Tears of the Abandoned
I made a kars/reader. Bc I could. Fucking enjoy
Warnings: kars wins Au, yandere, major character death, literal genocide, just general nastiness, blood, biting
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@s8ans-bitch
Tears of the Abandoned
I made a kars/reader. Bc I could. Fucking enjoy
Warnings: kars wins Au, yandere, major character death, literal genocide, just general nastiness, blood, biting
Continua a leggere
may i please have head cannons for this scenario and if all three is too much then doing Kars is just ok but what if the pillar men had a secret s/o that was human before they went to 'sleep' and after a few years she had turned herself into a vampire with the masks and when the pillar men are in italy they see her?
WHY HELLO YES DID SOMEBODY SAY PILLAR DADDIES BECAUSE I AM ALWAYS A SLUT FOR SOME PILLAR DADDIES AND POSSIBLY SOME PALEO LOVE HOLY FUCK YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES
- When they met you, at the dawn of the Cro Magnon race, Kars and Eisidisi decided that you were a marvel compared to your simpering tribal members.
- You were considered an abomination, living on the outskirts of your tribe. There was something wrong with you, you could not speak the simple grunting language of either the Cro Magnon or the complex vocalizations of the Neanderthal. Instead you came up with a unique way of speaking, utilizing your hands in a completely unique way that both Kars and Eisidisi were instantly able to decipher.
- They had both been stalking your tribe for quite some time, needing life force to feed their growing babies, and would pick off members of the tribe one by one, not before stopping at your makeshift lean to in order to get to know you.
- You revealed to Kars that you had committed a grave crime: touching the weapons of the hunters was a punishable offense to those the tribe deemed the lowest on the complex system of caste they developed. Thus according to the ancient customs you were cursed with death, and had been living purely on the rudimentary hunting skills you had learned in secret.
- Eisidisi was the first to offer to help you teach to hunt properly. He made use of your complex hand language, and due to the utter silence of your approach you were eventually able to take down large game without the assistance of either Pillar Man.
- You heard many legends of the Pillar Men. Your tribe revered them as malevolent spirits, unable to touch a member that had the protection of the animal spirits. Yet you saw right through that facade, and found them to be far more compassionate and understanding than your so called fellow brethren. Kars and Eisidisi were the ones to approach you with beautiful trinkets unlike any that your tribal artisans could make, and when they explained the significance of them, you were touched.
- Each trinket was a courting gift. They wanted you to be theirs.
- When the tribal hunters saw you steal their intended prey, a mighty wooly mammoth, they immediately jumped to the conclusion that you were the spirit stealing the people and leaving shelled corpses in your wake. But it was all part of a trap. You purposefully terrorized them and used their fear of you against them, leading them to their deaths at the hands of your massive lovers and your new adopted sons.
- You became a mother to both Wamuu and Santana, coddling them and teaching them the complex language you had invented yourself. Both knew you only as their true mother, and have fond memories of your crooked smile and fluttering hands praising them, holding them close to your breast as Kars and Eisidisi sang songs of your brilliance.
- Only once they tried to use the stone mask on you, and it happened at the most inopportune and tragic of moments…
- Not all things last forever. Eventually your trickery of both Cro Magnon and Neanderthal clans caught up to you. You were eventually caught and sentenced to be killed, it happened on an evening that the Pillar Men had taken your sons to feed. You were left in your shared cave, smoking large slabs of aurochs meat for the winter when you were ambushed by both sets of hunters. The Neanderthals had more concise ways of cursing spirits that refused to die, and your death was violent.
- In a fit of desperation, Eisidisi demanded Kars use the mask to resurrect you, but when the mask did nothing to stir you, they both mourned the loss violently.
- Both Neanderthal and Cro Magnon tribes were slaughtered, nearly causing a mass extinction of humanity save for the few that sought to hide from them or offer sacrifices in compensation for the lover that was cruelly slaughtered. Wamuu and Santana felt your absence even as babies, but after a while they stopped wailing during the daylight hours when they realized you weren’t going to come back and soothe them into napping. You became nothing more than a memory, a revered holy figure in their minds that was worshiped like a god as they became older.
- Little did any of them know, when they buried you deep in the cavern that you made into a home, you would rise from the animal skins wrapped around you in a burial shroud, coming out into the moonlight with new found strength. You had only been at the cusp of death when you were bludgeoned by the Neanderthal’s magician, and it had taken you a while for your body to heal and return to life.
- The weak muscles in your mouth were strengthened by the reawakening. You learned to speak throughout the years but not any better than the language you made yourself. Broken by the fact that your mates believed you to be dead, you spent the next thousands of years looking for them desperately. It didn’t take long for you to discover that your power was a weaker form of a Pillar Man’s abilities, and since you lived with and made love to two of them regularly, you knew your limits well and acted accordingly.
- Making your mark wherever you went, as you consumed the ever evolving cro magnon ancestors, you took pity on those who could not fit in with their people, teaching them the language you invented and consuming those who harmed them for energy.
- When you finally overtake Kars, time has moved far too fast for you to comprehend. You’ve had to learn to adapt to the times, and you look far different than he remembered, but he still embraces you tightly and kisses you with the fondness that you’ve been craving for what feels like eons of time.
More blowjob headcanons
Oops, I did it again, I played with your heart
Oi. Another one. I added translations for some of the dirty talk after the original line.
This has been requested by a bunch of people ever since I started this blog and I finally heccin did it.
@roksikever (Tagging u bc you requested this owo)
Characters: Joseph, Dio, Avdol, Caesar, Kars, N’doul, Ghiaccio, Diavolo, Whamu
Cut for length
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Melone w/ no brim
i may be in pain but i remember that funny headcanon with mariah being risotto’s mom and have fun with it
It's within the realm of canon that Risotto could suck dick to pay his men. Imagine the possibilities if Diavolo took a risk once in a while.
I’m ngl...sometimes I forget Risotto can turn invisible and the amount of fuckery he can get into with that skill is 😩😂👌🏼
Wants to walk around naked but doesn’t want his teammates eyes his big ol’ dong? No problem. Wants to blow your back in public but doesn’t want the risk of being caught? No problem. Realising the restaurant forgot his dessert after he’s paid & gotten rid of the receipt & he doesn’t wanna go through the trouble of having to prove shit to them if they don’t believe him? No problem. Wanting to mess with someone after they piss him the fuck off? No problem.
Tbh I wonder how he even invented this trick in the first place 😂 Would love to see the process & his reaction 😭👌🏼 I mean was he like ‘hmm what ELSE can these metal beans do’ or was he like ‘hey, forma-...why’re you screaming? It’s me, Risotto. Of course I’m here, what do you mea-Oh...nice.’??
Pls..,Araki... I beg thee... LET A BITCH KNOW😩
some spare size kink ma’am 👉👈
Risotto is prime size kink material. Even if you’re 6′1″, he’s still six inches taller.
That hulking goth will lift you like an empty box of cardboard and hook your legs over his shoulders so that he can eat you out standing up, pressed up against the wall.
When it’s his turn, his thick cock will send pins and needles (figuratively and possibly literally) down your throat as you desperately try to accommodate him. He’ll chuckle at how cute you look while struggling, but his length isn’t even half-way before it feels like you’re suffocating.
The best part of being so much smaller than Risotto is his massive arms around you as he folds you into a veritable pretzel and seats you, slowly, onto his waiting member. He loves the way you squirm under him, the way you whimper his name as he stretches you beyond anything you thought your body was capable of. He loves being able to swallow your form with his own as he fills you to the brim.
Tell me there isn’t a better Jojo man than him, I dare you.
what a deal.
And then your hip would break because their medical staff is garage and they don’t have the same regulations as over so no you’re back to square one you fucking tool
that is american propaganda used to justify their lack of a working healthcare system. it’s not true and even if it was what good would having slightly better healthcare do if it’s only accessible by the richest members of society?
You absolute fucking clown. Lmao
Damn. Spains healthcare sure isnt garage like they said
God Americans are so fucking brainwashed like seriously imagine thinking a first world country in Europe of all places is medically inferior, the patriot brain rot is strong
Umm but how about la squadra? Who would eat their s/o pussy even if they on period? 🙉
we're so thirsty tonight i love it
1st place: RISOTTO NERO. do i even have to elaborate? nevertheless, i will because i'll never shut up about risotto. he'd probably watch you doubling over in pain or something saying you have a waterfall leaking down there and all his mind could offer up would be 'hmm in my mouth please' he'd want that red piece of pussy so bad you can't tell me otherwise
2nd place: sorbet & gelato. like. they would be too occupied with other things on your body that can bleed and forget about your period. dumbasses. but when sorbet nudges gelato and suggests it?? they're unstoppable they're wrestling one another for a turn
3rd place: melone. KINKY ASSHOLE WOULD WANT TO DO THAT AS SOON AS YOU GAVE HIM THE GREEN LIGHT FOR PERIOD SEX. HE WOULD THINK HE'S BEING SMOOTH BUT ONCE YOU SIT ON HIS FACE YOU'LL HAVE A HARD TIME GETTING OFF
4th place: prosciutto. he'd not find it as hot as the other men higher up on the list, but he believes a good man always pleasures his woman and treats her like she deserves to be treated, no matter the ocassion. what did you do when he was in the hospital after his limbs were nearly ground to nothingness by bucciarati? suck his dick even through he had 500kgs of plaster, bandages and the like on him. oral sex on your period is a tiny thing to him, he would only complain because the blood crusts fairly fast.
5th place: illuso. you'd have to ask him, and he'd do it, although not as enthusiastically as he actually is on the inside about it. he likes how slick you are with blood and would prefer sex to oral, but if you like it then so does he, as he always aims to please.
ghiaccio, formaggio and pesci would not. ghiaccio prefers sex, and he will slow down and have a more romantic session with you if you're in any serious pain but still horny. formaggio prefers fingering you and pesci's afraid to do anything as he doesn't want to hurt you, and would probably just let you do as you pleased, or use him to your heart's content so after a longer while, he'd think about it if you took the lead.
La Squadra and the Baby Stand 4
Baby Grateful Dead (imagined) and now a baby Melone (real and a threat).
i had this exact scene stuck in my head for hours and it wouldn’t leave me alone so i drew it……… dio’s probably ooc here but i don’t care i wanted soft jonadio with contemplative!jona and half-sleepy-but-soft-af!dio so here
Jonathan: *laying next to Dio, who’s sleeping* Nice.
Dio: *cuddles closer to Jonathan, still asleep*
Jonathan: *holding back manly tears* Nice~
False Recovery. Yan Risotto x Reader [COMM]
warnings: bodily injury mention, medication mention word count: 3.2k
Why can’t adrenaline just last forever?
It might not be your place to question evolution or human biology, not having the most knowledge in the field to reasonably voice your concerns. Sure, pain is necessary to identify where a body part might be hurt, but does it need to be this excruciating? A little pinch should suffice, why does your nervous system need to fuck you over like this?
Complaining to yourself isn’t going to do any good, aside from the occasional nose exhale at your incredulous thoughts. That serves to make the pain worse, muted curses leaving your lips as a fresh wave of pain wracks over your body at any movement. A first aid kit sits in front of you, taunting your weakness. Your field requires being exposed to near death situations, and here you are, still unable to cope with physical pain. It’s not the worst part of today, that crown gem was stolen by passing out and needing to be carried back to base. You’ll never live that one down.
Should any of your teammates spot you, you cringe at the barrage of deprecating comments that’d be slewn your way. The last thing you need is to be demeaned for your lack of ability to endure pain, you’d feel half tempted to summon your Stand and silence them. Depending on who saw fit to disturb you, it might work out, but it’s still not worth all the trouble. All that matters to you now is getting this disinfected before it has time to fester, the marks against your chest making you frown deeply.
It still remains a mystery as to how you received these peculiar wounds. It looks like knife marks against your chest, clean and expertly done. In your line of work, you can recognize a lot about a person from how they attack. Looking in the mirror at your tattered shirt, a few observations can be made. The lines don’t go deep, only far enough to draw blood and break into the first layer of your skin; avoiding any vital organs. It felt like the wound was coming from inside of you, before surfacing and puncturing your flesh.The assignment ended up in a battle against a Stand user, not one that dealt with knives or anything that could puncture you in this manner. So how did these wounds come to be? Lowering the sorry remains of your shirt back down, you fail to notice an imposing figure standing behind you until the last second.
“R-Risotto?”
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Hi! I love your writing and I’m wondering if you could do a one shot of Risotto wakeing up from a one night stand with s/o in bed. And you know the phrase every action has a consequence? Could the consequence be s/o pregnant?
I started this one super early because I was really intrigued by the concept and actually have not really written Ris like... ever
Again tried to make it suggestive and sexy like the Mista one where reader shaves his face, idk how successful I was 😬
This is probably the closest to smut I’ve had on my blog, so reader discretion advised!!
~~~
As the leader of Passione’s elusive La Squadra di Esecuzione, Risotto didn’t have time for relationships. Every single one he had tried had gone up in smoke. His work was more important to him than anything else, his team more important than anyone who could come along. Though he, like most but perhaps not all men, desired a sexual partner from time to time. He didn’t go to Passione parties often. But he went to this particular one.
You weren’t of much note in Passione, if you were being honest with yourself. A member of a team under Polpo’s jurisdiction, but you weren’t even the leader. You were a grunt - expendable, but vital to the gears that kept Passione churning money. You spent most of your days in the casinos of Milan, using your good looks to slip past the defenses of even the richest, most cautious members of Italian society, and wringing them for every penny they owed the mafia. It was work that consumed much of your life, and most relationships were out of the question when the men you dated learned you used your body for such a job. You weren’t usually needed or invited to parties hosted by Passione capos. But you were invited to this one.
The taste of expensive champagne was still on Risotto’s lips when he woke up. Lifting himself up onto his elbows, he glanced down to find he was naked. He gave a deep groan and reached to the top of his head, and could feel that his platinum hair was more messed up than a normal restless night of sleep warranted. He was in a bedroom he didn’t recognize. Upon hearing a soft breath, feeling it dust across his bicep, he glanced down at who he presumed was the owner of the apartment he found himself in.
When his eyes fell on you, the gaps in his memory slowly filled themselves in. He’d been bored as hell at the party the night before, and looking for an excuse to leave. It seems the two of you had migrated toward the same corner, you in order to avoid the drunk street thugs who thought they had a shot in hell with you, and him to avoid talking to anyone who wasn’t worth his time (which was most of Passione, he was quickly learning). Everyone else at the party was boring to him; but his eyes caught a glimpse of the beautiful skin exposed by your backless black dress, the way the straps crossed over your shoulder muscles reminded him of his preferred everyday look, as opposed to the restrictive suit he had begrudgingly put on. It was like you were purposely trying to draw his attention, and the thought of bruising up that flawless skin with his mouth turned him on in a way he hadn’t lusted after someone in a long time.
You had heard stories about the hitman team’s leader, but not a single one effectively communicated the experience of seeing him in person. Risotto was a hulking man, with an intense gaze that was only accentuated by his tattooed black sclera. Intimidating men didn’t scare you; they tried. But there was a strange sense of fear that struck you when those eyes looked over you. Like a predator hunting it’s prey, and it stirred a sick arousal from within you.
Flashes of words exchanged gave way to the sensation of his fingertips brushing over your bare skin. He lifted up one of the straps across your back and snapped it, reveling in the way it made you jump. He saw that fear and arousal in your eyes, and Risotto calmly responded by suggesting he bend you over the hors d'oeuvres table and take you there.
When his lips met your neck, you had honestly wanted him to do it.
Instead, you both went with the better option; ditching the rest of the party altogether.
He didn’t even know your name, and yet the two of you had gone for so long into the night, body to body, his cock sheathed all the way between your folds. The shape of your body, the way he could get such delicate sounds from you simply with his touch, the dirty things he whispered against you in that deep, baritone voice of his; Risotto played you as easily as a musician did their chosen instrument. The experience was unlike any other man you had ever gotten under, and you weren’t quite sure if you could ever go back. By the time you finished, you couldn’t count how many times he had brought you to climax, blinking back the stars that filled your vision when he’d released inside you. You were still dripping with his semen when the two of you had fallen asleep.
For a one-night stand, Risotto had been very careful and considerate of moving your body after the way he’d just fucked you.
That was how he found himself now, sitting up in your bed, under your sheets, next to you and watching you sleep. He’d made plenty of bad decisions before in his life, but this didn’t feel like one. There was a very good chance the two of you would never cross paths again; or maybe if you did, you’d enjoy a part two to this little escapade.
When you woke up, Risotto was still watching you with those dark, dark eyes of his. You’d barely blinked the sleep out of your eyes and muttered a good morning to the stranger in your bed when you were suddenly caged in again, staring up at the intense eyes of Risotto Nero once again. There was a hunger in them that you recognized.
“That’s certainly one way to wake up,” you teased him, enjoying the way his lips curled into a grin.
“You’re just so goddamn beautiful, I don’t think I can help it,” he growled, leaning down and wrapping his mouth around the exposed nipple of your breast.
Forget waiting for a part two. Why wait when you could continue where you left off last night the next morning?
~~~
“The boss has something on you.”
Those were the words of the goon that Risotto had forced to fix the burned picture of Venezia for him, moments after Risotto had created needles that buried out of the right side of his face, bloody and screaming in pain. He’d lost five members of his team, only hearing of Melone’s death some half an hour earlier when he sent Ghiaccio the restored picture. Almost all their hopes were riding on Ghiaccio’s ability to seize the girl - or whatever it was that the picture was telling them to look for at the gates.
Naturally a man with little patience, Risotto had sliced off his arm in response with a knife protruding from the man’s elbow.
“And do tell me,” he leaned in close, cold fury in his voice like the mafia capo he was. “What exactly is this weakness that I’m apparently unaware of?”
That was how he found himself barging into an abandoned apartment at 2am. Ghiaccio had been killed. He was all that was left of the hitman team. All their dreams, their desires to remove the boss for Sorbet and Gelato, it all rested on his shoulders.
All the more reason that he had to find whatever this was the boss apparently had over him, and snuff it out first.
There had clearly been a struggle here. Risotto didn’t understand; he didn’t have connections. His blood ran cold when he found a picture frame on the kitchen counter, smashed like it had been thrown and he recognized you. That beautiful stranger he’d slept with so many nights ago; but he still never learned your name, and as disappointed as he was the boss was using an innocent member of his own mafia as a hostage reminded Risotto just how sick and twisted his enemy was.
In the living room though, he found it. He found his weakness.
There were pictures of you, your family, but most importantly a little boy was in much of them. While he had the same shape as you, Risotto recognized the platinum hair and the crimson eyes on the boy. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind.
He’d had a son, who he didn’t even know about.
Risotto couldn’t help but shut down for a moment, any thoughts about revenge, about his team leaving his head. He’d had a son. Why hadn’t you told him? He was a Passione capo, and while he certainly didn’t get as much money as gambling or drugs did, he still could have given you a comfortable life. A life where he would’ve hid you and your son - his son - long before the boss‘ agents find you.
Instead he finds pictures of you working in a diner, presumably having left the mafia life to raise the child that had been his fault. He finds your apartment missing both of you. Risotto is overcome with not a sense of fatherhood, or duty to someone he met and spent a night with, but a sense of responsibility. He’s the reason that scum of the earth had taken an innocent infant boy hostage.
Risotto headed to Sardegna with more than vengeance on his mind. He’s going to find you or he’s going to kill the boss of Passione, whichever comes first.
That’s Gay
Anatomy/perspective go brrrrr
Formaggio tries to tell a joke and lands flat on his face.