rushed through the door to help Mista right the large sculpture he'd knocked over.

"Shit, my bad, Scolippi," Mista said. His eyes widened when they landed on a hairline crack that (y/n) was 90 percent sure hadn't been there before. He discreetly angled the sculpture toward the wall, glaring at (y/n) to keep their mouth shut.

Scolippi picked his way toward them, his hands smeared with clay and wearing a heavy-duty apron. He looked irritated, but managed a small smile.

"Just watch your step," he said. "Come this way. I'm nearly done with it."

Every flat surface in Scolippi's apartment had a sculpture or moulding of some kind. There was really no rhyme or reason to them; there were lithe humanoid figures, abstract shapes, buildings, animals. Some looked unfinished, some were coloured and others looked like they'd been thrown against the wall and then stomped on. There was a baffling sort of beauty to the sculptures, something fascinating about seeing Scolippi's mind at work.

"How's your hand?" (y/n) asked, ducking under the reaching arms above the doorway to the kitchen.

"It's a little stiff, but basically back to normal," answered Scolippi. To (y/n)'s amusement, his kitchen table didn't have any free space that wasn't covered with clay. He very much seemed the type to eat meals on the floor.

"Aye, Scolippi, how much for this one?" Mista was making a show of admiring a human-sized statue by the window of a shapely woman with her arms raised provocatively over her head.

"Your firstborn," replied Scolippi without missing a beat. Mista mimed pushing the statue to the ground and (y/n) bit back a snort.

Passing the kitchen led to the biggest room in the apartment. (Y/n) guessed it was Scolippi's studio, going by the workbench and canvas draped over the walls and floor.

Dominating the space was perhaps the largest sculpture (y/n) had ever seen. They struggled to make sense of it, moving slowly through the studio to see it from every angle. The clay was twisted into nonsensical lines, appearing as flowy and weightless as silk. Tiny, delicate strands broke off here and there, moulded into corkscrews and curlicues. (Y/n) half expected the sculpture to start undulating on its own.

"What is this?" they breathed.

"Actually, I have to thank you," Scolippi said. "I remember the doctors at the hospital complimenting the great job I'd done on wrapping my hand. I don't remember exactly, but they said there was pressure to minimize the bleeding."

(Y/n) vaguely remembered wrapping Scolippi's hand with White Satin. It had been instinctive at the time; (y/n) was glad to know it had done him some good.

Scolippi raised an arm to encompass his sculpture. "It's all wire and clay, but it's quite impressive, isn't it? I think it might be my largest work."

The swirling, flowing lines in front of (y/n) suddenly coalesced. Their mouth opened a little.

"I'm very grateful to your White Satin," said Scolippi, still looking at his sculpture. "I might have lost my hand if it weren't for your Stand."

(Y/n) felt a pang in their chest. An image rose in their mind of those first few days in the hospital, trying to gather White Satin to themselves only for the Stand to tear and splinter apart. It had been impossible to summon more than a few measly threads without them dissipating; nothing at all like their cords of steel.

They glanced at Mista leaning in the doorway, feeling as though he'd had something to do with this. He gave them a small, rueful smile.

"I'm planning on showing this at an exhibit later this month," said Scolippi, coming to stand beside (y/n). "It's not quite finished, but the curators were very excited. I'd like to dedicate it to you. You were my muse, after all."

(Y/n) blinked at the sudden warmth in Scolippi's voice. "Oh, well, uh—"

"You don't have to feel modest. White Satin was such a unique piece of inspiration to work with. It pushed me to—

There was a loud pop as Mista opened his bottle of alcohol. He thrust it—a little rudely—into Scolippi's face.

"Okay, enough of that. Here's to Scolippi and his great sculpture, yada yada."

Scolippi took the bottle dubiously and tipped it back. His brow wrinkled.

"What's wrong with it?" Mista swiped the bottle back and took a swig himself. His mouth puckered

"Do not do a spit-take in my studio," Scolippi said intensely.

Mista swallowed with a painful expression. Curious despite themself, (y/n) reached out a hand.

"Let me try."

"No, don't. It's terrible."

They kept their hand out.

"For real. I'm not messing with you."

"..."

Mista flushed. He thrust the bottle into (y/n)'s hands. They steeled themself, then took a drink. It took a second, but then they laughed.

Mista had paid 200 euros for a delectable bottle of ginger ale.

Mista and (y/n) agreed to visit Scolippi again when the sculpture was finished. (Y/n) could barely begin to describe how they felt that Scolippi had dedicated time to make a sculpture of White Satin, and Scolippi chuckled when they struggled to articulate it.

"I'm just glad you like it. I always thought it was a shame non-Stand users would never see your lovely Stand. In this way, at least, they'll have an opportunity. I could never hope to do the real thing justice, however."

(Y/n)'s chest warmed at Scolippi's words.

Mista had pushed (y/n) towards the door then. He hissed something into Scolippi's ear as he left, to which the sculptor just shrugged.

Upon leaving Scolippi's apartment, (y/n) was hit with a wave of exhaustion. Their body still wasn't healed from the ordeal at the fundraiser; the body pains had been better today, but now (y/n) felt them all at once.

Their body, torn like silk.

"Hey, you're not looking so hot," said Mista, steadying (y/n)'s arm.

They swallowed. "Just tired."

They had been glad when Mista hadn't treated them like delicate china the days after their hospital discharge. A part of them had been afraid their friendship would shift when he saw how badly (y/n) had been hurt and stitched back together. There were only so many piteous glances and conciliatory words they could handle.

"We should head back," Mista said. "I have a huge exam that will kick my ass."

(Y/n) nodded, following him back to his car. They were grateful he'd offered first, seeing as they hadn't wanted to seem weak and sickly.

They couldn't help smiling the entire ride back to Sapiena. There were rock fixtures lining the street. Funny that Mista had thought they might have been versions of Rolling Stones.

Mista darted glances at them every now and then. He looked away every time (y/n) caught him, but a smile played on his lips too.

"What is that stupid smile for?" (y/n) asked when they caught Mista looking again.

"Nothing. It's just nice to see you smile. You've been so down since the fundraiser. Which you have every right to be, of course. I just ... I just like it when you smile."

This was (y/n)'s favourite version of Mista right here. Not the bullheaded, frankly, asshole, he was with Stand users, and not the cocky, devil-may-care hooligan he was for Sapiena. (Y/n) liked Mista best when his eyes crinkled at the corners and his words seemed to stumble out on their own. When his laugh rumbled deep in his chest and he got scared of the stupid number four.

Mista fake-winced. "Ahh, don't smile like that. I can't handle it. It's like looking into the sun."

(Y/n) punched his shoulder. "You didn't have anything to do with Scolippi's sculpture, did you?"

"Maybe. I may have put the idea there. He didn't need to flex so hard though. You'd think he was trying to make a move on you." These last words came out in a low mutter.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'm glad you liked the sculpture."

"Remember at the bonfire when you accused me of blackmail and bribery?" The memory appeared like a bright flame in (y/n)'s head. It really did feel like years ago.

"Yes. It was valid, wasn't it?"

"Not in the slightest, asshole."

"For the record, you still look scary in your photos."

"For the record, your car is still a trash-heap."

"Where's the trash?!"

(Y/n) leaned back against the headrest, content to let Mista rant. And the poor idiot did, until his voice and the late afternoon light and the motion of the made (y/n) drowsy.

They closed their eyes.

"Hey. Can I ask you a question?"

(Y/n) nodded, keeping their eyes closed.

"So, I have a friend who's kind of confused about someone."

"Is that someone hot?" (y/n) mumbled.

"No, actually. They're like four on a scale of ten."

"Ouch."

"Mhm. Anyways, my friend ... he doesn't know how he feels about this someone. He's confused."

(Y/n)'s mind was in the lazy fog between sleep and consciousness. They were only half-listening to Mista.

"Okay. Well, what does he think of them?"

Mista didn't reply right away.

"He thinks they're amazing. They're smart, snarky, quick on their feet. They never laugh at his jokes but he knows they're just hiding it. They make him feel happy, in a way that not a lot of other people do. When he's with them, he just feels lighter, and even if I make an ass out of myself, I want to make them smile, because even if I can't get a laugh, that smile is more than enough."

(Y/n)'s eyes were still closed, but their mind was completely awake now.

"Some people might not believe in fate, but I do. And I believe even if they shoot me down, they were destined to be in my life. They were destined to catch my eye, and get stuck in my head, and make my hands sweat when I text them. They were destined to give me that damn look that just makes me go wild. They'll just look at me, and my entire head goes sideways. Can't think straight. They could tell me to punch a nun and I would."

(Y/n) had to force back a laugh at that.

"This person sounds wonderful. I can tell your friend really cares about them."

Mista coughed. "Uh, yeah, I do. I mean, he does."

The car came to a stop. (Y/n) opened their eyes and looked straight at Mista.

"My advice for your friend is to tell that person exactly what you told me. There are some solid points there."

Mista's Adam's apple bobbed. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. I'd tell your friend to call this person tomorrow afternoon at four and tell them everything. I think he knows exactly how he feels, and this person will too."

Mista looked a little confused. His cheeks were flushed pink.

"Okay. I'll tell him that."

(Y/n) nodded. They got out of the car, crossing around the front to head back to the dorms.

"Hey! Why does he have to call at four?"

(Y/n) turned back. They walked to Mista's rolled down window, leaning so they were at eye level with each other.

"Because this person has classes a little later tomorrow, but they'll be free after four."

"That's a terrible time. Maybe he'll call at five, instead."

"I can't guarantee this person will answer then. It has to be at four. You know, just to piss your friend off."

"Well, my friend will just come in person. Ditch the phone entirely."

Mista grinned. So this was what he'd meant then, that something could flip their head sideways and make them punch nuns.

(Y/n) lowered their face towards Mista's, their lips barely an inch apart—

—And tugged his cap over his eyes.

"Hey!"

(Y/n) turned back towards the dorms. "Ciao, Mista. Wish your friend luck."

"He doesn't need luck," Mista called, a laugh colouring his voice.

"He's already got his answer."

table of contents

[angry-geese]

calling la squadra submissive and breedable

warnings: nsfw mention. some minor violence. crack.

a/n: based off of this shitpost

obligatory warning for any spelling/grammar errors

Risotto

not phased

deals with melone on a regular basis, not bothered by it

glares at you and moves on

if you're his s/o he's the slightest bit flattered, anyone else gets a death glare

Formaggio

kind of just shrugs it off at first, sometimes says it back

once he realizes how much it bothers prosciutto he can't stop saying it

when paired up with melone he's an absolute menace

Prosciutto

will kill you

you don't even get past the first word before Grateful Dead appears

melone has started greeting him with it

Pesci

it takes him a moment to get it

looks so uncomfortable

call him that in front of Prosciutto and it instantly makes him hostile

Ghiaccio

immediately goes silent

thats followed by a quiet "what?!"

his incoherent screaming is heard from across the hideout

the only one of the group that actually is submissive and breedable

Melone

would say it first

heard the phrase once and would not stop using it

terrorizes the entire base

"If either of you mention the words 'submissive' and 'breedable' one more time I'm killing both of you." Prosciutto says.

The snicker that leaves Formaggio echoes through the mostly empty room. Not wanting to be a witness to this, you turn your gaze to the tv. Melone drapes himself over the side of the couch, partially laying in Prosciutto's lap. His slender hand grips the blonde man's chin, forcing him to look in his eyes.

"He's looking rather submissive and breedable," Melone says, "wouldn't you say, Tesoro?"

Illuso

mostly indifferent

whenever melone goes around saying it he disappears into the mirror world

only says it to bother the others

Sorbet and Gelato

0/10 don't do it they will murder you