#Antonio IDV

[caladbolg]

identity v cringe

[valerchnotok]

[veryaren]

does this countas art

[casullcasket]

I need them under the Christmas tree fr

[silenthill2ost]

florian's smile gives antonio's a run for his money

[v0idprince]

“Joseph is cleaning him, wiping the blood from his face even though he knows that the man in front of him is not Antonio, but he looks like Antonio and that is enough for him, because Joseph would even clean and care about his corpse if it were stained.”

- “Caro data vermibus” by sinfónico (veneciancorpse) on AO3

I loved this fic so much I NEEDED to make fanart for it. Physically couldn’t stop thinking about this moment all day. I highly recommend, go read it!!

[zelvgarrr]

hunt luchino × surv antonio...

[chadekii]

doodle

[mantisguy99]

Here's a little doodle I made of Antonio in between commissions :)

[jackthepeeper]

Content under the cut is strictly 18+

MDNI

English is not my first language, I have very limited experience in writing fanfiction.

Antonio (Violinist) x GN!Reader

CWs: NSFW, readers anatomy is referred to as chest + h*le/entrance/s*x, reader may or may not wear makeup, reader wears tight clothes, reader drinks alcohol and gets intoxicated, reader perceives situation as dangerous, now that I think about it it can possibly be viewed as dubcon although not intended

Word count: 1903

You do this because you love yourself.

Of course that's the case. You doll yourself up before you go to the bar, a good long hour of preparation always includes a fragrant shower that leaves your body soft and well-moisturized, makes you feel like a divine being, a manifestation of raw beauty itself. After your skincare routine you settle in a plush chair in front of the mirror to do your makeup. It might not be much, just a small touch-up to accentuate your natural beauty or hide an aggravated pimple, it might be a lot if you're feeling fancy, a dramatic look feels like a fun bit of masquerading. You might skip this step altogether. You deserve it.

You do this because you hate yourself.

Every time you go there it starts the same and ends the same, too. You buy your own drink first to get in the mood, something you know will knock you out the fastest. It's been a while since you've last chosen your alcohol by taste instead of percentage. The glint of intoxication gives your eyes a catty appearance that few can resist, gives your spine a curve you rarely see in the mirror - an inviting shape, the small of your back begging to be caressed by a knowing palm. You can't afford it sober, with all your responsibilities your body's mental image contorts into a creature most resembling Atlas holding the world on his shoulders. No room for a hug at all.

Soon your figure finds itself in a sardine can of wet breaths, skin rubbing against skin through the skimpy outfits people usually wear to such places. The pheromones work you better than any substance you could ever try. You've been bought enough drinks by now to fit right in with the dancing crowd, your whole being traveling through it like plankton through the thick of the sea, hardly paying any attention to the way the jerky moves of someone against your flesh get replaced by a thoughtful sway of hips, a gentle touch that stops your slow drifting, slender hands gluing the bottom of your stomach to a muscled set of abs. You feel a pulsing vein where his bare skin dips under the rough fabric of his pants, the speeding heartbeat and a dishonest smile pulling tightly on his cheeks sober you up just enough for disgust to settle. You deserve it.

"What is a bella like you doing in a ditch like this?"

The smell of his sweat, tinged with woody cologne that's nearly overshadowed by the stench of smoke and a rich dry rye aroma - you write it off as him having drank a particularly strong unfiltered beer - all get into your head, and he gladly takes your laughter for an answer. With him having already taken your body in his arms you have to ask yourself what else he is planning to take from you. You deserve it, in any case.

The next however-long-he-wants you spend tightly pressed against his chest, barely able to keep up a simple dialogue, let alone count the time between him laying eyes on you and him taking you home. Your arms find his long hair, and something cracks in your fingers as you pass the locks between them, smooth strands turning into what feels like dry grass, and you furrow your eyebrow when you feel a spikelet somehow stuck in there as well. You don't pay much attention, though, as he quickly draws your thoughts elsewhere, asking if you like the music here. You press your cheek against the well-worn decorated leather collar of his coat and admit that you hate it, describing roughly what you actually enjoy. He picks a two-word description for the genre quicker than you're able to recall the name for it, and you're sure that he's just made it up. You laugh, because it's still spot-on.

"I'm a musician, you know. Maybe I could write you something you'd actually like?"

Do you really deserve it?

You still allow him to take you back to his place so he could play you something. The cold night air turns into chills slithering down your spine as you watch him pull his rusty motorcycle off the road to a non-distinct farmland, and his honeyed whisper in your ear promising that he "knows a spot" sounds less like a good prospect and more like finding yourself in 10 separate bags by the dawn. For now, you get comfortable as your back meets a cushy haystack and your vis-a-vis shuffles closer to you, trying to squeeze against and under your body so you're practically in his lap. Did he always have a violin with him?

You watch his adam's apple move in sync with his hearty laughter as he throws his head back, his warm fingers sliding up your thighs, a tender gesture coming to a sharp end as his claws dig into the flesh around the ridges of your ilium. You suppose it's the blinding white pain that illuminates your dark corner of the hayloft when the bow touches the strings, but as you open your eyes after wincing your vision is captured by the way his fiery fingers operate the violin, the whole left side of his face drowning in golden light. In your enchanted state you almost wish to be it - right until the moment his other set of arms digs deeper under the warm safety of your clothes.

Your ears work slower than your eyes, and the sound of him calling you a galore of Italian diminutives gets drowned in the melody he plays, your thoughts follow the notes as the man dives to pin you against the fragrant haystack. "Tesoro" as he presses his foxy smile against your neck, sharp teeth sliding along your vein in a silent threat until he decides to grace your nerve endings with an open-mouthed kiss that starts under your ear and wraps around your jawline towards your throat, where he bites. "Cara mia" as the bow rips the song off the strained strings, and the sound drips down your legs that now hug the musician's waist, licking your shaking body, laying thick in the bottom of your belly and the back of your clouded mind. “Amore” as the fabric of your skin-tight top is peeled off your body, the violinist catching the galloping goosebumps in his warm hands, his hot breath snaking its way down your sternum giving you enough heat to not even shiver against the cold night air. "Dolcezza" as he uses both of his real hands to rip apart your underwear.

Deep in the sensory overload you barely register the “ding” of his belt buckles sliding against each other as his nimble fingers work his jeans open. You are, despite everything, painfully aware of his cock easily reaching all the way up to your navel when he lays himself against your body, clearly showing off. His hips buck expectantly, waiting for your eyes to dart upwards to meet his gaze, see how he licks his lips that stretch in an impossibly wide smile, accentuated by his facial hair. He wants you to maintain eye contact as he positions his tip to slide effortlessly against your hole, lingering there to rub between your legs just to make you shiver, to let you feel the twitch of him against the most delicate parts of you. As a cold breeze licks your stomach, you can feel the trail of pre he left while withdrawing from you, and a pulsing vein wrapped around his shaft, his speeding heartbeat rubbing against your heat further confirms that he's been dreaming of this moment for quite some time. You gasp as he finally pushes in.

He makes sure to go slow enough for you to feel every detail of his shape, down to the texture of his skin as he presses his cock deeper into you. The ridge where his glans ends teases your opening just right, the spread open muscle at the entrance tightening while your body obediently wraps itself around his shaft. He gets impatient quickly, indulging your hole with a slow thrust that pulls him in over the halfway mark before he withdraws just to dive in the next moment, hips bucking faster than he can get a reign of himself. His rhythm is flawless, though, toned hips working perfectly to stuff you with a dick that massages your every spot, pulsing veins meeting nerve endings in engorged walls. His mouth is glued to your chest, teeth digging into soft flesh just to sharpen your senses without quite leaving a mark, wet kisses cut off by desperate gasps and Italian curses as his cock twitches inside of you, thick shaft buried to the hilt in smooth muscle. He counts your ribs with a light touch of slender fingers that would dig into the plush flesh of your thighs the very next moment if you didn't feel one of them slither downward along the curves of your torso, dipping past your navel and traveling further south until he can massage your sex, the pad of his thumb rubbing against the most perfect spot in the most perfect rhythm. You see stars when his hand falls in sync with his thrusts, you turn to mush when the frequency deliberately fluctuates to create a symphony on the strings of your nerve endings. A drop of sweat peels off his chest to fall onto yours, and you can swear it evaporated on contact. There's a tight knot where your bodies connect.

“Sing for me, bella.”

You feel too many hands snaking around your body, your blood freezes when smooth bone wraps around your wrists, a moment of hesitation more than enough to pin you down. You're in no place to fight, though, as the musician quickly maneuvers your lower half, palms hooked under your knees until they're pressed into soft hay just next to your shoulders. He thrusts triumphantly, hissing when he sinks impossibly deeper, just half a centimeter enough to knock a pathetic whimper out of your lungs. He bites his lip while he bullies your hole, a heated whisper of inaudible Italian words crawling inside of your mind as the violinist presses his lips against your ear is enough to nearly push you over the peak, a deliberate thrust that drags a thick vein against your soft spot finishing the job. Your body sucks him in as it raptures, a slew of noises from your swollen lips is music to his ears as his cock twitches hard before spilling, pressing thick cum against the muscle he was fucking into just now. There's enough seed for a drop of it to escape your body while his hips are still practically glued to your ass, more so as he withdraws just enough for you to relax, sore joints creaking almost audibly. He doesn't pull out, though, even as he settles against your chest, long brown hair falling onto your torso to cover the glisten of sweat on your skin. Even in the dark of night you can see his eyes, half-lidded and full of admiration as he nuzzles against you, love seeping from every pore of his body.

“Don't know what you were doing there at the bar, bella, but you deserve so much better. Stay away from hell-holes like that, promise? Do it because I love you.”

[norton-and-victor-my-parents]

Identity V characters with random images:

(Part 2)

[valerchnotok]

Yes, Mr. Diruse, I did my chemistry homework.

[artbyramen]

[veryaren]

netease is fast but im faster

[sscheimpough]

┈　 ❜ ANTONIO LAYOUT

𝓔 requested  by  @ddenryu (tag doesn't work)

F2U      ｡      reblog/credit appreciated