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netherzon · 2 years ago

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Fichi secchi

Forgive me, I have no idea if this is in character at all. Actually I’m pretty sure it isn’t. It’s based loosely on a story my grandmother told me about my own family when they were immigrating. Supposedly my great-great-grandmother really did try to smuggle a bunch of stuff into the U.S. and did get detained for many hours, and they still didn’t get the figs, and somehow I turned that into a 3000 word Ita-siblings fic

also I did maybe an hour of historical research tops for this please don’t base any of your understanding of the early 1900s immigration process on this, second also I implied the Roman gods actually existed just roll with it

There was excitement all around her as they finally sailed past the famed statue. Ten days of sailing was practically nothing for someone like her, but there were many human families traveling on the boat, and their relief was palpable. She watched mothers and fathers comforting their seasick children, promising that it would be over soon.

Almost everyone on the boat had come out to see Libertas in her patinaed glory. They ooh-ed and ahh-ed, and told their children how she was a Roman goddess. Felicia was a little less impressed, but she remembered the real thing. Even Francois wasn’t old enough for that. His design felt like a cheap imitation. She would’ve told him so if he’d bothered to ask her, but he also would’ve cried about it. That’s probably why he didn’t.

She smiled fondly when she saw her anyway, if only because she could feel her people around her celebrating in their hearts.

She still hadn’t decided if she wanted to see America (the personification) on this trip. They had been cordial in the past, but they didn’t often have a reason to speak to each other, and some of the things she’d heard in the last couple of decades concerned her. Whether or not he was really trustworthy mattered a lot more now, when she and her brother had only just been united, and suddenly Romano ran off to live with somebody else. Someone only a couple hundred years old. Someone they hardly knew besides the stories other European nations told about him. The ones that made him sound more like a myth. Felicia was too old to fall for the positive ones, and Italy was not powerful enough to ignore the bad ones.

At least she didn’t have to decide yet. She’d made it clear to her brother that she wanted the first night of her visit to be for family. The rumors about America’s appetite she found completely believable. She wouldn’t have a problem with that under any other circumstances, but she didn’t want to share the gifts she was bringing for Romano. They were small enough as it was. There were limits to what she could hide in her skirts.

The size of the items, that is. Not the number of them.

As they pulled into the docks and the inspection officers came aboard she smiled more widely. Her skirts were heavy, as heavy as her whole suitcase. The more she thought about it the more she realized how tired her legs were. Now that the path to land, and her brother who she could cajole into carrying her things for her, was visible, she was as eager to get off the steamer as everyone else.

While they were being split into different lines she searched along the docks. Romano had a habit of being late. Felicia did too, but she didn’t decide when the boat arrived. If she was forced to be on time, her brother should be too. A little bit, she hoped that he would want to be. That he had also missed her, maybe.

The line moved forward. She kept looking, eyes bouncing more rapidly between people in the crowd that had come to greet their ship, until—

“Papers, miss?”

She turns to the two men in front of her. One of them is young, barely 18 looking. The other is middle-aged, in that hazy portion of a human’s lifespan where nations as old as Italy have a hard time telling their age. They’ve seen too many humans look too different at the same time. After a point, she doesn’t trust anything about their aging to be consistent, “Oh, I’m not here to stay, only to visit my brother.”

Their expectant faces don’t change, “We still need to see your papers, miss, for the record,” one of them holds out a gloved hand.

She doesn’t even bother to hide her eye roll, “I miss the days you could row your boat anywhere, and if anyone was waiting for you on the beach you could just stab them,” she grumbles as she digs through her belongings.

She doesn’t wait to see how the humans react to her words. She misses the look the young one sends the other man, and how the other man shakes his head. Don’t ask, his face says. The younger one accepts this. They both shake their heads, mystified.

Women, the young one thinks to himself.

Catholics, the older one thinks at the same time.

“Aha!” Felicia exclaims, and straightens, clutching the piece of paper her government had given her specifically for this journey. She hands it to them, triumphant. The young one brings out a notebook.

“And you said you were here to visit your brother?”

“That’s right.”

“What’s his name?”

“Romano Vargas.” (it was last time we spoke)

“Where does he live?”

“Here in New York City.” (More or less)

“Well,” the older man turns to the younger one, “that’s all the questions I can remember. Did we miss anything, Junior?”

Felicia puts on the sweetest face she knows when Junior glances at her. It makes him blush, “I, no, not that I can think of, Mr. Miller sir.”

Mr. Miller seems highly amused by Junior’s embarrassment, which Felicia is thankful for. The less attention on her, the sooner she can leave, and the less likely they’ll be to find the goodies she’s smuggling into the country.

“Alright then,” Mr. Miller turns to Felicia, and she makes sure to smile as brightly as she can, “it seems you’re free to go, miss,” he emphasizes with a pointed look towards Junior and a distracted tip of his hat in her direction. She nods back politely, relieved, I’m so close.

She reaches down to pick up her suitcase—

Clunk

Something shifts in her skirts. She can feel a bottle swing against her knee before knocking against the deck.

There is activity all around them, but absurdly the noise seems to echo. Junior and Mr. Miller look at her questioningly. She makes the mistake of freezing, too. Now there’s no way to pretend the noise didn’t come from her.

She lowers her face again. Curls of her hair partially obscure her eyes.

“Um,” she says, worrying at her lip, “it's, this is embarrassing,” she can’t meet their eyes, “I have a wooden leg, you see, sirs. There was an accident when I was young,” the noise didn’t sound like a wooden leg on a wooden deck, anyone with enough experience would be able to tell. Hopefully they won’t have that experience.

She glances up to see them pitying her.

Mr. Miller sighs deeply, “So that’s why a young lady as beautiful as you is still unmarried, the world is so cruel sometimes.” Junior looks heartbroken.

She nods along. Pretends to hide her face some more in shame. Her mind is made up now. She is going to see America on this trip, and when she does, she’s going to slap him.

That’s the last thought she has before she straightens up, and the sack of pistachios she had hidden in a false pocket in the third layer of her skirt spills out onto the deck beneath her. It attracts the attention of other officers on the deck, but not enough to draw them over.

Out of all of them only Junior seems genuinely surprised. Mr. Miller just pinches his nose, mutters something about “why is it always the pistachios? I’m allergic to pistachios” before grabbing Felicia’s suitcase and marching down the gangplank, convinced that she has no choice but to follow him now that he has all her belongings.

Junior doesn’t even move. His face is pale. His eyes are painfully wide. Felicia shoves as many of the loose nuts as she can in her pockets, then turns to him with concern.

“What’s the big idea? You look like you just watched me give birth live on deck,” she huffs.

“Did you??” is his incredulous response.

She’s going to slap America twice.

She sees her brother for the first time at the end of the gangplank. She greets him from a distance with a huge grin, and he crosses his arms with the usual grumpy pout, no doubt expecting her to run and hug him, and he’ll pretend not to like it. That’s what they usually do. Sometimes she even believes he really isn’t happy to see her.

Moments like these ease her fear, as Mr. Miller blows a sharp whistle to tell her to keep moving. Romano’s grumpy face is replaced with actual confusion as she points, and then turns in the opposite direction from him.

There is a small building down the dock that Mr. Miller is waiting at. It isn’t until they are inside, down the hall, and into a different office that she thinks to throw any of the things in her pockets to her brother, before they get confiscated. She had carried them on her person for a full week, had modified all of her clothes to have hidden pockets for everything that made her homesick when she left Italy, but when it counted the most she let it slip through her fingers. The pile of things they discover grows, and the feeling of failure with it.

It takes two whole hours for them to search her luggage and her clothing. The pistachios they take. The bottle of olive oil and the olives they take. The Marsala wine and marzipan and ceramic pine cone she’d visited Sicily to get, they take. The soppressata they take.

She’s most distressed when they discover the bottles of sambuca she’d kept in a false compartment in her suitcase. She had to get Ludwig’s help designing it, and to do that she had to find a “not-smuggling” reason why she wanted a hidden compartment. She had to lie to her friend and tell him she was embarrassed about the inspection officers seeing her underwear, and now she didn’t even get to give the sambuca to her brother.

It takes another two hours for them to question her.

She wants to find the indignation to vow to slap America three times, but at this point she’s just tired.

Romano is sitting, leaning against the building when she finally makes it out. He jumps up when he sees her.

“Felicia! Are you okay?” he asks frantically. His hands clutch her shoulders tightly as he looks her over, “Did they hurt you? I swear if they hurt you—”

She waves a tired arm, heavy carrying the thick coat she brought to protect her during the journey over the ocean. “I’m fine, fratello,” she manages to smile a little too, something she’s proud of, “just take me to wherever you’re staying, I want to put all this stuff down finally.”

Her brother doesn’t look convinced, but it’s useless to argue with her. She holds out her coat in an obvious manner.

“This is when you’re supposed to offer to carry my things for me,” she teases.

Romano narrows his eyes at her, and grabs her suitcase instead. Which is fine. They both know that’s what Felicia was asking for. Romano just likes to be contrary.

“So,” Romano begins on the walk over, “I know you said you wanted tonight to be family only,”

“I don’t like where this is going…,” Felicia warns.

Romano waves a dismissive hand at her, “Don’t worry about that, I didn’t invite Alfredo.”

Felicia blinks. She hasn’t heard Romano use America’s human name before.

He continues, shrugging sheepishly, oblivious to her surprise, “but I figured we have more family than just the two of us…”

Romano stops suddenly and walks up the steps to a building on their right. It’s plain bricks, with the fire escapes slinking down the side like many of the other buildings she’s seen so far. It doesn’t particularly stand out in the landscape, but then Romano turns to her, and the smile he has on his face is so sweet, and so rare. If this place makes her brother so happy, then she loves it a little already.

“It’s nice to see you again, sis” he says, before he throws open the door.

Inside is warm, and full of life. Felicia immediately smells at least five different things cooking. There must be twenty or more people talking, drinking, moving in and out of the kitchen, as Romano raises his voice to full volume.

“HEY!”

When everyone turns to them Felicia suddenly realizes. The humans all have tears in their eyes, as though she was their sister, too. They couldn’t possibly know why they feel that way about her, but she does. She knows. There are tears in her eyes too.

“I told you my sister was coming!” Romano puffs up proudly, and the room bursts into another flurry of activity. People come up to hug both of them. Everyone is speaking and smiling and laughing.

“You took so long, we thought you got lost!”

“It’s good you’re back, you’re just in time actually!”

“And why didn’t you tell us she was so pretty?”

“I told you she has a boyfriend, Antony,” Romano says.

“Yeah, an I got a wife,” Antony shoots back automatically, “don’t mean your sister ain’t cute.” He spreads his arms wide to demonstrate his innocence.

Small talk continues from there. How’s your wife did that cousin ever find a job my nephew has a new girlfriend “but he’s embarrassed to tell his parents, isn’t that adorable?” Aunt Giana smiles at everyone squeezed in around the too small table.

There’s food from all over Italy, and so much of it there isn’t room for their plates anymore. They have to balance them in their laps as they eat. It is then that Felicia relays the story of her morning. The things she had planned on bringing as gifts. How many pockets she had sown into her clothes to hide things (18). They laugh along at her deception, they boo Mr. Miller and Junior when she is found out.

“Protestants,” cousin Sofia rolls her eyes, her twin sister Claudia nodding along, “whoever heard of a little cured meat hurting anybody?”

“Wellll, I can think of some meats…,” Claudia pauses significantly, and laughs when her sister swings an elbow at her in retaliation.

Everyone is stuffed by the time dessert rolls around, but the atmosphere is comfortable. This feels like the most she’s ever seen Romano smile. Felicia is usually a happy person. It’s not difficult for her to find things to be grateful for.

But some kinds of happiness are transcendent.

While their human companions are distracted by some other in-joke, she leans towards him, voice low to avoid prying ears. There are a million things she thinks about asking. Is this why you left? Were you lonely at home, even with me? Is there any hope you’ll come back soon?

In the end, she decides against all of them.

She wraps an arm around Romano in a half hug, the kind that’s open and affectionate. “We should do this more often,” is all she says.

Romano doesn’t lean away, and she knows he agrees.

They sit like this for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere in the room. The bonds of love they can feel between and for their people. When Felicia does pull away, it is only so she can announce one last surprise.

“Anyway!” she interrupts the room. Romano looks up at her, confused. She grins. It’s not the gift she would’ve picked, if she’d known she could only have one, but it could have been worse too.

“I know I told you all that they confiscated the gifts I wanted to bring you, but” she holds out a hand, and everyone leans in with anticipation, waiting as she roots around in the mess of fabric she’s wearing for her contraband.

“THEY DIDN’T GET ALL OF IT!” She holds up the small bag of dried figs as triumphantly as Libertas holds up her torch.

Everyone cheers with excitement. It’s not much for all of them to share, but they’ll make due anyway. Someone grabs a plate and a knife to cut them up. Someone else brings out the wine, the kind they save for only the most special occasions.

It was the best half of a dried fig she’s ever had.

Omake:

"You’re sure you’re okay?” Romano asks again later, while they are sitting out on the fire escape.

“Si si,” she says, “those guys are very bad at their jobs. They didn’t even notice I have a dick.” She turns to her brother, grinning widely.

Romano leans against the fire escape’s railing and raises an eyebrow, “Oh? I’ll tell Alfredo they deserve a raise then.”

Felicia throws her head back and laughs. Nobody passing on the streets below even glances in their direction.

“Hey, do you think he’d be able to get that stuff back?”

“Maybe?” Romano holds out his hands, “If they haven’t thrown it away. But even then he’d have to go get it himself, and by the time he comes back he’ll have sampled all of it.” In the dark its hard to read his expression, but Felicia doesn’t hear the bitterness she would expect from him in those words.

She’s feeling warm enough from wine and figs that her own response is fonder than she intends it too, “Will you let him know if he eats any of it on the way over, I’ll slap him three times instead of two?”

Romano doesn’t miss a beat hearing that his sister already has two reasons to slap his new boss-friend-roommate-possiblylover-thing, “I will, but he’ll just say—” Romano imitates America by standing up straighter and smiling with all his teeth “—‘seems fair, I accept your terms’ and do it anyway.”

Felicia stands up straighter herself. The wide smile is less unnatural on her face, “Seems fair, I accept these terms,” she gets a snort from Romano in return.

“You just want your salami back,” he says before he really thinks about the words coming out of his mouth. It’s a struggle, but Felicia holds out on laughing until she sees the realization appear on her brother’s face.

“The soppressata! I mean the soppressata!” he backpedals, as Felicia bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

#hws south italy #hws romano #hws north italy #can you tag it itabros if one of them is a sister now?#its itabros gender neutral?#idk #my writing #the idea came to me this morning #I did not edit this very much #hinted romerica too #but Al doesn't actually appear in this fic so I'm not tagging it #tw ableism #tw misogyny #tw xenophobia #lots of casual bigotries cause of the time period but its still pretty light overall

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wolviensabes · 6 months ago

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NSFW Alphabet: Wolverine

a/n: I was excited to write a nsfw version of this because his character was surprisingly fun and easy to write for this. I like Logan because you can really be flexible with how he is in bed. It all depends on preference and writer ofc, but still it was fun to write. Wrote mostly gender neutral, on parts where body is described, I wrote for afab and amab. Not edited please ignore mistakes ty <3

18+ under the cut. MDNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Aftercare king.

He knows just what to do, especially since sex with him is normally pretty rough and crazy. He leaves you a mess under him and you're barely able to walk. "Atta girl/boy, princess/prince, up you come." he grabs hold of you and lifts you up, carrying you to the bathroom to get you all clean.

He's a messy partner so you need a shower to get all the sex off you. He leaves you alone to do anything you need privately, but otherwise he's helping you maintain your balance in the shower and drying off.

You're in such a dazed state, you feel dizzy and lightheaded, still a little loopy. He will get you back to bed and lay you down, feeling pride and satisfaction within himself at how he could bring you to such a state. Only he could do that to you.

He will hold you close to him, you feel cold now, his body will warm you up. He likes skin to skin, so unless you want a shirt, he won't dress you so he can feel your softer skin against his own.

The praise he gives you makes you feel so special and worth so much, it helps when you come down from your high, knowing he was satisfied and loved every moment of the act.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

I don't think he really has a favorite part of his partner, but I will die on the hill that he likes his partners a little chunky. He loves to grab onto you, he likes how he can manhandle you without worry of hurting you.

Those plush hips and belly drive him insane. If you are afab, your ass draws his hand in every single time and he loves to smack and grab it. If you are amab, he will grab onto your thighs or soft, relaxed chest muscles and squeeze them. Both afab and amab, his hands come around from behind and gently knead your belly.

Logan is a dude so on himself...he holds his manhood very high, and for good reason.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

Filthy.

He gets that shit all over the place and he loves it.

He loves marking you inside and out. He loves shooting his spunk on your body just as much but something about releasing inside you makes him somehow cum harder and with more.

He's not that bad taste wise, I mean cum doesn't taste great, but he's not bad. Not too bitter, not too salty, but his cum is thick. And when he does climax, he cums a LOT.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

Logan, being a primal mutant, loves scents. It's one of the things that he relies on a lot, and your scent is intoxicating. He steals some of your clothes and smells them, or sometimes he will dive into your crotch and inhale you.

Not exactly dirty, but Logan secretly likes when you scratch his head or mess with his hair after sex. He likes to keep himself up as a tough guy most of the time but when you wind down, even if he's the one holding you, he sometimes scoots down enough to let you play with his hair.

He will move his head where he wants your hand to scratch and leans into it when you reach that sweet spot.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

He's over 200 years old, he's got experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

Literally anything where he can watch you mewl and moan for him.

He also likes from behind or positions where he can watch his cock sink into you with each thrust.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

Logan isn't goofy but he also isn't serious. He's open to messing around and with tossing, turning, all sorts of play, it's not going to be serious 100% of the time.

He will chuckle and tease, sometimes funny noises are made, that's just how it is, and you both will laugh a little...but then you get back to it because who can resist?

Sometimes he will play fight you, wrestle you down to the bed and hold you there, with ease, and he smirks down at you trying to overpower him. It's a fun way to rile him up for sex and he enjoys it quite a bit.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

Logan is hairy, but not insanely so. I think below he is pretty crazy but he trims it down enough once you two get more intimate. Though he thought it was funny watching you spit out his pubes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

He can be romantic but he is more passionate than anything. He likes to make sure you feel good, and he loves doing it. Once he gets you feeling good, he gets a little more rough and tells you what he likes without shame.

He's very forward, and his communication in the bedroom is immaculate. You wished he were like that outside of the bedroom sometimes, because there's no hesitation, no secrets, he's fully confident and tells you exactly what he wants.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

Sometimes he masturbates, sometimes he doesn't. It all depends on how horny he is in the moment.

He'll fist his cock to the thought of you, or since he likes your scent a lot, he will practically inhale your underwear and jerk himself until he cums all over his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

Logan...he's kinky as hell.

Dom/sub dynamics drive him up the wall. He loves being in control, manhandling you, having you listen to what he says without fail.

Slight primal play would be up his alley. The playful wrestling and fighting gets him going and he likes to bite and mark you up during sex. Almost looking like an animal attacked you, but no, it was just Logan marking you as his.

Dirty talk king. He is so brazen with his language, whispering it into your ear as he pounds your poor, swollen hole full of another load.

Praise, praise, praise! He loves to praise you and how good you take his thick cock inside you.

Overstimulation/denial, he loves the control. He often makes you cum multiple times before even penetrating you just to hear you cry and whimper for him.

Maybe a slight breeding kink, since he loves the idea of filling you up to the brim with his thick cum, (this goes regardless of afab or amab), he's going to fill you up regardless if it's biologically possible to impregnate you or not. It's just for fantasy anyway.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

He will do it anywhere he feels like. He doesn't care who sees. You're his and he likes everyone around you to know it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

I love that most everyone agrees that wearing his clothes makes him fucking feral. He would lose it seeing you in a shirt of his...or maybe even naked and only wearing a flannel. Slowly unclasping each button to make him growl and almost rip the damn thing off you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

He'd never want to hurt you. There are things he likes that might harm you but he doesn't actually want to cause you harm.

He can be rough and he doesn't want to actually hurt you. A spank or choking just enough to get you dizzy is about as far as he would go. Logan would never intentionally try to harm you, especially during something as intimate as sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

He has a hard time picking what he likes better. He loves diving between your legs and lapping you. But he also loves to see you choke around his thick cock.

Logan loves the dirtiness of it, his dick in your throat and watching you try your best to please him. He loves seeing you choke and gag on him, your face gets so sloppy with spit and cum, it makes him more crazy in bed when he's fucking you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

With Logan it can be 50/50. He can be rough and hard, or slower and passionate. Most of the time he is ensuring you cum multiple times, and then he fucks you into the bed while you cry around his cock. Then, he gives you another orgasm, he cums, and the cycle repeats until you literally can't take it anymore.

Then he cleans you up and makes sure you know how good you were for him. You'll have trouble walking for a few days.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

He's down for a quickie, he can make you cum fast when he wants to. However he does prefer to make you whine and beg instead of giving you a solid, quick orgasm unless you really need it.

Sometimes he needs a quick one too, so a fast blowjob helps. But again, he likes to take his time rather than rush it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

He takes plenty of risks. He loves to test the waters with you and experiment with all sorts of things. He's down to try almost anything.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

His mutation allows him to have enhanced stamina so be prepared for that.

He can go for literal hours and not be tired at all. His mutation also allows his refectory period to be very short. So...you will be filled to the brim.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

I don't think he would have any for himself, but he would start to grow a collection if you had any or showed interest in some. He'd keep them under his bed in his room whenever you wanted to spice things up.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

Logan is the king of teasing you. He loves to tease until you can't take it and tears are rolling down your cheeks.

He always gives you what you want in the end, but not without that asshole making you beg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

He doesn't give two shits who hears him, or you, he is loud. He grunts, groans, snarls. Not to mention the insane level of dirty talk he does, and he loves to make you scream out his name.

By the time you're done, you swear half the mansion heard you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

He dirty talks like crazy.

Sometimes he will fuck you when you're wearing his clothes, or when he comes back from a mission, he doesn't bother cleaning up before he storms up to your shared room and he fucks you.

Angry sexxx

He lets out his frustrations from missions as he pounds into you.

"Goddamn slim, stupid fuckin' self-designated leader thinks he can boss me around like I'm nothin' but a loyal scout to 'em." he grunts and snarls with each plap of his hips into you, his cock driving against you. You have no idea what happened on the mission but can you complain? No.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

Logan's dick is huge let's get that out of the way.

He's thick, it feels like he rips you open each time he penetrates you and it feels fucking incredible. That also means lots of foreplay~

He's veiny, his cock throbs as he stands erect, and his balls are heavy.

He's a good 8 to 8.5 inches fully erect, the damn thing leaks precum constantly when he's horny.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

Insanely high. He will fuck you every single day if he could.

He is down to fuck all the time, anytime. You just have to say the word and he's on top of you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

Logan makes sure you're comfortable before he even attempts to sleep. He stays awake, letting you curl into him and he watches you, making sure nothing he did was too much or causing pain.

Once you seem okay and have fallen asleep, he will allow himself to relax and fall asleep beside you.

Thanks for reading.

*SNIKT*

Tag list: @strawberryshortcake20

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dividers by @/strangergraphics

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine #wolverine xmen #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #x men #xmen #x men smut #🎠my works #deadpool and wolverine

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