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.
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