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jellyluchi · 1 year

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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.

#prosciutto #prosciutto x reader #jjba x you #jjba x reader #prosciutto x you #jojo prosciutto #prosciutto jojo #jjba prosciutto #prosciutto jjba #fics #n sfw #sid writes

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wri0thesley · 1 year

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all of my favs are good at fingering because i have a bias and think that's one of the sexiest of carnal acts btw

#nat.txt #just! something about their mouths being free to talk down/praise you #and the ability to HIDE a hand sliding between your thighs . . .#this is also why cockwarming n strap warming are sexy too btw #not sfw text #nanami? great at it. kaveh? you know it. prosciutto? yep. overhaul? yes and ALSO gloves.#dottore? yes and ALSO gloves [medical kink go brr]#diluc? ... ok he's not as good at it but he's doing his best.#lisa and miko?? u know it #ayato? duh. but he might make thoma do it to avoid getting his hands dirty <3 #sorry im going off in the tags

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shadowlali · 7 months

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mi vida, mi paloma - part II

COD - Rudy Parra x fem!reader (Part II) | Alejandro Vargas x fem!reader (Part I)

[18+] wc: ~900 masterlist

warnings: mostly SFW (but still marking it as 18+ just in case), some proofreading, no use of Y/N nor too many details on reader’s appearance (Rudy is taller than reader), pet names (paloma, palomita), let me know if i forgot anything a/n: a two part request from this ask. it is two separate stories. this is all written in Rudy’s POV. also a reference to girl dinner except it's girl lunch hehe. hope you enjoy!

Rudy curses as he drops his keys on your welcome mat. He holds a giant pink box in one hand and his helmet in the other. He places his helmet on the floor and picks up his keys to quietly open your door. You texted him that you were planning on taking a nap after having a rough morning but he could go ahead and let himself in. Rudy manages to bring in all his stuff without making too much noise and kicks off his boots.

He pushes the door open to your bedroom and is met with different shades of pink silk and satin. You're sleeping soundly wrapped in a fluffy blanket with rain sounds playing from your speaker on the nightstand. Rudy stares for a few moments in awe, wondering how he could be so lucky to find someone like you. He thinks about taking off his jeans and leather jacket to join you in bed but decides against it, not wanting to wake you.

Rudy places the pink box on the chair by your vanity and quietly closes the door behind him. He knows the way around your home just like you know your way around his. He sees a new addition to the photos on your shelf, one of you and him on his motorcycle. The nervousness from his gift dissipates while looking at the photo. She’s going to like it, he thinks.

He takes off his leather jacket and places it on the couch while he decides what to make you for lunch. Rudy stops in front of the stove and chuckles lightly as he sees the cinnamon rolls sitting in a glass cake stand. You hate cinnamon with a passion while he loves cinnamon. He was more than ready to give up cinnamon in order to date you, but on the 3rd date you surprised him with a delicious batch of homemade cinnamon rolls.

Since then, you don’t mind baking him pastries or sweet breads with cinnamon as long as he rinses his mouth with mouthwash before kissing you. It is a compromise he happily makes every time. Rudy opens the fridge and begins to take out some fruit and cheeses then crackers from your cupboard. He finds it funny how you can eat what he considers snacks as a meal. Knowing he’s going to need more sustenance, he takes out the prosciutto as well.

Rudy busies himself with cutting the apples and strawberries into smaller pieces and arranging them on a board. It’s slightly disordered and not as pretty as you usually make it but he hopes you’ll still like it. He thinks about all the times he makes you food or buys you gifts. You’re more delicate and careful when putting together stuff for him, making everything look perfect. But when you accept something from him, a bow on the gift box slightly askew or some fruit cut in uneven pieces, you still give him a sweet kiss and thank him for taking the time to prepare something for you.

Rudy places the board in the fridge while he washes the dishes and cleans up the counter. He’s drying his hands when he hears your bedroom door open.

“Rudy? Are you here?” you call out in the sleepy voice he loves so much.

“Sí, paloma,” he responds,” in the kitchen.”

He hears you walk then stop for a few moments in the living room until you appear in the kitchen doorway. A sight for sore eyes, you're wearing the present he bought you: brand new pink and black motorcycle helmet. You put on his oversized leather jacket, standing barefoot and pretty just for him. You do a few poses for him, making him laugh then run into his arms. He wraps his arms around your smaller frame and you say a series of thank you, thank you, thank you, I love it so much.

“De nada, paloma,” he says while gently taking off the helmet to place a kiss on your mouth. “I like the outfit too, you should wear this more often.” [You’re welcome]

You laugh into his kiss while he tugs the bottom of your tiny cotton shorts. “I love you, Rudy. You didn’t need to buy me a new helmet, the other one was just fine. But thank you, baby boy.”

He groans at the nickname you call him, outwardly showing embarrassment but loving it every time you call him that. “I love you too, palomita. The other helmet was too old and scratched. I saw this one and immediately thought of you. I wanted your first helmet to be perfect.”

The helmet you’d been wearing was one of his. While you were the first and now the only person allowed to ride his bike and wear his helmets aside from himself, Rudy wanted to buy you something of your own. He isn’t going to tell you just yet, but he’s already looking for a leather jacket similar to his.

“It is perfect, baby boy,” you whisper as you tilt your head up to give him another long kiss. “Did you see the cinnamon rolls I made you, did you like them?”

“I haven’t tried them yet,” he laughs at your pout,” because I was making us lunch, go sit and I’ll bring it over.”

The new helmet is left on the kitchen counter as you and Rudy have lunch together. You stay in his leather jacket and laugh at his silly jokes, the rough morning already forgotten.

- - -

If you are interested in reading the first part with Alejandro's fluff, here is the link

#rudy parra #rudy parra x reader #rudy parra x female reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 x female reader #shadowlali

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josukebrainrot · 11 months

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Please do more bucci gang headcannons i take anything!

a/n: I just got this and was going to save this for last, but I couldn’t sleep last couple of nights and started thinking all of the general hcs for bucci gang I have . So, here it is !!

WHY DID THIS TURN OUT SO LONG ???!

warnings: sfw and nsfw hcs (will be separated), giorno x mista shipping, light abba x burno and fugo x narancia, mentions of risotto team.

General Bucci Gang Headcanons

sfw

starting with my love for giomis. mista can’t sleep without having some weight on him, and somehow mista can convince giorno to sleep on top of him when they’re together. giorno won’t admit to mista he enjoys it just as much as he does

abbacchio can’t stand white wine. he only likes red and occasionally rose but only on special occasions

fugo’s way of calming down is to bake stuff, i think his favorite to make would be lemon squares for some reason

talking about lemons, despite his name meaning orange, narancia has a skin allergy to citrus fruits. he can eat them but if the juice gets on his skin it will get broken out and all

burno’s love language is remembering his loves one favorite things and giving them gifts related to those out of the blue like its just another tuesday, he will also do the same on special occasions

burno definitely helps abba put his crown thing on everyday

trish, fugo, and giorno definitely have to force mista to have proper hygiene

not saying its bad but it probably only showers once-twice a week and only brushes his teeth when they feel yucky

abbacchio loves soap operas not those crime drama ones he hates those but those dramatic cheesy ones with evil twins and shit

bruno on the other hand loves crime drama ones especially the lifetime movie ones

mista and narancia FYCKING HATE modern day mtv

narancia is somehow the only one of all the men who does in fact use 3 in 1 shampoo

mista used to use 2 in 1 until giorno came along and stopped him

burno has whole skin care routine

narancia hates the smell of axe body spray

it’s really most fragrances but axe is the one he hates the most

mista thought axe body spray was a replacement for showering for awhile

so did abba when he was a cop but thats a whole another can of worms

narancia looks like the type to collect coins and bills from different countries

bruno knows how to make excellent home made pasta, he def learned it from his father

trish makes fugo go shopping with her because she can’t mista and giorno to go in public for something like that

fugo collects different types of bugs specifically butterflies and moths

trish is pompompurin girlie tell me im wrong

mista is the my melody person of the group

btw abba is badtz-maru, narancia is kuromi, bruno is hello kitty, fugo is cinnamoroll, and giorno is keroppi

i know risotto’s group is supposed to hate brunos but i just know abba and prosciutto are friends who got together every couple of mouths to play poker/cards

fugo favorite animal crossing character is marshall

don’t get me started on the other members of the gang favorites

mista, narancia, ans trish definitely would force the others to see the barbie movie

abba sneaks out to see oppenheimer-

nsfw (hopefully this is short)

abba definitely has a dick piercing (idk which one but he does)

mista wants one

mista has collerbone piercings tho

fugo would have a tongue

(why aren’t this nsfw bc abba with a piercing got thinking about the others)

abba definitely uses his stand to replay his partners orgasms

fugos stand has definitely come out/started appearing when he was horny once

if you know of my one piece blog i once talked about how law would definitely use his devil power during sex (he can remove limbs, hearts, switch bodies, and switch places with things with it) same goes to bruno

he’s used his stand power on his partner, unzip their head off and-

fugo is the type to fuck in a library, on multiple occasions

feel like all of them would be into food play

especially fugo and bruno

i know for fact that giorno has asked mista “is that gun in your pants or you happy to see me” and its 50/50 chance of mista having his gun in the front of his pants or not

WHY DOES GIORNO DO THIS I DON’T KNOW ???

i think the whole mista needs to have a weight on him to sleep is also a sexual thing too. I feel like he likes to have his partners on top him when doing the deed 🤷🏻‍♀️

*cough* fugo’s into bondage *cough*

do you think giorno can use his stand powers on cum?

bruno and abba have strong cucking/voyeur vibes. one likes watching the other fuck someonex but its not like bruno is into abba fucking someone, its both of them. both are into seeing the other fuck

hands down, abba is consenting head pusher. he will only push a persons head during a bj if they consent to it

all these mfs are consent kings/queen btw

fugo might be into cnc tho

why am I making fugo the kinkiest

narancia doesn’t get shit, i feel like he would be very asexual in my mind like he makes sexual jokes and all but hes not really into it and all

someone here is into wax play but I don’t know who- well we know fugo probably is but abba maybe

WHY AM I MAKING FUGO THE KINKIEST HES TRAUMATIZED NOT HORNY AH

mistas into biting and face sitting

also collars-

mista biggest no no is car sex because you know-

WAIT- no I think fugo would still be into library sex despite what happened

melone invited abba and bruno to a sex club once

also maybe a strip club

prosciutto and abba kept making bets on who would get fucked up the most, etc

guess who got fucked up the most

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maruzzewrites · 9 days

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For the “every breath you take” series, how do you think they like… find out that they’re all ‘pining’ (cough obsessing cough cough wait who said that) over the person that cleans their house... I’m imagining pro and maybe formaggio? (Not risotto because there’s no way he’d ever get caught slacking on his stalking skills, not even by his own teammates lol) somehow making eye contact from across the street and realizing what the other was doing… is it like an immediate brawl or are they too embarrassed? I can imagine Prosciutto trying to be all like “I met them first so therefore they’re mine and you’re all creepy losers fuck off” as if he wasn’t covered in blood when they first met 💀 I don’t know if that’s better or worse than formaggio’s corpse ‘jokes’

Also!!! Eee I’m glad to see you’re into dungeon meshi! Do you read the manga or are you watching the anime (too?)?

Alsox2 will you be transferring all of the posts from your old blog here then or will they be lost to the digital void?

I think I already answered something similar before but it's been literally years so forgive me if I contradict myself!

I do believe they would compromise based on the simple thing that, for now, reader isn't theirs. If they manage to get them, they will probably fight more but Risotto is too authoritative and scary for them to fight too much. But I believe they will be fights over who gets them at some points during the day.

For Dungeon Meshi, I only watched the anime (all the episode that are out at least), but I do intend on picking up the manga at some point. If any of you want to send asks about the characters, go ahead!

For the fics on my other blog, they will be lost to the void because I'm too lazy to transfer everything, but I'm gonna take more n/sfw requests too on here from now on so bring them if you want!

#anonymous

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cophene · 1 year

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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."

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#pseuminova #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader #golden wind #golden wind x reader #gender neutral reader #modern au

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icollectyoursins · 3 years

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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.

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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

#prosciutto jojo #prosciutto #prosciutto n/s/f/w #prosciutto not sfw #prosciutto n/sfw #prosciutto x reader #prosciutto x reader not sfw #prosciutto x reader n/sfw #prosciutto x reader n/s/f/w #prosciutto prompts #not sfw

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jostepherjoestar · 3 years

Note

Just had a thought tho what if the child La Squadra member started drawing their imaginary friends and when the crew ask them what the friends are called called the kid replies “sorbet and gelato” while proceeding to show them a drawing that looked like said teammates.

Feeling angsty tonight friends! I don’t write angst that often so pls be gentle 💖✨you all get a nice hug from cozy afterwards dw 😌

La Squadra kid draws Sorbet & Gelato

CW: unprocessed trauma, death, angst (P.S. i do not condone children having to take care of adults and their traumas)

“Hey there, whatcha drawing?” Formaggio casually asked as he walked behind the kid to plop down on the couch, the coffee table littered with pencils and paper while the kid quietly scribbled on their drawing. He didn’t really look at the piece of paper they were working on, more focused on the show he was about to put on. “Imaginary friends.” The child replied in their usual serious tone while leaning over to grab another coloured pencil.

“Cool. You wanna watch some stuff with me or...?” Formaggio asked, not really that interested in the inner machinations of imaginary friends. The silence let him know that the kid didn’t really want to be bothered so the grey haired man continued his watching.

“Formaggio! Come on, we have a meeting! You too kid.” Prosciutto called from the hallway, being answered with a quiet “yeah, yeah” from Formaggio. But he didn’t move quick enough to the blonde’s liking who came striding into the room with a scowl on his pretty face. From where he stood he saw the finished drawing on the corner of the low table, a flash of fear moved behind his eyes, his chest tightened, palms getting sweaty. “What’s that ?” Prosciutto asked in a hasty tone while walking over to grab the drawing. He saw the familiar faces of his former colleagues, one blond and one black haired fellow, arm slung over each others shoulders. “Sorbet and Gelato.” the kid replied while scribbling onto their new drawing. Prosciutto’s heart sank further into his chest, his fist crunching up the sides of the drawing he was clutching onto. Formaggio sat up from his lounging position, his eyes blown wide in shock. He felt a painful churn in the pit of his stomach, the horrible image of his teammate’s bodies crashing back into view. Those awful things he felt the day he found ... god he can’t even think of his name again, the pain it caused him was too much to bare.

“D-do you know who they are?” Prosciutto asked carefully, he knew yelling wouldn’t do them any good, the kid probably saw a picture somewhere right? “They visit sometimes but don’t stay long.” finally they looked up at Prosciutto, his expression trying its best to stay composed, the twitch of his eye betraying him. Without much more said, the blond asked the kid and Formaggio to follow him to the meeting to discus this further.

It was silent, so eerily quiet you’d almost be able to hear the thumping of aching hearts. The drawing set down in the middle of the table, the assassins placed around it, some worse off than others. Formaggio had calmed down but the weight of those two still pressed on his heart. The other men filled with fear and pain, trying to suppress the jumble of emotions. The very men they were told to forget about had made their way back into the room. Risotto stayed seated in his chair resting at the head of the table, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed in what seemed like anger. The kid didn’t know what to do or what was even wrong, opting to stand where Prosciutto had left them, next to their capo’s chair. The second in command had shakily explained what the child had told him to his superior while the rest of the men listened in. Not really one to speak much but sensing an emotion they couldn’t yet place, the kid wanted to know what was going on. “Sorry.” the little one spoke, not even sure what they were apologising for, they just drew the figures they saw walk around every once in a while, their vague images gliding against the floor, often just relaxing in the sitting room together while the rest of the team was present as well while talking or even fighting sometimes. They seemed to enjoy the ruckus around them.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It- they’re...” Risotto spoke softly but his tongue felt tied and his head foggy, the pinching on his nose grounding him somewhat in reality. “They were our teammates.” Melone spoke up, still trying his best to even out his breathing but his heart kept hammering in his chest, the tight anxious coil inside not making it easier on him. “They got killed. You don’t need to know more.” he spoke in a hushed voice, like the words would commit the atrocities against Sorbet and Gelato all over again.

“Meeting’s over.” Risotto sighed as he excused the men, leaving them to deal with their troubles on their own, knowing he can’t do anything at the moment. The kid didn’t know what to do, did they have to leave? Their tummy starting to hurt from the whole ordeal, not sure what else could be done. It was only them and Risotto who remained in the room, it felt even colder and emptier now, the tension was still palpable. The tall man slinked out of his chair, dropping to his knees, still towering over the child. A large hand placed on their elbow to offer some form of support, Risotto felt empty, angry even at his own disrepair, for letting down the kid, feeling too weak to say anything. But he had to, he couldn’t just leave them in the dark. “Sorbet and Gelato,” the names stung like needles as they rolled off his tongue. “they were killed by our boss. They did something he didn’t like and they were punished for it. But I won’t ever let that happen again, ok. Not while I’m here.” his tone was steadier than before, remembering the promise he made himself to never let his men get hurt like that again at the hands of his mysterious boss. The child processed the information with care, they knew the job they did had risks, maybe too many for someone their age. Perhaps too grown for their own good.

“They’re ok now.” the child spoke in a soft voice, trying to soothe some of the pain they knew was inside their capo. Risotto met their eyes, searching if they’d just lied for comfort, but he didn’t find a trace of dishonestly in their gaze. Their stoic expression never softens but Risotto preferred it, especially now, afraid he’d break down completely if he saw a single tear roll down their sweet puffy cheeks. “Thank you.” The broken man whispered, leaning his head back down, grabbing onto a small delicate hand, gently squeezing it to solidify his words. The small one squeezed back. Never had a pitiful gesture conveyed more than words ever could.

#cozy ask #jjba x reader #jjba fic #la squadra x reader #risotto x reader #prosciutto x reader #formaggio x reader #melone x reader #sorbet and gelato #jjba x y/n #jjba imagines #angst #sfw #pomo

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jellyluchi · 1 year

Text

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.

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wri0thesley · 1 year

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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.”

#prosciutto x reader #prosciutto smut #jjba x reader #jjba smut #yandere jjba #yandere prosciutto #writing #not sfw text #yandere for ts #dub con for ts #non con for ts #jojo postin

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timetowritefic-dark · 3 years

Text

WIP Incubus Prosciutto for Monster Lab AU? Anyway, I can't choose his skin tone so have it all!! (Gold is luxury. Blue is good. Purple? sexy ahh)

@jellyluchi *wiggle brows*

#prosciutto jojo #incubus prosciutto #my drawing #n sfw #monster lab au #I can't draw spider soooooo #drider Pros gotta wait #have sexy incubus!#prosciutto jjba #la squadra

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cophene · 1 year

Text

29 || ✦.⁺ hamartia.

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═ ☆. A LINE OF CRYSTAL ICE SPREAD from the tear in the infirmary to a point in the sea. It sparkled in the dim light, incongruous against the dark black of the ocean. A slight wind blew back Giorno’s hair as he frowned intensely down at Narancia, Gold Experience moving to stitch together his flesh and muscle as he lay prone on a cot.

He had spent months working on this ability of his Stand. It made sense that if Gold Experience could create plants and animals, it could heal injuries. On some level, cells were also living things, weren’t they? Practicing on small cuts, Giorno found his Stand was able to create new skin, practically indistinguishable from the skin his body would have made itself. Perhaps the only drawback was that the pain remained, even if the injury was healed.

Creating entire parts of limbs was taxing. It took immense focus and energy on Giorno’s part. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shoulder, Gold Experience running its hands down Narancia’s now-smooth arm. Giorno felt wrung-out and drained, but there was still work to be done. He wasn’t naive enough to think that Trish, Abbacchio, Bruno and (y/n) wouldn’t sustain injuries dealing with the Stand mass.

He had learned its name from Prosciutto. Notorious B.I.G. It was a fitting name that he might have chuckled about any other time.

Risotto had been easy enough to heal. Rest was probably the only thing he needed to get back on his feet. Narancia and Mista had been harder, but at least their injuries were only surface-level, not deep enough to harm muscle. Even Caprese, as ghastly as he looked, had only needed healing on his arms and legs. Giorno had nearly forgotten about him until Prosciutto hauled him in from the hallway. He was in one of the guest rooms now, where some freshmen would probably find him and assume he’d gotten into a fight somewhere.

Giorno was particularly worried about Fugo, the welts and bubbles on his skin. He had waited for as long as he could before going in, for fear of Purple Haze’s lingering fog. The two of them had spoken about the possibility of creating some sort of antidote for his Stand’s virus. They’d sent a snake that Giorno had made from Gold Experience into the Purple Haze’s mist in the hope of using the venom somehow. Hopefully Vanilla Ice would be able to find the vial in his room and bring it quickly.

“Anything?” he called to Melone by the window.

Melone shook his head. “Ghiaccio still isn’t back yet. They must have gone farther than we thought.”

They would have had to, in order for the waves to be fast enough to draw away the Stand. Giorno forced himself to move to pick up the bandages and replace the scattered medical paraphernalia. Worrying about them wouldn’t do any good.

In a flash of surprising pragmatism, Formaggio had rounded up the other notable members of Giorno’s vigilante group after he’d seen the mass. In curt, tense words, Giorno had laid everything out for them, Signor D’s attempted murder-spree and their half-baked plan to get rid of the Signor’s Stand. He had ordered Ghiaccio and Illuso to use their Stands to find the boat on the ocean. Formaggio, Prosciutto and Melone stayed behind to get everyone onto a cot and to try to help Giorno the best they could. Bloody bandages and gauze littered the floor. Giorno kept waiting for the nurse to return to the infirmary, but he never did.

“You should take a break,” said Prosciutto. “You’ve been working non-stop. You’ll collapse at this rate.”

Giorno shrugged off his tuxedo jacket. “I’ll be fine. If I leave them for much longer, someone might see. We need to keep this under wraps.”

“No one will come up here,” Formaggio said. “We told everyone you and the elites wanted privacy. They think you’re playing strip poker.”

Giorno smiled bitterly. If only.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Formaggio was right. He felt faint, black spots dancing across his vision. A part of his mind kept straying to the boat. If something had happened to them out there, would he have the strength to heal them at this point?

“They’re back!” Melone gasped.

Giorno immediately ran for the tear from Sticky Fingers. Ghiaccio was pushing the remains of a boat across the expanse of ice he’d made. Giorno quickly spied Bruno and Abbacchio, drenched but unhurt. Bruno was carrying Trish over his back, her head lolling against his shoulder. Dark bruises crossed her neck and Giorno scowled to think of Notorious wrapping itself around Spice Girl.

“Where’s (y/n)?” Giorno’s voice was dry and he coughed to clear it.

Abbacchio tossed something to Giorno. He scrambled to catch it. “They’re with Illuso in his mirror world. It seemed safer for them there.”

While Melone and Formaggio helped everyone back into the infirmary, Giorno opened the little hand mirror. He caught a glimpse of Man in the Mirror before the Stand dragged him through the portal.

Illuso’s mirror world was quiet. Peaceful. The cots were empty, the piles of bloody bandages nowhere to be found. The shredded door frame and tear in the wall were gone too. There was only Illuso and (y/n)’s body lying on a cot.

“Are they alright?” Giorno asked, working hard to keep his voice from cracking.

Illuso was grave. “It’s bad, Giorno. They—I can barely feel a pulse.”

Giorno’s face was impassive as he looked (y/n). Inside, though, his heart wrenched painfully. What had (y/n) done to themself? Their body was a horrifying mess, barely holding itself together. They had been ripped apart like a paper doll. Giorno felt a sob rise in his throat.

(Y/n) couldn’t have survived this. Notorious B.I.G. had torn into White Satin, shredding it. The image was morbidly clear in his mind.

Giorno reached a hand toward (y/n), then stopped.

“Oh god,” he whispered. “What am I supposed to do?”

Gold Experience couldn’t fix this. There was too much. There was too little. He would wrench whatever life (y/n) was clinging to right now instead of saving them.

He stumbled back, tripping against a cot. He landed on it heavily, hearing his breath escape in choppy gasps.

What am I supposed to do?

I’ll kill (y/n).

I’ll kill them.

I can’t—

“Pull yourself together.”

Giorno snapped his head up. Illuso had taken him back to the real world. Abbacchio was glaring at him. Formaggio and the others looked frightened of the expression they saw on Giorno’s face.

Giorno lurched toward Bruno. “What did you do? Why—Bruno, they’re going to die.”

“They will unless your Gold Experience—”

“No, I can’t. It’s-it’s too much. We need doctors. Surgeons. My Stand can’t—”

Bruno’s eyes were desperate. “Giorno, please. Every minute we leave (y/n) in there is another minute they’re losing. We don’t have time to get them to a hospital.”

Giorno shook his head. The black spots wouldn’t leave his vision.

He couldn’t. If his Stand made a mistake, (y/n) would die. His hands weren’t gentle enough to hold their life. They needed a fine, delicate needle to sew (y/n) together. Gold Experience was a bludgeon.

“You’re a selfish asshole. Do you think you’re too good to save (y/n)?” The words were a splash of freezing water. Abbacchio jabbed Giorno painfully in the chest. “Is your little Stand only good enough to save your friends? Is that it? (Y/n) isn’t worth your energy?”

Giorno’s mouth opened but made no sound.

“You don’t give a damn, do you? I know all about your little circle. Who cares if (y/n) dies? You can just find another person, another Stand user. They’ll just be a footnote, a nice little hashtag on your profile.”

“Abbacchio,” Bruno said tightly.

Abbacchio threw his words like serrated knives. “You can’t even be bothered to try saving (y/n). Why should you? When they’re not one of your elites? When your mission is over and Signor D is dead? ”

Giorno blinked. He felt the eyes of the room on him.

“I already healed Narancia and Risotto,” he whispered. “I healed Mista, and I did my best with Fugo. That’s why I stayed here instead of going on the boat. Because I know my Gold Experience is capable of healing their injuries.” He gripped the hand mirror tightly. “But (y/n)? You saw them. Those injuries are fatal. I don’t know what my Stand can do about them. I might save them, but what if I just take away their chances? I could barely heal a cut on my finger a week ago. How am I supposed to heal that ?”

Because at the end of the day, that was Giorno’s hamartia, wasn’t it? He acted self-assured and in control, but he didn’t have any clue what he was doing. In this mad scramble for Signor D, how many people had been hurt because he’d thought he was doing the right thing?

Abbacchio’s jaw was clenched so tight Giorno thought his teeth might shatter. “That’s a risk you have to take,” he said. “That’s what you were always risking.”

Giorno looked slowly around the room. He hated the distant pity he saw on everyone’s faces and the sharp undercurrent of judgement. What did they know? Would they have done better if their roles were reversed?

Giorno had Illuso settle (y/n) in one of the side rooms away from the infirmary. His heart wrenched when (y/n) had to lie on the floor, the chairs too bulky to properly … spread them out. When Illuso left, Giorno folded his tuxedo jacket with painful tenderness under (y/n)’s head. He sat beside them as Gold Experience worked, hardly daring to move, to breathe more than he should have. It was strangely intimate, but Giorno kept himself distant. He worked slowly, with as much gentleness as he could muster. He had been hasty with the others, with (y/n), he couldn’t afford to be. With excruciating care, he reconstructed the lines of (y/n)’s body, not quite knowing where his Stand took the energy from. He thought of the curve of their smile, the timbre of their voice. That day in the café. That night he’d given them the lighter. The diaphanous strands of White Satin, the way they unconsciously calmed him.

His fault. Him and his bravado. His pretentiousness.

He thought of their profile, that picture that had caught his attention. They had never doubted him. That was the thing that stuck out to Giorno. They had never asked twice about the missions he sent them on.

They’d trusted him in the end. How terrible was that?

Gold Experience finished its work. Giorno didn’t know whether it was good enough. He knew (y/n) must have been in agonizing pain still. At least their body was together enough to transport to the hospital now. At least they were still unconscious, their mind away from all of this.

At least there was that.

He returned to the infirmary. Left quiet instructions for Bruno. He jerked away when Bruno reached for him.

Vanilla Ice arrived with the antidote. The hospital would administer it to Fugo. Someone had called ambulances; they would be on their way. Giorno glanced over the cots one last time. The others would be fine. That was all he could hope for.

He smoothed the hair back from Trish’s forehead. She would understand what he was feeling. If only she were awake.

Abbacchio had left; Giorno wouldn’t have known what to say to him.

Giorno stumbled out into the hallway, holding himself up along the walls. Whenever he closed his eyes, (y/n)’s face would float into his mind.

He couldn’t think about them. Oh god, he couldn’t.

He left the cruise ship, making sure to keep away from the prying eyes of Sapiena’s student body. They would whisper, wonder what was wrong. He called for a cab. While he waited, he was overcome with a sudden rise of bile. He leaned over the docks, retching.

He felt terrible.

The cab driver looked curiously at the boy who climbed into the backseat. Giorno turned his head toward the window.

“Where to?”

“The airport.”

He was being an asshole. Trish would tear him a new one once she woke up.

So would (y/n).

If they woke up?

When was the last time he had talked to his mother? He was surprised when the call didn’t go to voicemail.

Her voice was bright, terribly so, given the circumstances.

“GioGio, ciao, darling! What time is it over in Naples? You don’t usually call. I’m getting ready for a photoshoot; you’ll have to hurry.”

“Mamma,” he swallowed. “Can I come to see you?”

“Hm? When?”

Giorno felt like a child. “Now.”

His mother laughed. “Of course. You’ll love it out here. The people are lovely.”

She didn’t understand. She didn’t even question. But that was why he had called.

The call ended. Giorno bought one ticket for the flight that left the earliest.

A text from his father. Giorno ignored it.

He needed as much distance from (y/n) as he could. He did not want to be here when—if?—they woke up. It was irrational, reckless, but it was the only thing he could stand. He didn’t need to be here anymore, not when he’d completed his mission.

Signor D was dead. Where was the champagne?

“Excuse me, may I have a glass of champagne?”

The flight attendant stared at him. This boy with a wrinkled suit and disheveled hair. There were flecks of blood along his jaw and his hands. His eyes were haunted beneath their brilliant turquoise.

“Are you alright, signore?”

Giorno blinked rapidly.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

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#pseuminova #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #vento aureo x reader #vento aureo #golden wind #golden wind x reader #gender neutral reader #modern au

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icollectyoursins · 3 years

Text

Prosciutto x Homebody!Reader NSFW

Anon asked: "May I request some wholesome Prosciutto x homebody reader who doesn't go out much so they have a stay at home date? (Bonus if it includes nsfw then light bondage with reader tied to the bed + soft dom Pro and orgasm denial + praise kink) thank you so much 🥺"

During a dinner date at home, Prosciutto notices that you’re positively burning up and, being the excellent life partner he is, decides you need to rest in bed until you’re better. Or until you’re begging for him to let you cum, which ever comes first.

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: Vibrators, Prosciutto being an ass but like... hot? And kinda sweet? Helping your partner eat their food (not in a kinky way, more in he’s an ass kind of way patronizing almost. With lots of innuendoes), light praise kink, bondage, anal fingering, orgasm denial.

Word Count: 1400

Prosciutto elegantly placed your plates on the table, ignoring your squirming. The smell of delicious food floods your nostrils, making your mouth water. You flicked your eyes up to him, smiling sweetly when he did the same. A chuckle rumbled through his chest as he looked over your body. Though you tried to stay still, you couldn’t help the small tremble that coursed through your body.

To anyone looking in from the outside, they would have thought you were cold. You two, of course, knew that was far from the truth. Nestled between your legs, humming against your most sensitive parts was a vibrator. A vibrator that he controlled from his phone.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, (Y/N).” Hearing your name on his lips made a soothing warmth spread throughout your body. You hummed, twirling pasta around your fork.

“It’s not very often my man makes me such a delicious dinner. I’m a little beside myself, Prosciutto.” You both laughed softly.

“If you enjoy your dinner that much, wait for dessert.” His eyes narrowed in a way that made your heart jump. If this was just the first course in what he had planned for you tonight, then you were very excited for what happened after. What seemed like a million images of him pleasing you floated through your head, making you all the more desperate to finish eating.

You took your first bite and god, it was delicious. Prosciutto had outdone himself. You would need to ask for dates like these more often. Or maybe just for him to cook for you more. Since you were the one spending most of your time at home, it was agreed that you would do a large portion of the housework during the days he was away and he would come home with flowers every weekend or new clothes that he would make you model for him.

He also had chores to do when he was home, but it was mostly handy stuff like fixing the sink, the washing machine, putting in new light bulbs, etc. Because he was away so often, most of his time was spent with you in his arms on the couch, making up for all the kisses he should have given you. Though, there were a few instances where you pretended things were broken again just to see him take off his jacket, roll up his sleeves and flex his muscles while trying to figure out the problem. He caught on pretty quick, but hey! If it lead to sex later and a smile on your face, he’d pretend to fix things all you wanted.

Moments pass with the vibrator still on a low buzz. You start to wonder if he forgot or if he was just trying to be nice while you ate. Idle conversation about your days was made to keep the silence at bay until you had come close to finishing your plate. There were only a few forkfuls left when the buzz got stronger, making you moan out of shock.

“Problem, baby?” He purrs, knowing full well that there was indeed a problem. You weren’t stretched open over his girthy cock. That was the problem.

“No, dear. Why would there be a problem?” You teased, obviously lying.

“Good,” Prosciutto said, scooping up the last of his pasta into his mouth before getting up to clean the plate.

Just as you were about to put a rather large mound into your mouth, the vibrator shot up in intensity again, eyes growing wide as you moaned again. This time, your hips bucked into the air of their own accord. You looked over to him, just to see what he was doing. His back covered most of his movements, you couldn’t tell if he was playing around with the settings on his phone or-

“AaAah!~” You practically shrieked as the vibrator changed its pattern from a single pace to one that flicked on and off at a quick tempo.

“Oh, (Y/N).” Suddenly, Prosciutto was beside you, humming your name while brushing his finger along your cheek. “Can’t finish your dinner?” You silently cursed him for being such a coy asshole. The back of his hand rested against your forehead. “Hm. Your face is rather hot, are you sure you’re okay?”

You struggled to speak without moaning, but eventually, you were able to spit out his name through gritted teeth. A chair is pulled up beside you and his hand begins to rub your back softly.

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the fork from your hand. “Trying to fit so much in your mouth while you’re like this? Tch. You should know better than to bite off more than you can chew.” You roll your eyes while he gathers the ‘correct’ amount of pasta, bringing it up to your lips. “Open. Good, that’s it. So good for me.”

You groan in annoyance, finishing the bite before talking. “Stop making this hot.” Prosciutto laughs, leaning into your neck, breath tickling your skin.

“Do you want to get right to dessert, (Y/N)?”

“Please,” you huffed, bringing your hand to his thigh, slowly trailing it up to the bulge in his pants.

Without another word, he lifts you out of the chair, tossing you over his shoulder and making his way to the bedroom. You couldn’t help the warmth that pooled over you whenever he made you feel so weightless. All you wanted him to do was spear you on his cock while pinning you to the wall. One of his hands drifted up your thigh, squeezing your ass cheek, making you moan, headily, dazed from your lust-idled mind.

You were set down onto the middle of the bed, clothes quickly discarded to a pile in the corner. Prosciutto cages you underneath him, kissing a trail from your lips, down your neck right to the tips of your fingers, then, he attaches the first strap to your wrist. You can’t help but moan and squirm under him as he repeats the same action to the other hand. It was time for your legs now. The anticipation made you squirm, gently bucking up into him.

“Patience, (Y/N). You’ll get what you want.” He leaves another trail from your sternum down to your knee, extra careful to not touch your aching genitals in any way. He bends your legs, teasing you as much as he can. You moan and keen under his touch, so close to your release. “Oh, right. Don’t move.”

With a chuckle, he gets up, walking back to the kitchen where he left his phone. He returns promptly, standing in the doorway with a prideful look on his face. As if you hadn’t been through enough, he turns up the vibrator again. You cry out, hips lifting up off the bed, then he turns it off.

“Prosciutto, p-please.”

“Please, what?” Prosciutto pulls out the rope from under the bed.

He slowly crawls back onto the bed, taking his place between your legs again. Carefully, he ties the rope around the middle of your shin and thigh, leaving you immobile. Once he’s done both legs, he pulls a bottle of lube out of his pockets and squirting some onto his fingers. Fucking men’s pockets. You didn’t get the chance to think of a follow-up. His fingers were already on your aching hole, massaging your back door.

“Ugh, just fuck meee.” You whine. The first finger is slipped in and you cried out again. Slowly, he finger fucked in and out of you, dragging against your walls at an agonizing pace. A second digit was added, then a third, stretching you open. “P-pleaaasee. I -uhnn~ I’m so close.”

Prosciutto simply hums, continuing the slow pace while your cries get louder and louder. Soon, you’re writhing under him, eyes rolling back into your head. You arch your back off the bed, a telltale sign that you were just one push away. Your practically screamed out release was cut short by his fingers retreating, leaving you so, so empty.

Coming down from the shock, you realized you were crying. You hated that he could make you such a mess like this. But then that first finger was back at your ass again and you melted, begging him over and over again to wreck you; leave you limping in the morning. He chuckles, kissing your inner thigh.

“Not yet, darling. Not. Yet.”

#prosciutto not sfw #prosciutto n/s/f/w #prosciutto n/sfw #prosciutto x reader not sfw #prosciutto x reader n/sfw #prosciutto x reader n/s/f/w #prosciutto jojo #prosciutto x reader #prosciutto prompts #jjba part 5 #vento aureo #not sfw

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dongiovannaswife · 4 years

Note

Can I get some good NSFW headcannons of our ham boy Prosciutto coming home to his fem S/O after a hard day on the job as a hitman?

I have no idea if this is a drabble, a one shot or headcanons aksljdklasjd

CW: unprotected sex, fingering, praise, mentions of cunnilingus, afab reader, dirty talk, Pro finishing on reader’s thighs —forgot if that has a word, sorry.

As Prosciutto stands before the mirror undoing his suit jacket and saving his necklace into the drawers, you sit in the bed, watching him in a daze of sleepiness and worry, glancing at him as he keeps getting his clothes off. To your relief, there are no visible wounds, not even scratches —proof of his stand’s efficiency and his capo’s mind. The missions he’s been assigned to allowing him to come back home safe.

“How was your day?” you finally ask, standing but stopping when he turns to you, ending up centimeters from you. His face holds the same seriousness as always and when he replies his voice seems to bring the warm of the summer and the fresh memory of the sea. “The same as always —getting things done. Making sure the boss does not go after us; and making sure no one in the team does if we want to live long enough to get our plan done.” his hand, however, sneaks around your waist, pressing you against him firmly, his breathing closer to your face, fuming over your skin; his cologne intoxicating, and the thought of stop staring into his eyes too vague and not an option. His other hand comes to trace your jaw, fingers tilting your head enough to dip his head and capture your lips in a breathtaking kiss. Dominant and sensual, contrasting to the seriousness and composure of his words and acts.

“Most important,” he whispers against your lips, pulling away enough to do so, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” your breath quickens at his statement and you bat your eyelashes at him, smirking as you play with his hair, out of its hairstyle. “Is that so? Because I’ve been thinking about you too.”

The groan that rumbles through his chest makes you squeeze your legs together, something that doesn’t escape from his watch as he returns the smirk, turning with you still glued to his body and sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling you into his lap in a swift motion. Sneaking his arm around your waist, you dip your head down, pulling your hair back so you can kiss him and nibble at his lip, teasingly grinding against the growing bulge on his boxers through your panties —at your movements, his hand holds onto the fabric of your silk nightgown as his other hand runs up and down your thigh.

Humming against his lips and pulling away, your cheeks flush at the sight of his pupils, blown out; you can’t even see the color of his eyes.

“Are you going to stay there or are you going to let me eat you out?”

You giggle, rubbing his shoulders. “I’d very much want you to take me in different ways.”

Prosciutto smirks, enjoying the sound of your laugh and deep down he’s promising himself he will turn that laugh into moans and screams of his name —as of now, however, he makes sure your legs are safe with his hands grasping one and his other holding your backside. Then, he stands, turning and laying you down and kneeling between your legs with his arms at each side of you.

Leaning down, he starts licking and kissing all over your neck and collarbones, humming when you squirm under him —he’s desperate at this point, craving you.

So he takes your underwear off and makes sure your breasts are free without taking the nightgown off: his boxers end up somewhere along the floor, kicked out and forgotten. Making sure you’re completely ready, his fingers ghost over your clit, rubbing gently and then to your folds, caressing and touching until you whimper and he smirks into your neck, biting down as the first finger gets in —pumping it slowly, he mutters about how well you’re doing it, how well you feel around him and how he can’t wait to have more of you.

Once he’s sure you’re fully ready and begging for more of him, saying how much you want him buried deep inside you, how much you need him pounding you Prosciutto finally gives in, teasing you one last time by rubbing himself all over you and when you cry out, burying himself inside at once, loving your expression when he does. He shifts and his face ends up against your neck as he starts moving, grunting when you wrap your legs around his waist, speeding up his movements. Grunts and moans fall from his mouth and get muffled against your skin, but the vibrations they send through his chest and the way you can feel it into his breath making you cry out in ecstasy, whispering and calling out for him in desperate need of that sweet warmth.

With quivering breathing, it doesn't take too long before you're shaking against him and your back arches, finishing and then, small whimpers fall from your lips when he keeps driving himself into you, chasing his own orgasm. One, two, three thrusts before he grunts through gritted teeth, pulling out and pumping himself as his warmth ends up staining your thighs. The blissed out grin he gives you makes you smile as you try to calm down.

#Anonymous #prosciutto jojo #prosciutto x reader #La Squadra di Esecuzione #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #jjba vento aureo #JJBA fanfiction #jjba x reader #fem reader #fem s/o #n sfw ish #jjba ougon no kaze

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writing-gifts · 4 years

Text

prosciutto x camgirl!reader

A/N: WHEW okay here’s one of the 100+ followers milestone stories!

reader’s kinda a little shit in this ngl but i had fun writing her lol

So imma preface with some warnings:

this is fem!reader, obviously 18+, there’s also degrading dirty talk but nothing too intense, and then theres a hint of cuckery in here lmaoo

okay thats all, hope you enjoy

-----

“Hello, hello Prosci. How’s your day going? You look handsome as always.”

Prosciutto opens his pack of cigarettes to grab one. "You're still calling me that nickname?"

"Yea and I think it’s pretty fitting actually."

You lay in front of your laptop watching the man through the screen. He places the cigarette between his lips, choosing not to acknowledge your statement. "You're more energetic than usual."

"Well, I'm always happy to see you, but it's been awhile since you’ve done a private session with me..."

"Your time isn't exactly cheap."

But Prosciutto always found himself coming back no matter how much he told himself it was the last time.

“Doesn’t mean I didn't miss you.”

And even though you were being slightly heavy handed with the sweet talk, there was no doubt that Prosciutto was among your top favorite fans. He was part of the reason why you actually considered and started offering video calling along with your regular streaming.

The first time you saw his actual face, you couldn’t deny that he was very attractive. (You particularly loved when he let his hair down, but you pretty much had to beg for that to happen.)

Unfortunately, these private sessions always seemed to fly by with him.

A slight, smug smile appears on his lips as he lights his cigarette. "You like me that much gattina?"

"Lets just say I wouldn't mind actually having you here--in my bed--Prosciutto." You cross your legs behind you.

He hums, taking a drag from his cigarette and exhaling. "Show me how much you want me then."

Typical, but you liked that about him. “Of course.”

You move from your comfortable spot to place your laptop on the table at the end of your bed, then switch your webcam input to the camera set up next to it, in front of your bed--it was much better quality than your laptop’s. The red light on the camera signals that it's on.

You plop back on your bed and turn towards the camera “Can you see me?”

“Perfectly.”

“So do you want the usual? Or something related to a weird new kink you discovered?”

Sitting on your knees, you begin to strip the lingerie from yourself, doing your best to make a show of it. The lace brushing against your skin feels much more noticeable while you slowly remove the sheer clothing.

You look at the camera with half lidded eyes. “Hmm? I’m taking your silence as the usual.”

Once you're completely bare except for your stockings and garter belt, you see Prosciutto looking at you with a calm but focused expression, and you can’t help smiling to yourself. Performing for the man was always fun. He was so committed to staying cool so it was thoroughly enjoyable to unravel him. It wasn't easy but it was very worth it.

You lay on your back, relaxed, and let your legs hang off the side of the bed, as you wait for Prosciutto's orders.

He takes in your lovely body. What he would give to run his hands over your thighs, over your chest. Between your legs.

He wanted to feel you against him while he thrust his throbbing cock into you.

But he simply says," Spread your legs for me.”

You move to lay back, propping against the multiple pillows on your bed and look into the camera lens to make “direct” eye contact with Prosciutto. You open your legs and slowly move your hands down your stomach until your fingers are brushing against your sensitive slit.

You then spread yourself, softly circling your clit for the camera.

“Good gattina, just like that,” Prosciutto’s low voice sends a rush of arousal through you.

He smokes as he watches you pleasure yourself, enjoying the increasing excitement that clearly shows itself between your legs.

Your arousal sets to a low but persistent feeling. Small pleased hums escape you periodically as Prosciutto continues to watch you like any regular broadcast on TV. Minutes pass before he finally puts his cigarette out.

Then he starts to slowly palm himself, his hardening cock pushing against the expensive cloth of his trousers.

When you notice this, you press down and rub your fingers slightly harder against your clit. Your other hand slides to your chest and begins to massage the soft flesh while squeezing your nipple between your fingers.

“I see your arm moving behind the desk. Are you touching yourself to me? That's so sexy.”

Even though you weren’t able to see everything, it excited you. Maybe you could convince him to show himself fully one day. In fact, a small part of you that you weren’t ready to fully acknowledge wanted to actually meet with him.

“You’re so wet for me and we only just started,” Prosciutto says.

"Only for you babe."

You continue to touch yourself, your noises growing more frequent.

Prosciutto leans back and the sound of him unbuckling his belt sounds through the speakers. You imagine him freeing his stiff cock and gently stroking himself while watching your every move.

Pleasant warmth continues to spread throughout your body, however you can’t help messing with Prosciutto.

“But it's kinda funny how your girl shows her wet pussy to all sorts of men. Isn't that terrible?”

You barely catch the hitch in his breath.

Oh?

“Unless...you like it?” A small smirk covers your face while you continue to finger yourself. One point for you.

You curl your finger, feeling against your soft walls.

Prosciutto scoffs. “Why don't you put that smart mouth of yours to use since you have so much to say?”

You pull your fingers out of your entrance, albeit a little reluctantly. “Whatever you want Prosci.”

You lean over the side of your bed to open the bottom drawer of your night stand and pull out your new toy.

You show it off to the camera. "Do you like it? I haven't used it with anyone else yet."

It was a glass dildo with a cute pink heart as the handle.

“Flashy as always but as long as it gets the job done.”

You sigh. “You’re so boring! You should pick something out better for me that you like then.”

He doesn’t react like you hope but you're pretty confident he will.

Pleased with the idea of a gift, you crawl towards the camera. And once you're close enough, you lean forward, giving a little grin as you bring the dildo towards your mouth. The cool glass of the dildo presses against your lips.

"It’s pretty but definitely couldn’t beat you..." And you think part of you really meant that.

You wrap your lips around the dildo and your tongue slides against the underside as you push it further into your mouth.

You start off slow, but get comfortable enough to push farther until you feel it touch the back of your mouth. Then you press a bit more until it slowly enters your throat. Furrowing your brows slightly, you rub your thighs together ready to touch yourself again. You begin to thrust the dildo, hoping that Prosciutto lets you soon.

"You look like you're waiting for something," Prosciutto says.

You hum but he takes his time enjoying your current state before he finally says something.

"Get on your back."

You pull the dildo out of your mouth--almost too quickly. Wiping away the drool at the corner of your mouth, you move to lay on your back but purposely in a way to hide your lower half from the camera.

Then with slow and deliberate movements, you drag the tip of the dildo along your pussy before using it to massage your clit. Prosciutto’s name slips from your mouth as you finally start pressing the dildo into your waiting entrance.

Prosciutto watches you, his hand stroking himself slightly faster as he hears his name leave your lips.

"Your cock feels so good. Am I taking you the way you like, Prosciutto? Do you want to come deep inside my slutty pussy?"

Prosciutto wanted to do that and more. “I'll fill that filthy hole once you’re begging for my cock like the whore you are.”

You clench around the dildo, which you were doing your best to imagine was actually Prosciutto thrusting into you.

“Now properly show off how slutty your pussy is gattina.”

You move without question and turn yourself properly towards the camera, laying on your side, so nothing is hidden from him.

Prosciutto couldn't turn away if he wanted. The desperation to feel you against him as you begged for his cum was starting to get to him.

With your head resting against one of your pillows, Prosciutto closely watches your entrance stretch around the hard intrusion as you press the dildo back in.

You increase your pace until you’re pushing the dildo the deepest it can go. “You treat me so well Prosciutto,” you moan. You could feel yourself getting close and you didn’t want to slow down.

Reaching under yourself with your free hand, you begin to rub at your clit.

"I hope you're not trying to come without permission."

You do your best to make sure not to come before a fan’s satisfied but nonetheless, you force yourself to slow down for him.

"P-Prosciutto please."

He tsks. “You'll come when I'm ready."

Even though that's what he says you can also hear the strain in his voice.

But you on the other hand are tired of holding back. The way Prosciutto's calm facade was starting to slip because of you was making it very tempting to break fan-satisfaction rule.

Luckily for you, barely a moment passes before he comes, groaning your name as he strokes himself through the rest of his orgasm.

You look over at your laptop to see him finishing--from what you see--and that breaks the last restraint you have. You rub yourself fingers against yourself faster, thrusting the dildo faster into your pussy until you come. You close your eyes as you tighten repeatedly on the toy.

After a minute passes and you catch your breath, you prop your head up on your hand and look over at Prosciutto.

You smile, “Had fun?”

“Do you need to ask that?”

You can’t help giggling.

He stays for a short while to chat and after a quick goodbye, Prosciutto exits the call.

After closing your video calling app, you decide to take a quick picture of yourself to post to your twitter. Hopefully it would convince certain fans you had in mind to try to join you for a private session too.

#writing this reader was fun tbh #she's just trying to get a reaction out of pro #and pro is just so used to the nonsense #prosciutto x reader #JJBA #reader insert #fem!reader #my writing #gift's writing #n$fw #not sfw

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jellyluchi · 11 months

Text

Subtlety

A/N: Just a little fic because I haven't written Prosciutto x Focaccia in a hot minute!

Pairing: Prosciutto x Focaccia Genre: NSFW. Content warnings: clothed sex, cowgirl, piv sex Summary: Prosciutto comes home to finds his wife reading and wants to initiate some play time.

In the wake of his arrival home, Prosciutto is not surprised to find a quiet solitude residing within the walls. It’s just as he had left it that morning. During most of these trips that keeps him away from home he’s more enthusiastic about his return than about his departure. This yearning could only be attributed to one presence that has dominated his home for quite some time; the presence he must seek for right away. Usually, she would be greeting him at the door but it has come to his attention that something has been keeping her occupied as of late.

Discarding his jacket on the way, he makes for the bedroom where he’s most likely to find his wife. If not there, surely the kitchen would be his first guess. But noticing the dead lights above the small space he knows that’s deserted. That does not, however, deem the kitchen completely useless. Seeing a small trail of cookie crumbs leading from the doorway to the hall is the final hint he needs.

Smirking to himself and nearly snickering with delight, Prosciutto rolls his sleeves as if preparing to greet the love of his life for the first time; a sentiment he carries whenever he has to be away from her for long. Approaching the room in question, he inches closer to the doorknob intending to open it right away, only to be stopped by a particular sound.

“It’s so close… oh so close!” A desperate voice rings from inside the enclosed door, shielding him from seeing whatever happens inside. The only clue remains the dim light illuminating from the space between the entrance and the floor. Prosciutto’s eyes widen and he feels a sharp, electric shock course through his nerves. What is Focaccia doing?

Should he leave? Should he stay and listen? Would he be interrupting her…? Yet his feet feel planted deep within the ground, an unnatural force keeping him in place. He must continue listening.

“Ohhhh yeah…. Ahhh…” Attuned to the sound of his wife’s voice, Prosciutto could not mistake those noises if he wanted to. A deep blush adorns his cheeks as his brain naturally conjures images that contextualize what he hears: Focaccia with her legs spread, fingers deep within herself, thinking, wishing it were him instead. It makes his heart pound, the sound ringing in his ears as Prosciutto stifles a groan, trying to focus his lidded eyes. With a hand on the wall to steady himself, he listens for more.

How pathetic,he thinks, listening to his own wife pleasure herself while he stands getting blue balled. Would it be too much to disturb her… Is she having fun without him… Can he join in? He would more than make up for his interruption with his mouth if he has to… Deciding to brave his self-doubt, he knocks the door a few times.

“Honey?” Her sweet voice carries through the heavy wood.

“May I come in?” He asks, looking down at himself to make sure there are no hints of an erection to conceal.

“Of course, you’re back already?”

At her affirmation, Prosciutto pushes the entrance open, finding his wife in bed with a book.

“How was the trip? Did you finish all your business?” She asks, rather cheerfully.

“Yes…” He gives her a puzzled look that she barely notices, going back to her reading within moments.

“That’s great, baby. There’s dinner in the fridge if you’d still like it, I know it’s not time just yet…” But the words are muffled as he tries to decipher what he heard.

“What are you doing, my love?” Prosciutto inquires, deciding to be direct.

“I was just reading this novel,” Focaccia says, showing him the cover before returning to whatever story that has her captivated.

“Ah…” The conversation isn’t fruitful and he disappointedly does not get to wet his dick like he’d hoped. Sighing at his own foolishness, Prosciutto thinks of the dinner in the fridge, prepared with love by his wife and how much it needs to be in his belly. Leaving the door open, he nearly makes it out of the hallway before he hears the noise again.

“Fuck yeah…”

Prosciutto cannot simply be hearing things. Either his wife his hiding a dildo under the covers and fucking herself in secret or he needs release desperately. Thinking to spy on her, he watches from his spot through the small opening of the doorway where she still sits, the act of intruding on her privacy keenly awakening his senses. But she makes no move under the duvet, not even her arm jerking in suspicious motions.

Focaccia coos at her book, gazing at the words intensely. The entire afternoon she spent reading in bed was worth it. The stories are always so sensual and arousing it makes her look forward to the next time she would sleep with her husband. But with his preoccupation towards work, she’s left to fantasize on her own and aid her imaginings with silly romance novellas. Yet, it wouldn’t hurt to ask him for a tryst after he’s had dinner, she thinks.

With disbelieving eyes, Prosciutto watches his wife read, the noises still leaving her lips every now and then. She’s not even touching herself, he thinks; only to realize… he ought to do it for her then. The yearning in his blood runs hot enough to make him devour her instead; He’s not sure what holds him back. Forfeiting the thought of dinner altogether, Prosciutto undoes the ascot and returns to his bedroom, not hesitating to sit right beside his beloved. She barely seems to register his presence before his arms find her waist and his lips discover her shoulder.

“Oh!” She yelps, putting away her reading immediately, and he satisfies himself with the thought of finally having her attention. Prosciutto does not yield himself from the images that haunt his mind anymore, of Focaccia panting beneath him and of her flesh squeezed deliciously against his body. His cock twitches from within and he has to keep the urge to buck his hips at bay.

In seconds, Focaccia’s surprised gasp turns into giggles, her husband’s lips tickling her neck and his hand caressing softly under her shirt. It seems he is in dire need of attention and she’s happy to oblige after his routined absence.

“Did you miss me a lot, baby?”she coos, her hand meeting his cheek in an affectionate caress. Oh how happy it makes her to call this man her hubby!

Prosciutto grunts in response, no longer in the mood for teasing. Gently but with swift and decisive hands, he scoops her into his lap. His densely furrowed brows are what greet her first, the shining blues next, and the needy pout of his lips last.

Nuzzling him as affectionately as she straddles his legs, Focaccia gives him what he’s wanted at long last. A kiss to welcome him home. It’s tender but not chaste, and much much slower than he would like. But with each suckle of his lips, Prosciutto steps closer to a wonderful madness. It’s not that he was miles from home when he needed to finish his errands yet their reunions ignite a fire within him that encompasses a thousand absences.

With urgent hands and a restless energy that plagues his very soul, Prosciutto gropes and grabs his way under her clothing, every inch of skin warmer than the last. There is not enough time to explore every hidden secret of her body before he will lose his mind from needing to be inside her snug walls.

Though she is accustomed to Prosciutto’s habitual state of neediness every now and then, Focaccia finds herself surprised at his vigor. The rate at which he tugs at her shirt before having her take it off entirely is alarming. It’s fortunate that she forwent any bras that day. When his mouth collides with her collarbones in soft, wet kisses, she’s reduced to begging.

“Patrizio…” She pleads and Prosciutto decides he likes this sound more than the ones that aroused him. Ignoring the hopeless throbbing between his legs, Prosciutto gives her a silent response, his hand squeezing her sides while his mouth kisses to the valley between her breasts. How many times has he found sanctuary right above her beating heart?

The rhythmic thumping accompanies Focaccia’s moans beautifully, and Prosciutto realizes he will never find a symphony so perfect anywhere else. Finally allowing himself to bask in her taste, he kisses the vast expanse of one breast before taking the nipple into his mouth, groaning from the soft texture. Lightning strikes within his veins and Prosciutto swears his body is abuzz with electricity.

Slender fingers play with her other nipple in unison, eliciting delectable little sparks in Focaccia’s belly, further wetting her between her legs. Squeezing her thighs together, she wills herself not to grind right over her husband’s crotch and fails miserably. But his groans into her breast in response to her movements only seek to stir the knot inside. Panting for breath, Focaccia’s gaze turns downwards where she meets the oceanic view of her Prosciutto’s eyes. His irises swim with lust and she’s unable to comprehend the insatiable depth of his desires.

Savoring the taste of her skin and moaning at the silky texture, Prosciutto succumbs to his thoughts. His wife, for him and only him to enjoy. The deep blue of his eyes reflect every ounce of arduous possessiveness that wracks through his being, making him impatient. Unable to take much longer of his uncomfortable pants, Prosciutto hands leave the warmth of Focaccia’’s skin, temporarily fumbling with his belt.

When her hands converge with his halfway, he halts as if a virginal boy exposing himself for the first time. The pure pinkness of his cheeks never leaving him, he silently lets her unzip the bulging fabric. And when his eyes encounter her warm browns, he’s met with a crystal clear reflection of himself, twinkling amongst a dark galaxy. Her face embellished with a sweet smile, Focaccia is gentle and steady with her fingers, dexterously allowing her husband’s erection to come forth from his trousers.

“Cazzo…” Prosciutto curses under his breath, the delicate digits of her hands nearly bringing him to climax. A few strokes into their playtime Prosciutto’s legs writhe with pleasure as Focaccia’s hands are equally sticky from precum. “Take it off,” he demands, clawing at her pajamas with a bone chilling tone, his words purely driven by lust.

She complies without another word, shimmying the pair down her legs enough for him to peek at her panties. Eager from her teasing fingers, Prosciutto forces her legs despite the elastic band of the pj’s sticking to her thighs, trying to make his hips fit into the gap while pushing the crotch of her underwear aside.

“They’ll tear!” She cries, having no choice but to assent with his sudden decision. Balancing herself by his shoulder, she tries to push the pajamas down further before she hears the inevitable sound of tearing fabric, only to be impaled with an abrupt intrusion.

“I'll buy you new ones," Prosciutto promises, but it's not enough to alleviate the uncomfortable pressure on her thighs. Yelping from invasion into her core, Focaccia tries to ignore uneasy restrictions, focusing completely on the girth that fills her. Every ridge, every curve of his cock sets her walls flaming.

Finally, he thinks, relishing in the warmth of her snug pussy. He hasn’t even pushed himself in completely, yet he feels the release near with every second. Involuntarily, a loud groan escapes him as he tries to sink deeper. Vitality surges between his bones as he thinks of how much he loves her to her very essence; how he came to be utterly possessed by this quirky woman who speaks to herself and makes strange noises when she reads.

Sensing her discomfort, Prosciutto stretches the flimsy fabric pulled taught by the heavy thighs of his wife, ripping them to feel her muscles convulse quicker around him. With no limitations to stop him, he allows himself to pound into her, forcing her to meet every thrust with a bounce.

“Patrizio!” She cries in a high pitched moan, her eyes shut tight from the overwhelming stimulation. Squeezing the ample flesh of her ass, he grits his teeth to thrust faster, the mind numbing sensation conquering his body completely. Mindless fingers map their way onto her clit, as he kisses atop her breasts, roaming circles over the nub.

Nails digging into her husband’s shoulders, Focaccia submits utterly to the gut wrenching pleasure, gushing around him with fervor and a cry of his name. She nearly loses herself, bucking her hips wildly to his rhythm. Warm fluid shoots into her womb and Prosciutto reaches his high subsequently. “Sei così fottutamente stupendo,” he declares in a soft murmur. Despite his memories failing him, Focaccia still remembers them as the words he told her on their first time.

As the tension in their legs gives away, Prosciutto finds himself falling sideways into bed with her, the energy to sit leaving his body. Still clinging to her husband’s upper half, Focaccia pants into his hair, giving him an affectionate kiss to the temple.

“Ruined a good pair of pajamas, you did,” she tells him, pulling away to see the smirk plastered to his lips.

“Should I go buy a pair right now?” He teases, pulling with a groan. “No! Stay!” Focaccia pleads, caging his frame in her arms. Now he’s home.

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#prosciutto #jjba x oc #prosciutto x focaccia #prosciutto x oc #selfship stuff #selfship n sfw #focaccia fics #fics #n sfw #sid writes #focaccia stuff

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