#john wick x santino

[bluelolblue]

The Great Shipwreck Of Life

Part 1 of the series The Other Side Of Paradise

Summary: John was just supposed to be Santino's bodyguard that Gianna got for her omega brother. To protect him, be by his side. John was the first alpha Santino actually got interested into. It didn't took long for their nature to take over, guided by their instincts. Which wasn't taken well by Santino's family. These two will have to go through a lot.

Rating: Explicit, ok but there's also some drama bc why not give Santino family problems

Relationship: Santino D'Antonio/John Wick

Chapters: 8

Note: OMG IT'S FINALLY FINISHED!!! Suprise suprise it's omegaverse fic! I hope it's done well and that you guys will like omega Santino and alpha John. This took me so long to finish but now it's finally here. I'm here to feed all Santino/John shippers. Also, me casually traumatizing Santino...I love you my Italian twink, you'll get through this. Yes, there's drama with smut as well.

I'm thinking about making a sequel if this one goes well, since it's a part of a series...I'd like to continue it. But I'll see if anyone's gonna be interested into that. And yes, the titles are from different songs :)

Chapter 1 - Youth

The D'Antonio family has been among the most known and powerful families for years, every representative in the High Table was an alpha. Only a handful of omegas have been born in the families over the years.

Now, Gianna being the first born and an alpha was the best choice for the next representative of the High Table.

And then Santino, born as an omega.

Being the only omega in the family, he was mostly kept away from his father's meetings with others. They were mostly alphas and betas. However, Gianna was allowed to those meetings.

From the young age, he was always compared to his sister, whatever he had done was never good enough for his father as well as his interests.

He was more close with his mother. His father was rough with him, but his mother was gentle. She had patience, love and she always told him that it's okay to show emotions.

Sadness, anger. Any emotions he was feeling. It wasn't good to suppress it. That's just how it is. Suppressing your emotions can be harmful, right?

His father tried to make his both children more like him. But it didn't really work. Not with Santino, neither with Gianna. She was just better at hiding all that in front of their father while Santino went with their mother's words.

After their mother died, Santino took that the hardest. Gianna would spent hours trying to comfort her younger brother, trying to calm him down and kept promising him that everything's going to be okay. Just like their mother kept telling them both.

"You two are going to be okay. I promise you both will do your best in life, do what you want and be happy. And I'm hopefully going to be there to watch you two grow."

Except she, unfortunately, wasn't there to watch them. To protect them both from the toxicity of their father. Not anymore.

It broke him. He thought he wouldn't be able to continue living normally. And he was only 10 when it happened.

Over the years, Santino kept being humiliated by his father and it got worse when Santino's nature started doing its job. His first heat, his first symptoms. That day, his father locked him into his room and told him that he can't get out until it passes.

Gianna only managed to sneak in to give him food and water and to comfort him. "Father has a meeting with some alphas, he wants to keep you away from them for your own safety." She told him. It wasn't entirely a lie, it's just that his father didn't want others questioning him about his omega son. If they smelled him they would know instantly. And that would just be embarrassing.

Yet his first heat was one of the worsts since he didn't know what to do. Going through cramps, breathing heavily and sweating while feeling dazed.

Gianna read about omega heats and genuinely tried her best to make him comfortable. He refused to eat and she had to keep reminding him to drink water. He was restless, felt like he had a fever. She brought him some of his favorite clothes to help him get more comfortable, to maybe try and make a nest.

He did surround himself on the bed with his favorite clothes and a blanket that his mother gifted him when he was little. All that calmed him down a little. Gianna gently went through his hair with her fingers and kept telling him in a soothing way that the heat will go away soon and if he needs privacy she can leave.

Surprisingly, he let her stay for some time. He felt like he needed someone to be with him, to help him get through this.

With other heats, his father started to get him pills as a heat suppressant as well as scent blockers. When Santino refused to take them he was almost kicked out, so he got beaten and yelled at.

Forced to take the pills, he could've stayed and actually sometimes be included in the meetings.

He actually learned how to ignore the nasty looks of the alphas that were in the same room with him. It made him feel sick.

He wasn't looking for a mate. Wasn't interested into any of them. He just wanted to do what he wants.

And he got that. Freedom.

His father got sick, soon after that he died. What a tragedy.

The seat was left to Gianna and she stayed in Rome. However, Santino didn't want to stay. He moved away to New York. Far away from everyone.

Maybe he didn't know what he was doing, maybe he should've stayed until he got a proper security with him. But, he has Ares and a few other. None of them alphas, just betas. Good enough for him but his sister thought he needed an alpha to protect him.

"I don't need an alpha, I have everything under control without a horny bastard to breath down my neck."

That didn't stop Gianna to find him the best of the best bodyguard/assassin, John Wick.

Read other chapters on AO3

Quick note: I'm so thankful for all the support guys, it really means a lot and I appreciate it! Love you guys! 💖

[thedivinevera]

❦Alternative❦

Your basic yandere x reader story but he is transported in the body of his variant who happens to cheat on you.

Imagine working so hard to make your darling fall in-love to you and you suddenly find out that another version of you in an alternate reality is cheating and wasting the love you blessed to his variant. - yandere!

(This is the more "headcanon" like post than the other one where it looks like a script/ convo of my Au uni)

Part 1 and 2

Yandere!multiple characters x gn reader

Tags: yandere x reader, male characters, established relationship, alternative Universe (Au), no gender reader, yandere au, cheating au, multiple characters

Tw! : Yandere, toxic relationship (2 types), CHEATING, unhealthy obsession, MENTIONED OF SELF HARM, mention of death, mention of murder, using profanity (curse). OOC CHARACTERS

A/N hellooo this is my first time doing a multiple character post (and my first post after a long hiatus,). Honestly there are a lot of fandoms I really want to contribute so I decided to just do this!!! So as a reminder; since this is multiple characters post, expect a lot of OOC

Yandere x reader but he's transported into another alternative Universe, where his variant cheated on you.

Yandere x reader but rather than seeing a traumatized reader (mainly caused by him) he sees an either a begging reader who desperately asks him how he could do this to them or a reader who's cold and seems to just don't give a fuck about him but either way it's far more better than seeing you traumatized and lifeless

Yandere x reader but he's comforting and promising to you that he will never do it again and if that means he would need to be put in a leash, camera in his house, or kill himself if he did it again, then so be it.

Yandere x reader but he killed the person he cheated with and hurt themselves intentionally in the process because his variant (the body) and that person is the reason why his beloved is hurting.

Yandere x reader but he manipulated you to accept him again by letting you see the scars he put in himself because "he" deserves it and put on a show that he's guilty that he couldn't live knowing he hurt you.

Yandere x reader but he's now treating you far better than his variant, of course excluding the fact that he's too possessive and obsessed with you, but hey! Atleast he's not fucking some person behind your back.

Yandere x reader but he never wants to go back to his alternative Universe because as long as you love and care for him he would never want to leave you again.

Yandere x reader but he's so fucking angry because in his world he had done everything to have what his variant have; you and he just waste it for a fucking whore.

Yandere x reader but he almost put himself in self destruction because this body is the same body that hurts you.

Yandere x reader but now everything that he had plan for the future is finally can be put in place.

Yandere x reader but he loves you so much to even think about cheating with you because he thinks that your love is an extension of his life and no matter what happen, no matter how beautiful the person is he would never think of cheating with you ever again .

Yandere x reader but he's ready to be put in lobotomy just to show he would never cheat on you :))

Some meme :)))

[thewhumpcaretaker]

John getting drunk Santino home (Santino tripped over his own feet)

Hiiiii :3 This really veered off of the prompt aaaaaa it's not exactly the same thing, but it is filled with DRAMA!

(Also, this picture is pure gold. I think it’s saved on my Pinterest in like three places and it makes me feel something every time I see it.)

🖤💙 Walking Home 💙🖤

TW: alcohol, arguing

It was a brilliantly clear night in the streets of Rome. The cobblestones were scattered with flecks of golden lamplight and the moon perched its yellow hemisphere low on the horizon, echoing the distant domes of cathedrals. But John Wick had rarely felt his heart sit so heavily in his chest.

The evening had started off well enough. It was the third day of a getaway to Rome, which John had requested in an effort to keep Santino from working himself to death, and which Santino had agreed to because he never missed an excuse to pamper his “little guard dog”. After sleeping in and spending the day exploring museums and old shops, they’d finally ended up in a gorgeous restaurant and bar that John would never have noticed if Santino hadn’t been familiar with the area. It was there that the waiter mistook them for a married couple. John turned the same color as the tomato passata and said he thought that was very sweet. That he could picture it.

Santino disagreed. “What, you want to settle down and get married? Be serious, John.”

“And you don’t?”

He scoffed. “Me? Married? I can’t imagine a worse life, honestly. Well, I might have to marry for an alliance one day, but - ”

“You’re telling me you don’t see a future for us?”

And from there, things…escalated.

John had stormed out and found himself walking, weaving through crooked streets without really seeing them, replaying the memories of their argument over and over in his head. He winced again, thinking of the look on Santino’s face at the idea of marriage. It stabbed him right in the heart every time, to think that growing old together disgusted Santino so much. But why should he be surprised? He was just a killer, and Santino was a prince.

He found his footsteps heading for the Continental, since he had no intention of returning to the D’Antonio estate that night. Clearly this was the end of things between them. Why did he let himself get so attached in the first place? He was on a narrow, residential street that slanted downwards sharply enough to give him sight of rooftops stretching away, and to see that he was completely alone. He stopped, fought with himself for half a moment…but if he was going to break down anywhere, it might as well be here. He slumped forward into his hands and just let himself cry.

It was then that he heard someone calling his name.

“John, che - che cazzo ci fai qui? Stronzo. Devi seguirmi. [John – what the – what the fuck are you doing here? You asshole. You must be following me.]”

He opened his eyes to see the small, lithe figure that had emerged from some side street, dark curls glowing in the lamplight. He bristled and tried to wipe at his face before Santino could see anything. “I did NOT – “ but he stopped short. Something didn’t seem right about the way Santino was moving. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am! Me and the pinot grigio made our own fun without you. We even invited the whiskey. What do…wait…are you okay?” Santino had reached him by this point and absently patted a hand against his cheek, feeling tears.

“Hey, stop it…” But John could smell the alcohol on his breath. Both anger and hurt had instantly drowned in concern.  “You’re drunk.”

“You’re crying. Don’t cry…” Santino was clingy in this state, his arms wrapping around John’s neck and his forehead butting into his chest. John didn’t know what to do with himself. The impulse was to hug him back but after the way they’d fought, he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

“Why do you care? I thought…” I thought we were broken up… “You know what, never mind. What are you doing out here? Where’s Ares?”

He pushed off of John’s chest again and stumbled a few steps. “I told her to leave me alone! Just…wanna go home…I think it was that way…” Home was not, in fact, that way.

John shuddered at the thought of the perils inherent in an important, highly recognizable man like Santino wandering unguarded through the streets, too drunk to defend himself. Guilt settled deep in his stomach. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left like that.” He fell into step with Santino, his eyes glued to him with concern and an arm hovering behind his back in case he lost balance. “The Continental is near here. We’ll go there, get a car, find Ares. Okay?”

Santino waved a hand dismissively but he couldn’t carry the gesture at all right now. “Don’t…don’t hover! I can walk.” His shoe hit an odd cobblestone and at that steep angle, it sent him reeling forward. John caught him around the waist before he could go down. He waited to be pushed away but Santino just leaned against him, and this time John couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around him. He felt so damn confused, but at least he’d rather be uncertain they were broken up than certain of it.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Santino let his weight fall against him even harder, pushing him back against a lamppost, and slurred, “Non posso essere quello che vuoi, John. Non sono... semplice. Pensi che potrei essere un marito? Guardami. Un litigio e... [I can’t be wha- you want, John. I’m not…simple. You think I could be a husband? Look at me. One fight and…]” He waved an arm across his dishevelment.

John opened his mouth to insist that he'd be a beautiful husband, even like this, but he still wasn’t done. “Vuoi che sia gentile e normale e non lo sono, ok? Sono un mostro, John. Non voglio sposarmi e vivere in qualche piccolo sobborgo a cuocere biscotti. Voglio metterti in mostra davanti alla Tavola Alta e poi sputargli in faccia. Sputare... sputare proiettili in faccia. Voglio scoparti finché... finché non sarò morto e ti amerò oltre la tomba. [You want me to be gentle and normal and I’m not, okay? I am a freak, John. I don’t want to get married and live in some little suburb baking cookies. I want to show you off in front of the High Table and then spit in their faces. Spit…spit bullets in their faces. I want to fuck you until…until I’m dead and love you beyond the grave.]”

John exhaled helplessly, beyond the powers of speech. He tipped his head back for a moment, eyes fixed on the vast chasm between the stars in a way that made him feel like he was falling upward for infinity. His hands were curled around Santino’s arm almost painfully, twisting the fabric. As soon as he found his tongue again, “È quello che voglio. Non mi interessa un pezzo di carta. E non mi interessa dove viviamo o se facciamo parte della Tavola. Non mi interessa nemmeno se avremo mai pace. Voglio TE. [That’s what I want. I don’t care about a piece of paper. And I don’t care where we live or whether we’re a part of the Table. I don’t even care if we ever have peace. I want YOU.]”

“Allora... di che cazzo stiamo discutendo? [Then…what the fuck are we arguing about?]”

John wasn’t sure which one of them started laughing first, but it wound up with lips and teeth pressed together, and Santino tugging hard on his lapels. And it ended with their gazes locked together, two stupidly sweet smiles matching the big “D” of the half moon.

He pulled Santino’s arm over his shoulder and started walking. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”

[tobytheeggo]

OH MA GOODNESS :3

Furry Santino x John for my little soul pls? :3 <3

I hope this will suffice :]

[corleonecaretaker]

Santino humping Michael's thigh hard, like he's such a bitch for it, he cries when he comes in his pants

(I just like to imagine Santino being a slut all the time... and him humping a thigh has been on my mind for so long, I'm going insane)

Uhh yeah just thought I'd share this thought with you :]

Hehehe, this is so Santino. I love that these two work as any combination of dom and sub. Thank you for the ask!!

Also, for new people: I'm writing these two as if the Corleone family was forced to join the High Table and serve Santino D'Antonio, who is in charge of the Camorra's US operations.

Urgent Business

Michael Corleone x Santino D'Antonio, AKA SaintAngel (John Wick Fandom Crossover), 926 words

TW: smut, biting, crying, what could be interpreted as stalking

It hadn’t been so long since they’d seen each other. But to Santino, it had been an eternity. Two months. Two months of hell in New York, trying to balance Michael’s demands with his family’s expectations, without revealing that he favored the Corleones. Why did he always feel like he was the one working for the Don instead of the other way around? He was wrapped around Michael’s finger, and he had to admit he liked it.

But he couldn’t take the loneliness anymore. A few long distance calls, panting desperately into the receiver to the sounds of Michael’s dirty talk, simply wasn’t enough. In February, he showed up unannounced in Nevada.

Michael entered his study that evening and froze, a hand still on the doorknob. “How did you get past the guards?”

“I had ‘urgent business’ with you. They know better than to refuse a representative from the Table.” Santino was sitting at his desk, wearing a smug grin.

Michael clicked the door shut and frowned. Any trace being caught off guard had already vanished. “Hmmm. And what business would that be, exactly?”

He toyed with Michael’s pen, spinning it between his fingers. “Don’t I deserve a reward, for everything I’ve being doing for you?”

The answer wasn’t immediate. Michael took his time, leaning against the wall to light a cigarette. Santino watched the movement of his lips gripping the paper lazily, the smooth, unhurried motions of the lighter. At last Michael returned his gaze, eyeing him, calculating. “You don’t deserve a reward for breaking into my study.” When Santino opened his mouth to protest, he raised a finger. “Yes, yes, not breaking in. You were allowed right in the door. But it’s the behavior of a sex-starved stalker, wouldn’t you agree?”

Santino flushed and stood up. “Whose fault is that, Mikey? You haven’t visited me,” he whined. Michael made no reply, didn’t even look at him. He just looked out the window at the setting sun.

Fine. Time to get his attention, then. This was the way their little games always went. Santino circled around the desk to drape himself over Michael’s chest, inhaling his smoke and nuzzling against his neck in an effort to distract him. But it was Santino who was getting hot and bothered. “You can’t tell me I’ve come all this way for nothing,” he panted, inches from Michael’s lips.

A small sigh. “This is what happens when you come into my home without permission, Santi. You don’t get to cum in me.”

An indignant whimper escaped his throat. The Don’s body was intoxicatingly close to him now, right within reach yet so far away. Desperate for relief, Santino wove their legs through each other, straddling his thigh. Pleading and promises fell from his lips unbidden. “Please, ah fuck…Michael, I need it. Please, you can’t do this to me. I’ll make it the best you’ve ever had. You can do anything to me. Choke me, bite me, ride me until I bleed, I don’t care. I’ve been sitting here all day, thinking about you…”

Michael chuckled. “You’re really that horny? Well, help yourself then. I’m not going to help you.” He took another drag, feigning disinterest and looking out the window again. But his hand was on the small of Santino’s back, supporting him.

That touch alone was enough to drive him crazy. It was completely undignified, but he didn’t care. He just started grinding against the Don’s thigh, grateful even for that little friction. “Bastard,” he swore breathlessly. “Look what you’ve done to me.” He squeezed his thighs against Michael’s, gripping solid muscle. Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed like Michael shifted his knee upward, angling into it.

“Mmm…please, kiss me Mikey. Please.” He strained towards Michael’s lips but two fingers pressed against his own, pushing him back. He growled in frustration and retaliated by taking them into his mouth, sucking on them vigorously. Maybe he could get close like this…but in another moment they were pulled away again, producing another whine.

Santino was getting to be a real mess. Sweat beaded against his collar and tears were forming in his eyes. “Fuck! No…I need to cum so bad…”

“Fine then. Show me how much.”

Santino moaned and humped faster, heedless of the way the fabric burned and strained against his oversensitive cock. The humiliation of the whole thing started to overwhelm him. The agony of those lips so close to his, those blank eyes fixed on Santino’s burning cheeks. And the rhythm that felt so good but so filthy. He realized he really was going to cum in his pants like a dog humping his master’s leg, but he couldn’t seem to stop. His own legs started shaking and he nearly slid sideways but Michael held him in place, letting him rut as hard as he wanted.

Michael must have felt the change in his motions, because he clamped a hand over Santino’s mouth before he could moan too loudly. Santino bit down on the flesh without thinking, but it didn’t stop him from sobbing through his orgasm.

When his senses started to return, he realized he tasted iron.

“Fuck…I bit you…” he said brokenly, still gasping.

But their little game was over, and that gentle, strong hand just caressed his cheeks, wiping away tears. “It’s okay.” Michael guided him to the chair and pulled him into his lap, holding him.

Only then did Santino feel his tiredness. Perhaps Michael had needed him just as badly. “I missed you,” Don Corleone said softly, into his curls. “Thank you for coming.”

[bluelolblue]

Yeepie I'm sooo happy rn! :D

I'm looking forward for the 3rd part! I also understand the struggles of writing trust me, take your time :)

My AO3 username is LittleRealSimp, (it sounds funny ik hahah), I'm also working on another fic with Santino and John (hopefully it's going to be finished soon 🥲)

I also post and reblog stuff about Santino and John Wick community in general and their actors here on Tumblr

But yeah we fans should stick together! 😊

I just wanna say that I absolutely LOVE your Wild Animals Rebellion series, it brought me life and inspired me to actually post my own work on ao3 (so glad Santino/John ship is still around till this day and I reread the series multiple times). I'm hoping you'll continue it, I love it :3

And I was so happy when you reblogged my silly post about Santino dressing up fancy for John ❤️

Hello Friend!

Thank you for this ask, it made me feel all warm and fuzzy to know you love that story, which has a special place in my heart!

I'm indeed writing the 3rd and last part, though I'm going super slow 🙈

You might have seen a snippet that I posted yesterday (I think your ask is in reaction to that?), so there is proof it exists ahahah

I loved your post, it's indeed to rare to see that ship, so I'm always very happy to see people are still enjoying them!

Do you have the same username on A03? I'm curious to know if I read your fic. I must admit I've had less energy for reading fics this past months but I would like to know which one it was: we gotta stick together as fans!

[johnwickcaretaker]

🖤💙 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅𝑺𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕 💙🖤

WickedSaint (John x Santino) moodboard for @bluelolblue made from things I photographed while traveling!

[of-tatooine]

DULCE PERICULUM. | CHAPTER VI - CLEAR

supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

(John Wick x Reader, Santino d'Antonio x Reader)

full work

This was the place.

It must have been. It existed in your memories, the forgotten crumbs of moments laying bare right in front of you.

Through the tinted windows of the backseat in the armored vehicle, an extension of Camorra’s constant protection over you - your eyes staggered momentarily on the grand 18th century wooden doors, encrusted in the brick and stone that stretched for floors upwards.

Hidden in plain sight. Evil, crime and all that was unholy, being led by the seemingly normal, historic building. Did the ordinary pedestrians, many who walked near or across the stronghold every single hour, have the slightest idea of what was transpiring inside? The extent of detail flowing through plans to spill yet more blood or to transport even more drugs? The bourbon and whiskey consumed by men after an operation that paid well?

Would they change their morning commute had they known?

With the amount of corruption running rampant in the city that never slept - people would always go out of their way to blissfully ignore.

It was not much different back in il Bel Paese, and you would be damned to be a hypocrite as a pin of the underworld yourself. Camorra’s limbs extending all over the crevices, stones and doors adorning the narrow streets of Napoli - yet, people still drank on the streets, chanting the songs of their victorious football team, melodies leaving their way into hurled curses on some nights. Almost every restaurant in the town owed something to a Camorra boss somewhere, with money flowing into eventually the lifestyle that you led, but did not ask for. Yet - people still frequented the establishments, ordering the finest the fair city had to offer.

And, to think, this was only where it began.

It often hurt to think just how vast and interconnected this web was, jumping from city to city, port to port. Just how many souls were involved. The notion of Camorra almost seemingly incorporated into real life itself - becoming one with the city, with the population, with the beliefs and the traditions.

It was embedded in the pavement stones of Roma, in the bronze of the angels that protected the holy land. Gleaming in the intricate cuts of pink and green marble adorning il Duomo, ever withstanding centuries. Etched onto the mosaics in their lazy trail across cliffs, into the deep, turquoise eternity.

A sentient presence among all corners of the country, blurring the lines of morality wherever it touched in the outside world.

Until it bled the people dry.

Until men were beaten to a pulp in the dimly-lit back alleys on a cold winter night, limping to get home till morning come - because the count had not been right. Until bullets started whizzing in the air upon a missing kilogram. Until an innocent died at a road ambush in the countryside.

For you, it had not taken years to grow accustomed to the ruthless truth of the source of your estate, the grandeur. Of your place in the world.

It was all you knew, your only version of reality, from the moment you gained consciousness.

Was it rightful? Earned? All you had to do was to be born into it, into the right family with the right connections. At least that was what the Camorra told you, when they took you under their wing.

Sometimes, in this life, there are choices.

Sometimes, they have already been made for you.

Everyone in the underworld was tied to each other by an invisible thread, that would get pulled on or snipped off sooner or later.

Tarasov had been no different. It was the same, when it came to members of the mob, they were all the same - except they were Russians.

Direct, straight to the point. In times, even more ruthless than what your clan could become. A little too reckless at times, yet devout to tradition. To the century-old ways of living and letting die.

Like every crime lord you had the luxury of being in their vicinity in this lifetime - they always got what they wanted, one day or another, late or early.

As the car stalled in the empty space, the chauffeur respectfully waiting - you would take out your phone, nimble fingers typing a quick sono qui to the one who waited for you back at home.

I have made it.

He had briefly mentioned plans to take a couple of days to travel to Piacenza, to his father’s estate, where he resided with the looming sickness, far out in the countryside with an army of doctors and guards. Time had not been on his side, and would never be at his age. As much as Santino wished health on his father - decay was the one thing he could not change, even with all the power and funds he had. It could not be stopped.

Time.

It either healed you, or it broke you down.

“Grazie, amore,” came his fast text momentarily, making your lips curl upwards in a moment of courage.

“Buona fortuna.”

Packing up your tote and thanking your driver, the suited guard on the passenger seat exited quickly to help you down the backseat of the tall SUV. Clicking heels across the concrete took you to the doors, guards giving you a quick once over and opening the gates to the dark, moody entrance covered in the deepest mahogany paneling.

The door closed right behind you in a fleeting moment.

“Welcome to New York,” your escort that appeared out of the shadows would speak in a heavy Russian accent, earning a nod from you. “Viggo had been waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” you responded, walking through dimly lit halls leading up to an elevator. The seemingly short ride up would take you to the top floor, exiting out in a grand foyer with windows overlooking the silhouette of the city, filling in the moody room with slivers of natural light behind crimson velvet curtains. The distant crackling sound of a fireplace echoing in the tall ceilings. Finest examples of taxonomy glared at you from the walnut-paneled walls, doors opening up to you as a known voice welcomed you in. The guard staying right outside, clicking the door shut - sealing you in for the job.

You had been here before, but not like this. Everything felt so familiar, yet so alien. The passing months and years seemed to long, yet it was closer than you recalled. The days had flown by, memories fresh yet forgotten, human beings being lost in the cacophony of everyday life.

The dreams, however, did not cease to remind you from time to time.

Dreams that took place in this very room, a fleeting moment in time, etched onto unknown corners.

Where you had met him.

“It’s always a pleasure to have you in our fine city,”  the older Tarasov spoke in the deep accent, slowly getting up from his vast mahogany desk, polished shoes tapping against the hardwood as he took your outstretched hand to press a fleeting kiss on your knuckles in greeting.

“Thank you for having me,” you offered with a respectful smile as you unbuttoned the coat with a single hand, gesturing the armchairs sprawled across the burning fireplace, the center of his office. “May I?”

“Please. Coffee?” he asked, as he walked to his perfectly stocked personal bar that was places as yet another center of attention, dark walnut and black marble blending in seamlessly, contrasting the bright bottles and glasses.

“Or better yet, as is tradition - some vodka?”

“Grazie,” you would politely declined, even though you knew the jetlag would get the worst of you by the evening as you took your coat off with habitual ease, draping it across the armrest and sat with your legs crossed, waiting on the mob boss to join you for the long-awaited chat.

Business. That was what you were there for. The atmosphere was eerie, in the early lights of the quiet and calm morning, with Viggo pouring a small drink for himself as the glasses clinked. It was always unsettling and intimidating to get into the conversation - after all, with men this powerful, all bets could be off the table. Unpredictability came with the occupation most of the time.

Your eyes would trail to the tall windows, lazily letting in sunlight - now partially covered in thick, velvet curtains. Unobstructed views that many could only wish for.

That had been where he stood as you had stormed in the room, one of the times where the anger had manifested externally.

With his hands in his pockets, deep in thought, his hair slicked back in what you would discover to be his signature style. His dark stare catching you by surprise from the first time your eyes met, it did not matter if it had been a millisecond.

The first time you saw the man behind the rumors, in flesh, in this very room, mere years ago - the details of the snapshot of a moment carved in stone.

There had been no curtains back then.

A man of fine taste, Viggo tended to change things up every once in a while. The furniture had changed, no expense spared - yet the comfort was there. As comfortable as you could get with a mob boss who had districts under his thumb, that was. Your body straightened itself as Viggo took a seat in front of you, setting his crystal glass on the nearby drink table. He had donned a thick gray suit to combat the icy New York cold that morning, complete with a red shirt and burgundy tie tucked into his three piece.

His presence could be felt, just as much as his style and décor choices, as he spoke, albeit his voice was of a leisurely nature.

“Before business, let us be friends,” he offered with a slight smile. “Tell me, how’s life been on your side of the world?”

“As you know - business as usual,” you would start, as old-fashioned as you could be sometimes, taking out a small notebook from your purse. “Trying to help a friend out.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he nodded, taking a sip of the drink. “I gathered you are here to ask something of me. Must be very important if it had you travel all the way over here.” Tarasov leaned back, sitting comfortably with the glass resting in his hand.

By that point, you had understood the sarcasm slightly laced in his voice, yet you had a feeling it was not targeted at you necessarily - but for what you stood for.

He believed your efforts were futile, a hint of a smirk stretching his lips.

He believed it could not be done.

“Santino requested I help with the fulfillment of task. I need names, Viggo,” you spoke, clear, articulate yet soft, looking to meet his eyes.

“And your word to honor what you promised John.”

The man first looked amused, letting his drink rest on the coffee table, learning towards you. “Now, why would you think I would not?”

“Just covering my bases this time.”

“I am a man of my word,” he added, voice lower, his jaw clenching slightly. “I suggest you do not pry that further.”

The air in the room tightened.

“Absolutely,” you replied with a knowing yet kind smile.

It did not make sense to ever anger a Russian mob boss.

Much to your slight surprise, the man offered a light chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “I will give you whatever information I have - not that I have much,” he would concede without much of a fight required.

“But, just so we are clear,” he would start, elbows on knees as his icy stare got closer to yours, “ - there is a reason this is called an impossible task.”

“It simply cannot be done.”

Another crackle of the burning wood would echo across the wood paneling, the orange flames illuminating the side of your face, lips tilted upwards as you opened up your small notebook, looking through your lashes as the words flowed.

“Let’s see what we can do, Mr. Tarasov.”

[weirdo1next1door]

Happy birthday @tobytheeggo!! here's the shomthing I made for you :33

[kavalyera]

john wick incorrect quotes (ship version)

[weclassygirl]

*Every fic is written with fem!reader*

Dulce Periculum

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

Warnings: slowburn, angst, fluff, violence, mafia

Summary: reader gets transported into the John Wick Universe. She lands in the scene where Santino is supposed to die. She’s there to prevent that.

"I knew they would hunt us. Consequences."

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 [ discontinued ]

Pinterest Board

Moodboards: Jade / Santino / Lorraine / Elijah / Andre / Luca / Spirto / Sonya / Caterina / Ben

Step & Ava (OC's, Step from Children of Ares by the-darklings)

hack my soul  {coa!step x oc!ava} - Step actually had help in finding V when she got taken in Tokyo…

the first meeting {coa!step x oc!ava} - “Bonding experience then.”

nightmares {coa!step x oc!ava} - “Wake up.”

what if... {coa!step x oc!ava} - An alternate universe where these two hackers are happy with each other

Pinterest Board

The Elder

habibi {the elder x the vipress; reincarnation!au}

no words needed {the elder x the vipress/reader}

they know it’s not possible  01 / 02  {the elder x reader} - The young Elder comes into a new town, he connects with a woman there, somewhat of an origin story.

[bluelolblue]

The Ecstasy of Temptation

Summary: During the celebration that the D'Antonio siblings organized, with a bit of too many glasses of wine, the young omega, Santino, unexpectedly went in heat. The only one who could help him handle that was his alpha bodyguard, John, even if that meant breaking the rules of the contract. And he took great care of Santino in his heat.

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Santino D'Antonio/John Wick

Note: August 12th, (12.8.) 2023 was the day I got registered on ao3, became LittleRealSimp. The day I officially joined. The lore behind this silly username is literally me and my irl bestie sitting in a park and talking about how we're gonna name ourselves there. And we both came up with silly usernames ehehe :P. I can't believe it's already been a year, like what, A WHOLE YEAR! I was lurking on ao3 for a VERY long time, and during summer 2023, I got enough courage to start posting.

This fic is a gift for @mrssimply because really her fics were the ones that helped me get through that summer and inspired me to start working on my own fics. I remember reading those fics on the terrace, at evening, so those are really some of my favorite memories from my vacation. BUT ALSO thank you for being my beta reader, a friend, a support, helping me out so much, and all our conversations, that really means a lot to me! Thank you for reading this, too! I'm so happy you like it! <3

Ahh this all made me emotional. I'm just so happy and can't believe it was already a year, and so much had happened. What a journey, and it's still going!

1 year anniversary of me officially joining on ao3, celebrating with a new fic!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Snippet

The D'Antonio siblings threw a celebration over gaining more territory. Gianna was in charge there, greeting guests and having everything under control. Santino, on the other hand, regretted even being there.

He usually liked those celebrations only because he actually felt included and he could drink more wine. The guests were annoying to him probably because most of them were alphas and only a few people knew Santino was an omega. Gianna, his family and John who was assigned as his bodyguard. Who was also an alpha.

John knew he wasn't supposed to have anything with Santino. The contract made that very clear and Gianna's order to him not to react at his heat or his actions during it. He listened of course, but he had to admit, Santino was tempting. The omega didn't want to play by the rules, always teasing John when he had a chance to.

Tonight, John had to keep Santino in his sight all the time. With other alphas around, powerful people, anything was possible. Santino was wearing blockers, he always did when he was around people. He hated the way some alphas would look at him as if they knew.

John kept his distance, watching how Santino was on his second glass of wine and accompanied by a younger alpha. Santino didn't seem interested in the guy, he was just pretending to listen to whatever he was saying.

Luckily, Gianna came to check out the situation. She excused Santino for a moment, going to a private room.

“Don't drink too much, you know how wine affects you,” Gianna reminded him, not looking very pleased.

“I know, don't worry,” Santino reassured her, “Thanks for getting me out of that situation. That guy was not shutting up.”

“Yes, I could tell.” His sister agreed, “Just go easy on the drinks, it could trigger your heat. After all, alphas are all around.”

“I'm wearing blockers, they can't scent me.” Santino fixed his tie, checking himself out in a small mirror on the wall.

Gianna sighed, walking over to him to fix his hair, but the omega moved away.

“Your heat is supposed to come… tomorrow? Or in two days?” Gianna tried to remember his last heat, she has lost track of his cycles ever since he kinda snapped at her for doing that.

Read the rest on ao3

[alejandrafrausto]

FINAL HAVEN: One last safe place

un fanfiction de Alejandra Frausto

SINOPSIS

Santino D'Antonio esperaba muchas cosas en su vida, incluidos el poder y la grandeza. No contaba con que su padre le arrebataría esa vida, que merecía por derecho propio, y se la daría a su hermana mayor, Gianna.

Descontento con la decisión del anterior líder de la familia Camorra, Santino cobra su marcador de sangre más valioso con la única persona en quien confía para no fallar en matar a su hermana: John Wick.

Para desgracia de Santino, el implacable asesino escapó de los secuaces que había enviado para matarlo, con la esperanza de no dejar "cabos sueltos" al momento de ascender como el nuevo líder de los Camorra y miembro de la Alta Mesa.

En consecuencia, y con el fin de que Wick no cobrara venganza sobre él, Santino abrió un contrato entre los criminales más despiadados del mundo, ofreciendo 7 millones de dólares por la cabeza de John.

Parecía sencillo, pero no por nada el nombre de Boogeyman precedía a John.

Asesino que intentaba detenerlo en su cacería, asesino que no vivía para contarlo; y en ese momento, el hombre del saco estaba cazando a Santino D'Antonio.

Hasta que lo encontró.

Santino huyó y se escondió. Era un juego de niños para Wick. Solo era cuestión de tiempo, cuestión de minutos para que lo alcanzara y matara.

Entonces apareció ella.

Un ángel a los ojos de Santino; un daño colateral a los ojos de John.

Hola, la verdad le quiero hacer justicia al personaje de Santino D'Antonio de la saga de películas de John Wick.

Ciertamente es un gran personaje con una historia fuerte, que bien desarrollada tiene mucho potencial, y ni hablar del pedazo de actor que le da vida (Riccardo Scamarcio) es un hombre muy atractivo, no me lo van a negar.

Por lo que espero que le den mucho amor y cariño a la historia, tengo las ideas en mi cabeza pero a diferencia de mi otro fic quiero hacer este acapella, por lo que si ven errores o me desvío de la trama díganmelo con confianza, por favor, para poder corregirlo a tiempo.

GRACIAS POR LEER

[thewhumpcaretaker]

HENLLOO ✨️💖

I have this idea for some time, and it's something I wanna write one day, BUT I think you'd really like this idea bc it's hurt/comfort and Santino at the beach! I'm curious about your thoughts or if it's inspiring yk 👀

Santino having a wound, that's not fully healed, or not healed at all and he wants to go to the sea to feel that salt kinda "bite" his wound, he wants to feel that pain because he thinks he deserves it or whatever other reason.

John tried to talk him out of it just because he knew it would hurt, but then again, sea water could help the wound heal faster. So, John insists for Santino's own safety that he goes with him. And eventually Santino agrees. Of course it hurt and burned, it's salt on the wound and Santino maybe thought it would be easier but it hurt a lot.

Santino wants to make himself suffer even more 😞

AAAAAAAA this one cut DEEP for me!! Your asks are so good lately (well, always, but especially this one). It's so dark but honestly this is a topic that I love to write about and I think it says a lot about Santino and what he's going through. What a brutal scenario, Santino is really suffering. But John is there to make sure he's safe and build up his self-esteem, as always.

Also, as a note: the ocean is not recommended as a source of salt water to put on a wound even if it does help sometimes, because there's bacteria in the ocean! So don't try this at home.

🖤💙Salt in the Wound💙🖤

TW: self harm via salt water, attempted self harm via breaking and punching things, blaming himself for abuse, concerns over potential suicidal behavior (there is none actually attempted), Dead Dove Do Not Eat

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“I am not leaving you alone like this!”

The bedroom was wrecked in every way that wouldn’t be permanent. Pillows and blankets thrown around the room, the desk overturned, even the curtains torn down. John had stepped in to stop Santino from tearing up his own poetry, but he’d let him flip the chair and splinter its legs against the floor. And why was all of this happening? Because Santino had been punished by a High Table emissary. The Adjudicator and company had approached them in the middle of the Continental lobby, informed Santino that he had broken some inscrutable rule John didn’t even know about, and then slashed him across the gut in front of the whole room of people.

After the wound was patched up he had just sort of…gone quiet. It was obvious he blamed himself. He brooded all the rest of the day, until finally John pressed him about what was wrong and he exploded.

“Fuck off, John! Get your hands off of me!” He had Santino’s arms pinned behind his back so he wouldn’t punch the walls. Reluctantly, he let go, and just as he’d expected, Santino lunged towards the wall. John was too fast and put himself in front of Santino’s fist before he could make contact. Santino stopped short, flushing even harder at the frustration of having to restrain himself in that state.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

Santino stared at him for a long moment, his jaw set hatefully. Then he turned to walk out.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Through clenched teeth, “The beach.”

Their home was only a short walk from the ocean, and in this mood, Santino could make it there in five minutes. Horrifying scenarios flashed through John’s mind, of Santino walking out into the ocean and never coming back. His heart did a sickening sort of drop. “Why?”

Santino whirled back to him with his chin in the air, the picture of passive aggression and mock innocence. “Salt water is good for healing wounds. You want me to take care of myself so badly? Fine. Maybe I want to go for a swim.”

“That will burn like hell.”

“GOOD. But it’s healthy, so you can’t stop me.”

John practically growled in frustration. He couldn’t argue with that. He just grabbed his coat. “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not invited.”

“I don’t care. I’m going to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

Santino’s scowl softened for a fraction of a second, replaced by something miserable and touched. But then he just growled back, grabbed his swim trunks, and marched out the door without another word.

They were silent on the walk to the beach, with the sun sinking down against the waves in reds and oranges as fiery as Santino’s expression. John began to hope that he’d cool down by the time they got there, but he had no such luck. Santino stripped down immediately and threw his clothes in John’s face. He would have laughed at the pettiness of it if he didn’t know how much pain was raging inside of Santino right now. So he just caught them and folded them neatly over his arm so they wouldn’t get covered with sand. Then he crossed his arms and watched from the edge of the water.

With his shirt off, and then his dressing thrown to the ground as well, John could see the red blooming across the slash on Santino’s side. The wound wasn’t deep at all, but it looked awful. It was long – an arc from the top of his ribcage on the right side to below the navel on the left. And it was still bleeding.

Santino took a first step into the water and already flinched. The evening wind was picking up and it was ice cold. “Maybe you should do this tomorrow,” John suggested. “Like noon? When it’s warmer?”

The very idea of sparing himself any pain seemed to just make Santino even more furious. He only turned back long enough to glare at John and then suddenly dashed forward, until the waves were up to his stomach.

Based on the sound he made, it couldn’t have felt good. It was a kind of yelping scream that he bit off with a long stream of swearing in Italian. John frowned hard. He knew what that felt like – he’d been in the ocean after a job before, by necessity, and it stung something awful. But all he could do was watch helplessly. At least Santino was standing still now, and seemed to be reconsidering. He even took a few steps back until the cut was mostly above the water line again.

But irritation with his own weakness seemed to give him a second wind. He plunged back in, up to his chest this time, and screamed again. This time, John couldn’t tell if it was pain or frustration or self-hatred, because it gave out into sobbing. He was crying so badly that John was worried he was going to double over into the waves. “That’s enough. I’m coming out.” He kicked off his shoes and trousers, set down their things, and waded into the frigid water.

He wasn’t sure if Santino heard him or not, because he didn’t move at all until John’s arms were around him.

“Come on, love. Let’s go back to shore, yeah?”

“No. I-I deserve this.” Santino didn’t hug him back. He just stood there shivering terribly.

“Why?”

“Because I fucked up! They had to punish me. And I’m so angry, John. I’m so angry, and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even be angry at them. I just have to play nice because I’m powerless and it’s all my fault.”

“No you don’t. You’re allowed to hate them. You don’t have to hate yourself.” He realized they weren’t just talking about The Adjudicator, but about everyone who had hurt Santino. Especially those who he didn’t couldn’t bring himself to hate. His own father. The water swirling around their bodies was deathly cold and John felt himself starting to shake too, but he ignored it and held Santino as close as he could.

For a second, Santino cried harder against him, but it seemed to bring some kind of cathartic release. Finally, he went calm and hugged John back. He seemed drained. “Okay. This hurts too fucking much anyway. Cazzo, I didn’t expect it to be this bad.” His heart was still racing against John’s chest, probably from sheer pain.

“Yeah…I’m not surprised. Let’s go get the salt out, I brought stuff to take care of it so it doesn't hurt as much on the walk home.”

So Santino allowed himself to be led back to shore. John wrapped him in a towel and poured a fresh water bottle over the cut to rinse it. That stung too, and he was already back to whining about the pain, but John didn’t mind. As long as Santino didn’t want to make himself suffer. He kissed him hard. “You didn’t deserve that.”

He melted into the kiss and stayed curled up against his lover, trying to regain some body heat, but he couldn’t bring himself to reply.

“You didn’t, Santino. They did this to you because they’re on a power trip. Because the whole organization runs by making people feel trapped and small, and it pisses me off.”

His answer was slow and very quiet. “Honestly…I don’t want that to be true. If that’s true, then I have to do something about it.”

“Yeah.” John wove his fingers through Santino’s curls and studied his face. He was so precious, so fierce, so full of life. A world in which a person like Santino could be hurt over and over again until he wanted to hurt himself too wasn’t one that John could stand for. “We have to do something about it.”

[tobytheeggo]

More blue (with MarkerMischief dolls) :3

@bluelolblue

[corleonecaretaker]

✦ ℍ𝕚𝕥 𝕄𝕖 ✦

Michael Corleone x Santino D'Antonio, AKA SaintAngel (John Wick Fandom Crossover), 2500 words

This was inspired by a comment from @onconstellationstreetmp3 requesting a sub Michael Corleone fic! I basically read that comment and starting writing it immediately, haha. I don't really know if it's a crack fic or completely earnest, and I don't know if any of the logistical mafia stuff makes sense. But I hope you enjoy.

Summary: Michael Corleone was forced to sign on with the High Table or be destroyed. Now the Table wants a cut of the casino profits, and Santino D'Antonio, the Camorra prince who now outranks the Don, has come to collect. But he's taken an unexpected interest in Michael. Has Don Corleone finally met someone he can't predict or control? Maybe that's exactly what he needs...

TW: smoking, NSFW, under-negotiated BDSM (but no one gets seriously hurt by it), Michael hates himself, slapping and punching, degradation, flashback, crying, attempting to use BDSM as self-harm

Image Sources: One | Two

Santino D’Antonio, head of American operations of the Camorra seat at the High Table. Santino D’Antonio, a prince with a flair for impractical firearms that had a tendency to make jobs go bad. Santino D’Antonio, thorn in Michael Corleone’s side.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like having me around, Don Corleone.” Sprawled out in Michael’s favorite armchair like it was his, Santi flicked a lighter to his cigarette. It wasn’t even a good brand. Michael’s eyes lingered on it in distaste. A man like Santino could afford something better, even cigars, so why did he smoke that junk anyway? His fashion was immaculate, his guns were the top-of-the-line, but when it came to indulgences, he seemed to like things cheap and dirty. Michael couldn’t understand why.

“I assure you, Mr. D’Antonio, I wish you a swift return to New York.” This was the third day of Santino’s visit to the Corleone family residence in Nevada. It had been a long few days for Michael, constantly on guard, knowing that every moment was a negotiation, no matter how seemingly innocuous. His eyes had remained fixed on Santino at all times until that was all he seemed to see, even when he shut them. He hardly slept for the fear that came with having a High Table emissary on the premises. He was as perfectly groomed as ever, but the dark circles showed nonetheless.

“Then sign.” He had been sent to obtain a contract securing a percentage of earnings from the casinos. Michael was adamant that, because the casinos included legitimate interests, the High Table had no claim to their profits. Only direct drug and mercenary profits were fair game, he argued. But Santino wasn’t having it – wasn’t allowed to give in even if he wanted to, probably. If Michael was under significant pressure to run his family well, he could only imagine what the consequences of failure must be for a D’Antonio heir.

But if that was true, Santino was playing fast and loose with his own life. Every time Michael heard anything about Santino, it was that he’d done something so completely out of pocket that it made even the Don feel downright unsafe. Attacking territory he had no claim to, making calls he didn’t have the authority to make and somehow winning the authority later…but here he was, continuing to cheat death. And try to cheat Michael out of his money.

“The Corleones may be new to the Table, but you don’t get to play stupid. I know a part of the business when I see it.” Santino stood, coming toe to toe with him, their smoke intertwining and shimmering in the amber lamplight. “I know intelligence when I see it, too.”

Michael’s face didn’t budge. “Flattery, Santino? Really?” He reclaimed his chair while he had the opportunity, but it didn’t make him feel any more comfortable. Santino was looming over him now.

“Don’t like it? Maybe I’ll try the opposite. You look horrible. Like you’ll pass out at any second.” A wave of smoke enveloped Michael’s face from above.

Enough. “Do that one more time.”

Santino took a long drag, and obliged.

“Okay. Okay. Come here.” He gestured for Santino to lean down, and when he did, grabbed him by the back of the hair, forcing his head down to whisper uncomfortably close in his ear. “If you want me to be this close with me, you want the Camorra and the Corleones to be this buddy-buddy, you treat me with respect. It’ll be on my terms, on my – “

But Santino was not responding to the power move as expected, not trying to pull away. He seemed to be…leaning into it? He had pushed one knee onto the seat between Michael’s legs and braced a hand to the seatback, right next to his head. And it was Michael who let him go and strained backward into the cushion, suddenly uncomfortable with their proximity.

He waited for Santino to move away and he didn’t. Just put out his cigarette on the ashtray next to them and then placed his hand right next to Michael’s head again, fixing him with a smile and too intense gaze. Michael had to force words out. “What is this? Just what the devil are you playing at?”

“It was you who grabbed me,” he said innocently. “I’m just doing what I’m told, Don Corleone. Doing things on your terms.”

Michael took a deep breath and then a leap. “Let me be very clear, Mr. D’Antonio. I think you’re trying to seduce me into signing and if I’m right, you’re going to pay.”

He tsked and straightened up, one leg still on the armchair between Don Corleone’s. “This is your problem, you think too much. All those hours, with your little cigar in your hand, with your legs crossed in case anything gets in, trying to decide what everybody is playing at and who’s to blame for what, revisiting your worst memories over and over in between worst-case scenarios. I see you all the time. You brood, Michael Corleone.” Santino’s knee rocked forward in a sudden movement that made him pre-emptively wince. But it didn’t even touch him, pulled back just fast enough to be teasing rather than ball-crushing. As the fear withdrew, it left his hairs standing on end.

“I don’t - I do not brood.” Damn it, it was so hard to speak with Santino’s knee shoved between his thighs like that. It came out breathless and petulant.

“You do. I should know, because so do I. But I fixed it. You know what I do when I get that way?”

“…What?” Michael wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear the answer, when his mind was so filled with visions of Santi sitting alone with a cigarette, needing someone. The smoke seemed to be leaking out of the image to cloud the rest of his brain.

He leaned right over Michael to whisper in his ear, an echo of the power move Michael had just attempted and had come to regret. Their chests were touching, Michael realized, and he wished his heart would stop pounding. He wondered if Santino could feel it through both their vests. “I fuck. Until I have no brains left to brood with.”

His hand went to the side of Santino’s waist. To shove him off? Or was this reflex, muscle memory from when girls had leaned over him this way? “I’m not signing.”

At that, Santino lost patience. “This is not about the fucking deal! Don’t sign it then! Let my father and the whole High Table chase you from here to New York and back again!” He reached over Michael’s shoulder to sweep the papers off the desk behind them. “This is about the fact that I’ve been watching you, and you haven’t been touched in at least six months, probably longer by that dead look in your eyes half the time. You want me. So beg.”

Michael’s mind was drawing a blank. All his resolve had gone into resisting Santino on business terms. There was none left for…this. He was just staring up at him, breathing hard. It’s not about the deal…it’s about me…ridiculous. He had to get a grip. “Move your fucking leg,” he managed.

Santino grinned back wickedly. “Move it how? Off?”

Yes. Get off. Right? But he kept not saying anything. The ideas that had just sprung up in his head about Santino grinding forward against him weren’t allowing any air out of his lungs. And with every passing second, he took note of the tension in Santino’s face. He could feel the prince dancing on a razor’s edge, wondering if he’d miscalculated, if he was about to be horribly embarrassed. But he could sense that it wouldn’t make him any less reckless next time if he was. Michael could have shot him for just the proposition – he was that kind of man. He shouldn’t, it would be unwise for the family, but he very well might and Santino knew it. Santino D’Antonio must not care about his own life at all. And that made him a complete wild card, unbelievably dangerous.

Michael’s heart wouldn’t stop racing.

The moment stretched forever. Slowly, very slowly, he shook his head no. There was a flicker of relief that was instantly lost in that wicked smile, which was only growing. “Oh. Not off. Like this, then?” He shifted forward again on his knee, slower this time, until his slacks met Michael’s at the crotch. The contact forced out the shuddering breath that had been trapped inside him.  Yes. Like that.

There was the seam of his own fly against the traveler’s crease that bisected Santino’s pantleg. There was his skin, beneath just a few layers of fabric. Michael’s hips rolled upward, hungry.

The move was answered with a slap across the face.

“I asked you a question. I didn’t ask you to hump my leg, you slutty thing. Is this what you want? Yes or no?”

Rage flared through him, chasing the pink that was already flaring up in his stinging cheek. It was that rage that made everything possible, that made him want one or both of them to be pinned down, hit, ridden senseless. Through clenched teeth, “Yes, now fucking give it to me.”

He pushed forward as if to grab Santino by the lapel and knock him down onto the floor, capture his lips and anything else he wanted, but Santino was too quick for him. He shoved Michael back into the seat by the forehead, a hand fisting into his hair until it pulled. “STAY.”

The restraint was so delicious he grabbed for the man’s suitcoat a second time, trying to drag him closer. Again, he was pushed back.

“You need something to occupy your hands, Mikey?” Santino’s fly came down, and there he was, already shining with precum. It was bigger than Michael could have expected, for the size of the arrogant little upstart it was attached to. And it was soft under his fingers. Michael grabbed it like an obedient fucktoy and started pumping. He hated himself for it.

He was stealing this moment for himself. There was nothing in the room but the two of them, their muffled grunts, the very faint squeak of leather on the worn seat of the armchair and the heavy musk starting to pour off both their bodies. There was nothing to sign, no High Table, no Corleones, no obligations. He was alone with Santino. And he was straining against his slacks, flushed scarlet and harder than he’d been in years just from rubbing against his own superior. His hands wandered from Santino’s body to his own fly, seeking relief.

Santino laughed, smacked the back of his hand and put it on his cock again. “No. You’re gonna cum inside your filthy rich suit, Don Corleone. The same kind of suit you wear to all your business functions. The same one I see you in all the damn time, while you pace with your bourbon and pretend not to look at me.” The man loved to talk, clearly. He was getting off on his own words, already gasping against the building pressure inside him.

Michael found himself mesmerized. The way the buildup made Santino’s eyelids flutter and his thighs flex… He’d never watched it from this perspective. Santino was still talking. “You’re gonna cum in your suit, and I’m gonna cum on top of it.” God, he looked hot – that delicate mouth parted, head tipped back and moaning like a woman. His hand twisted in Michael’s hair to the point of pain and it just made him rut harder, god, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t restrain himself… “You’ll be such a mess ah, god, I can’t wait to see you like that…”

“Think carefully about who you’re talking to,” Michael said, but the words meant nothing.

“My bitch. The horniest bitch I’ve ever encountered.” A hard bounce from his knee shot a wave of pleasure straight to Michael’s core, and it must have wrecked his face because Santino laughed. “I like it, you know. It feels perfect, knowing what a mess you are. What you’re like when you let yourself go. You’re – ah fuck. Michael…”

And then suddenly he was covered in Santi’s cum, dripping down his face, onto his lips, warm and sticky and tasting like the summer ocean. There was so much of it. All over his tie, his vest, his hands. He was fairly sure he would have spontaneously combusted if not for the fact that, just when he was at his most desperate for relief, Santino had stopped moving. Michael was half deafened by pleasure but still heard himself groan. For a second, he thought was going to be left like that, a pathetic mess. “Please,” he choked out, hardly realizing what he was saying.

“Please what, baby?” Santino just appraised him for a moment, feeling his cock twitch helplessly against his leg until his own started to stiffen again. If anyone was the horniest bitch, it was Santino. He started moving again.

Michael writhed, desperate for more friction, and it wasn’t working. The lull had taken its toll, allowed reality to come crashing back over him. Just what was he doing? Please what? Why was he begging, for once in his life, and not just taking what he wanted? The disappointment, the failure that he was, the knowledge that he was letting this asshole get the upper hand …it swirled into an endless whirlpool, dragging him down.

“Hit me,” he muttered.

A slap across the face. Good. Fucking good.

“Hit me.” Louder this time.

Another slap swung his head the other way. On top of the previous one, an echoing, dull pain. Suddenly he was on the ground again, being beaten by McCluskey’s men, unable to save himself. He was failing his family. He was failing God. He was losing everyone, everything, and there were long repressed tears of fury stinging the backs of his eyes.

“Hit harder!”

This time he didn’t. “Why? Are you thinking again?” Santino’s head was tilted, like he recognized something, like he saw into the darkness for a second. It scared Michael half to death. Whatever Santi thought he saw, the Don wanted to pummel it out of both of them.

“I SAID HIT ME! HIT ME HARDER!”

A punch, this time. He hit hard enough to knock those tears free, to break something inside of Michael that ordinary people couldn’t break. He felt his face twist up in pain that was only half physical.

And then Santi kissed him. Kissed him like a real lover, sweet and unending, with his arms around Michael’s shoulders. Kissed him with the lingering bite of New York cigarettes and the passion of a velvet tongue. Like he knew what was wrong and how it felt. Like he knew what it took to get to the point at which asking for anything sparked total self-destructive rage. Like he had Michael, really had him. Michael moaned, completely lost in him. “Starai bene [You’ll be okay],” Santi whispered against his lips, still rocking on that knee.

And Don Corleone came inside his filthy rich suit.