#jw godfather crossover

[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.”

[thewhumpcaretaker]

santino x michael should be named uhhhh saintangel hshshshabsh okay byee

The saint and the angel!!! Awwwww, I like it. The best I came up with with was mikeytino lmao

[corleonecaretaker]

How well does Michael arch his back for Santino? Omg... does he even listen to Santi?

I need them...... 😭 I'm deep into this

This turned into something that I cannot show on Tumblr! ^_^

See you on Discord (or DMs, if I haven't given you my Discord yet).

[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.

[corleonecaretaker]

♥ 𝕄𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕖𝕝 ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕖𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ♥

Image Source: This post from @thegangsterwayoflife (I drew on top of it)

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

AO3: FromMyColdDeadGrasp

John Wick Crossovers

❥ Saintangel (Michael x Santino D'Antonio) Ship Overview

❥ Saintangel Headcanons

❥ Hit Me (Dom Santino, Sub Michael)

❥ Urgent Business (Dom Michael, Sub Santino)

❥ Your Good Girl's Gonna Go Bad (John, Helen, Michael & Kay)

X Reader

❥ Flight of Leaves and a Man Standing Still

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

[corleonecaretaker]

So, John has two hands. One for Santino and one for Michael RAAAAAH

Sorry I took forever to answer this, I was making this for no apparent reason:

Image Sources: John | Santino | Michael

[corleonecaretaker]

♥ 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝'𝕤 𝔾𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝔾𝕠 𝔹𝕒𝕕 ♥

Image sources: One | Two | Three | Four

Summary: Michael takes Kay to a swingers club just to shock her, just to show her that she can’t handle the kinds of debauchery in his world. But when they encounter the seductive, spellbinding John and Helen Wick, Kay isn’t as shocked as he expected. All of Michael’s plans are about to go awry…and the strength of his marriage is about to be tested. This story is a response to a request from a guest on AO3!

A few historical notes: “Swinging” as we know it today began in the 1960s, and The Godfather is set in the 40s and 50s. At the time, they probably would have called this “wife-swapping,” which began during the 1940s among Air Force pilots according to everything I can find, and it wouldn’t have been as common. But for the sake of the story, let’s just pretend that Michael knows some people who are very ahead of their time.

CW: swinging, digital and oral sex, crying during sex, internalized homophobia from Michael, discussion of Kay's fear of domestic abuse

Your good girl's gonna go bad I'm gonna be the swingin'est swinger you've ever had If you like'em painted up, powdered up, then you ought to be glad Because your good girl's gonna go bad - Tammy Wynette

“You really want to know what my world is like? What men like me do at our leisure?”

“Yes, I do,” Kay replied defiantly, a challenge burning in her eyes.

So Michael let her dress to the nines in a pleated red dress and wide brimmed evening hat, and took her to the Syrup Saloon, one of the many clubs that pulsed to the neon heartbeat of Las Vegas. But this one was VIP only. “Fifteen years ago, this was a speakeasy,” Michael explained, as the bouncer swung back a hidden door in the mahogany wall panel of the decently furnished but otherwise inconspicuous foyer through which they’d entered. “But it still has its secrets today – thank you, Joey,” he said, interrupting himself to let the host put a drink in his hand. As they fell into conversation, he watched Kay out of the corner of his eye. She was glancing around the dimly lit room with all the open curiosity of a wide-eyed doe who had yet to realize it had just stumbled into a pack of wolves.

In all honesty, he thought it would scare her. He thought they’d walk in and she’d realize what was happening only to demand that they walk right back out and not ask him anything about his business or his private life again for a month.

“It’s so good of you to finally persuade the missus to join us,” said Joey, and he kissed her hand. “It’s a shame that I’ve already made my reservations for tonight. If I had known, I sure would have saved myself for this doll.” For a second, fear swept through Michael. He laughed awkwardly and said something without knowing what it was. What if they got in too deep? What if Kay was too polite to insist on leaving – or worse, called his bluff? What if another man actually fucked his wife?

“Michael, what was that gentleman talking about?” she whispered, as they made their way to a velvet booth in the corner. The room was heavy with smoke and bluesy with the sounds of saxophone pouring from the phonograph, creating a soft haze that was only punctuated by pink and yellow neon strips along the ceiling.

“Well…you see, I’ve never come to the Syrup Saloon before, even though Joey’s invited me more times than I can count. Only couples can come here, and I wanted to keep you out of places like this. But if you say you can handle it...” He leaned back, watching her gaze follow a group of four at a nearby table. Her mouth fell open as they traded places, giggling, and made their way off to two separate rooms.

“Oh my – Michael, they’re…they’re swingers?”

He frowned. “How do you know what swingers are in the first place?”

“Connie told me,” she said indignantly. “Michael, this is NOT what I meant.”

He bit his tongue before he could ask how Connie knew what swingers were – he probably would rather not know that much about his sister. “Listen to me. You want to know about the ugly parts of my world? Okay. It’s this or letting you watch Al Neri blow a man’s brains out.”

Her lips pursed. Anger. But she didn’t have a chance to reply. A woman’s voice cut in, a sonorous, confident, casual sort of voice. “Is this seat taken?”

She was standing over them with her head tilted in playful curiosity, maple brown hair tickling her collarbones thanks to the scandalous off-shoulder gown that hugged her torso. A man in a suit towered next to her, with dark hair almost as long as hers. It fell forward to obscure deep, black eyes. From one look at him, Michael could tell he wasn’t a civilian. He was pure muscle, and stood like a soldier or a bodyguard, placing himself between his wife and the rest of the room as if by instinct.

Michael opened his mouth, but Kay had already answered for him. “Not at all. Please, join us.”

The woman slid into the seat next to her, and the man next to Michael. He felt suddenly trapped. Kay was looking intently at this sculpted, vicious…thing sitting next to him. If someone distilled masculinity in human form, it would look like this. Just kill me already.

“I’m Kay.”  Her words filled up Michael’s stunned silence. She offered a hand to the woman.

“And I’m M,” Michael broke in hurriedly, realizing just how much he didn’t want to be seen here for long. “We’re going by first initials, see.”

The woman shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to us. We’re from out of town, and we stay out of the spotlight these days anyway. My husband’s retired.” She shot him a wink before turning back to the Corleones. “I’m Helen.”

The man spoke then, and if the woman’s voice had been sonorous, his seemed to vibrate straight through his firm handshake to the inside of Michael’s ribcage. “John. Sorry for barging in. It’s just that you two caught my wife’s eye and well…what she wants, she gets.” He smiled across at the table at the woman, with a genuine warmth that told Michael it wasn’t a hardship to give her everything she could ever ask for.

Michael managed to claw his way back towards composure. Flattery was at least something he was used to. “Well, I appreciate the compliment, Helen. You’re a rather eye-catching pair yourself. Wouldn’t you say so, Kay?”

“Oh, I would. I hope you’ll do us the honor of spending the evening together.” Michael shifted in his seat. No. Absolutely not, this has been a mistake! Let’s leave. But the words were caught in his throat. He found himself paralyzed. Yet again, his attempt to unbalance her had been instantly turned back on him. Her voice had a sultry lilt to it that normally only showed up in their own bedroom, and she was staring at John, letting her eyes wander over his biceps, over the enormous hands resting on the table. Michael felt his heart skip dizzyingly.

“We’d be so glad to! And tell me Kay,” said the wife, her voice dropping to an intimate near-whisper, “Which of us do you like better?”

Her lips parted in a wordless inhale as Helen’s hand slid over the top of hers, resting there without pushing between her fingers. Kay blushed fiercely. “Oh, I don’t – I could hardly – “ Her words came out breathy and overcome at first, but the next were spoken with a kind of wonder at herself. A dawning awareness. “You, Miss Helen.” She spread her fingers, letting Helen’s sink between them to clasp their hands together.

Michael exhaled in relief. “Splendid! I think we have ourselves a plan for the evening.” Good. This was an image he could handle – Kay holding hands with another woman like two innocent girls, not showing the slightest interest in this John…oh. John.

Under the table, John’s hand was on Michael’s thigh. He couldn’t breathe. “Yeah,” John said.

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

Kay let herself be led to one of the bedrooms in a trance. Led by the hand, in a way completely different than any hand-holding she’d ever experienced.

They had to get there as fast as possible – she needed Helen, needed her now. She’d been wet since the moment the woman’s soft skin had rested against hers. All she could think about was the softness of Helen’s lips, and of her…oh god. She was burning, throbbing inside. She’d never touched another woman like that before. Her mind went to the nights when she’d sinned, when Michael was away on business and she’d let her fingers slide down the silk of her nightgown and feel the curves of her own hips and and lift the hem and…and…oh god.

It was a beautiful little room, lit by a stained glass lamp adorned with pink and yellow roses. The bed was covered in pink sheets...satin like her own nightgown…and it was shaped like a heart. A scandalous bed. A sex bed. Kay realized she was trembling.

“Are you nervous?” Helen stopped in front of her and tilted her head again in that absolutely sweet way. “Is this your first time with a woman?”

“I am. It-it is.” She swallowed. “But that’s not why I’m shaking. I…”

“Go ahead. Say it.” Helen’s face was moving towards her and she let her eyes flutter closed. Her insides pulsed maddeningly and she realized her underwear must already be soaked through.

“I just…want you…so much. It’s so…physical.” A kiss. Helen’s lips, every bit as soft as she had imagined, devouring hers. The blood was rushing violently in her ears and they hadn’t even taken their clothes off. There was a screaming urgency, the way there was on the edge of orgasm, that this moment couldn’t slip away, it must not stop, it had to reach its conclusion, please…a fantasy she didn’t even know she had was right within her grasp.

In a flood of adrenaline, she grabbed the back of Helen’s head to deepen the kiss, tangling her fingers in her hair, pressing into her tongue, rubbing down the soft curves of her body, squeezing her breasts, making out like crazed teenagers at a drive-in movie. At some point they tumbled onto the bed. She let her hat be swept off and her own dress be forced off the shoulder to give access to her breasts. Helen’s teeth on her neck, hers on Helen’s nipples, their hands sliding over every part of each other’s bodies in shameless hunger.

Helen threw back her skirts and Kay realized in a flash of panic that she was about to touch the soaked mess of her underwear. “I – Helen – ahhh!” Helen’s hand was already rubbing against it vigorously, right over the clit. All the could do was arch her back and fight not to scream. Every moment between them felt more scandalous than the last and yet more right. How long had it been since she put her own pleasure first this way?

The woman laughed good-naturedly, watching her face in admiration. “Does it feel good, honey?”

“Yes, mmm... Yes. Yes. Oh my god…”

The underwear and her tights pulled suddenly away and she felt cold air against her burning labia. She moaned in frustration, wanting it to continue, and then had a better idea.

“Wait. I want to feel you too.”

Helen stripped obligingly, right down to the skin. Only a thin gold necklace adorned her perfect body as she sank back down at Kay’s side, entwining their legs and humping at her momentarily before resuming the handjob. This time, Kay put her own hands to work. She gasped hard at the wetness pouring out of Helen’s opening, at the breathless way Helen sighed when Kay’s fingers explored the bulb of her clit and at last plunged inside her. There was so much to feel, the heat, the curvature…

But the feeling of Helen’s rhythm was so distracting. She’d gone inside Kay too, and in a minute, Kay found that she couldn’t move, she could only focus on the way her muscles were starting to clench and the way her hips wanted to thrust up into Helen’s palm. Helen was hitting some delicious spot over and over and over and her own fingers were still deep inside of Helen, massaging her like such a bad girl and… “Ahhh oh my god, don’t stop, don’t stop, I can’t, I think I’m going to…”

And to her embarrassment, she flooded over Helen’s fingers with her head thrown back and a wild moan wrenching itself from someplace deep and ecstatic in her chest. She expected her to stop after that like Michael did, but the pounding continued right through the orgasm, and within seconds she was cumming again, even harder.

And Helen nuzzled into her neck, kissed her sweat-drenched forehead, and whispered, “Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m not going to stop until you’re dry.”

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

Leaning against opposite walls on either side of the bed, the height difference between them was apparent. John must stand at least six feet to Michael’s 5’6”. Michael wondered idly whether God would permit him to sink into the floor and straight to hell in the interests of escaping this situation.

He was hard because the women had looked so pretty together. That was why. That squeeze John had given his thigh just before they stood up had nothing to do with it.

He pulled out a cigarette, grasping for some semblance of normalcy. And a second one with it, for John. “You want a smoke?”

The man just shook his head. So damn silent. Michael lit up and tried to focus on the sensations hitting his lungs and then his veins.

A long, awkward moment passed. Maybe he could just sit there and smoke for as long as it took and not do a thing.

As if in answer, the man finally spoke. “We don’t have to do anything.” He was fixing Michael with those dark, soulful eyes, the same way he’d looked at his wife. With that devastating gentleness, like he wanted to serve Michael. Wanted to give him everything he might desire, whether that was the most exhilarating night of his life or just peaceful silence. It was so damn…comforting.

Michael shook himself and paced back and forth for a minute, trying to dissipate the ache between his legs. “I’ll be frank with you, John. I don’t know what men even do together.” He found words spilling out of him. “I’m no upstanding gentleman, but I’m a man. I’ve never practiced sodomy. I brought my wife here tonight to shake her up a bit, to show her what kind of shocking debauchery goes on in this world. Better she see the sex than the blood and the death and the things men do to one another in wild betrayal or vengeance. Better she see it and never ask to see any of it again. But then your wife came along and…” He laughed hollowly. “You know what, maybe she’ll come around and be alright with the business after all. She’s alright with walking into a place like this. Who knows what the hell else is just fine with her.”

“I see.” Was he amused? Michael couldn’t tell. He stared at John, waiting, demanding some further response to that monologue. At long last, he continued. “She’ll know the difference between sex and violence. And she’ll never be just fine with the violence. At least my wife wasn’t.”

“Hmm. You’re retired, she said?”

“Yeah. For her.”

He nodded, looking away into the corner and struggling with the hopeless feeling that was starting to tighten his chest. “Well aren’t you a goody-two-shoes. But that would be an impossible task for me.”

A smile seemed to flicker over his lips, and then it was gone just as fast. “You feel trapped.”

Michael stopped pacing. He must look like a nervous fool. Now he was the one who was silent. What was he supposed to say? Yes? That was the truth, wasn’t it. He was trapped, always trapped. Trapped between the violent protection people needed and the gentleness they thought they wanted, trapped between driving his family away and letting them die. Trapped in Kay’s all-knowing, accusatory gaze.

He tilted his head backward, willing the tears to sink back behind his eyes and down his throat where he could swallow them unseen. This night had become an endless disaster. The last thing he needed was for this infuriatingly handsome man to see him crying.

John was at his side before he realized it. “Hey. I won’t lie, it’s not easy. But it’s possible. You can live a normal life if you want to. Just you and your wife, kids if you have them. Safe.”

The image, the thought of it…it was too much. Something inside of him broke and he collapsed against the warm body in front of him, horrible, pathetic noises clawing their way out of his throat. “No. No. You don’t – you don’t understand. The things I’ve done…the things people will do to me…” John just stroked the back of his head and held him gently. His head barely came up to John’s shoulder. He felt more fully embraced than he had in years.

“You can be forgiven. But not if you never confess to her. You have to trust her. And you have to make up for it the way she says.”

He spoke through the ragged waves of despair flowing out of his lungs. “I don’t trust her. She’ll leave me, John. She’ll run, because she doesn’t forgive me for anything. And I can’t – I can’t live without her, I can’t let her go, I can’t - ”

“I can’t speak to that. But I forgive you. I know who you are. You’re The Godfather, right?”

For a second, Michael’s sobbing stopped in shocked fear.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. You’re in a bad situation. The organization could collapse under you if you make the wrong move, and then the whole family’s dead. You’re trying. I forgive you.”

And Michael’s face slowly rose to meet John’s, wet and broken and suddenly feeling the compassion behind those soulful eyes. Maybe that was why he kissed him. Long, and hard, and grateful. Maybe that was why, when he pulled away, he said, “Show me what men do together.”

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

“It’s not that he doesn’t care about my pleasure.” It was sometime past midnight. Helen was laying side by side with Kay, playing with her curls and listening in rapt attention. “It’s that he cares about it the wrong way, you know? He thinks he can buy my happiness with pretty gifts or go dancing once in a while. And I like to go dancing, believe me, but I want…I want things to be the way they were between us in the beginning. No secrets. I want him to trust me, I want his respect. That’s what would really make me happy. I want to – I want to merge with someone. Like we just did.”

Helen frowned. “So he keeps secrets from you?”

“He doesn’t just keep secrets, Helen, he outright lies. He lied to my face and said he’s not in the business anymore and then what do I find out? …Well, nothing I can safely tell a stranger, unfortunately. And as if that weren’t enough, there was this time in Sicily that none of his guards will talk to me about.” She tsked in frustration. “I know I’m being horribly suspicious, but I’m sure he had a girl there, I know he did. And if it wasn’t that, I’m sure it was something even worse.”

“Wait, go back. Let me get this straight. You asked him to quit the business, and he lied and said he did? But in reality, he never quit?”

“Exactly.”

Helen whistled. “Listen. My husband and I come to these places for a good time for everyone involved. We’re not in the habit of homewrecking. But if you want my honest advice…you can do better. I would never settle for a husband who hid his darkness from me. You know what John did for me? He left everything behind. At the risk of his own life. I can’t tell a stranger about that either, but just know that he did the right thing. And if he’d failed, he would have told me honestly. That’s what I love about him. He’ll do the right thing no matter how vulnerable he has to be.”

She let her hands continue stroking along Helen’s arms absently, deep in thought. “I’ve thought about leaving. But he’d never let me go. I’m afraid of what he’d do sometimes.”

“Oh, honey. If that’s really true, it’s even worse than I thought. You have to get out of there. You have to run.”

The idea was too much to confront. She sighed miserably, blinking at the ceiling. “How? I feel so trapped. I think I’d have to do something drastic. Something that would make him hate me. If he didn’t want me anymore…that’s the only way.”

“You’ll find a way. I believe in you. You can be safe. You and your kids. They won’t live a life like his, they’ll be good to other people and you’ll teach them what matters. They’ll be free.”

Free…the thought of that possibility just made it all worse. It was so far out of reach. Her breath was catching on every word as her voice pitched up into sobbing. “You don’t understand, Helen. He’s a violent man. He just wants to possess me like a trophy. He just wants me to shut up and not ask questions and do as he says and I’m scared – I’m so scared…I think… sometimes I think he doesn’t even love me…” There. She had said it. And there was a triumph to saying it. Something felt permanently decided.

“I don’t know. I don’t know him, I can’t say if he loves you. But I can say that he should. You deserve to be loved. You deserve happiness.” Kay curled into her, letting Helen shower her with forehead kisses and wipe away her tears. Helen would be gone in the morning. But how could she return to Michael after being held like this?

“I’ll do it, Helen. I’ll run.”

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

There was a man between Michael’s legs.

He had a beard, and Michael loved the texture of it, the roughness. He smelled like a man. The musk of their sex crazed bodies mixed in the air, overpowering even the cigarettes. It was intoxicating. It made him feel drunk and animalistic and completely in the power of lust. He was losing himself, leaned back against the headrest with one leg dangling off the bed and the other splayed out across the sheets with John’s arm wrapped around his thigh. He was rutting into John’s mouth, giving himself over to pleasure in every way. John wanted that for him. John wanted him to feel good. John cared so much for him, for a stranger, adored his body, respected his heart. “Hhhh…fuck.” His fists closed on the sheets at the thought of it.

John was a man. And he was between Michael’s legs, and it wasn’t debauchery, and it wasn’t violence, and it felt…right. He moaned yet again, feeling tears spill from his eyes. He kept crying, damn it. This was the third time tonight (for him at least – he’d already taken John twice as well) and John was just so. Fucking. Good at this. He almost never came three times in one night, but he could feel it building up in his pelvis, so close. Could he really be this turned on for this long? Was it even physically possible? He thrust upward into John’s mouth, a hand on the back of his hair, using his head without remorse.

He was babbling, pleading without knowing what he said. “Come on, come on, give me more, please, faster, I need it, I need…”

And John’s enormous hand squeezed down on his inner thigh.

He almost screamed through the orgasm, unleashing down his throat. John swallowed all of it like it was nothing, rose up, and pulled Michael’s shaking body into a hug. “You okay?” He’d asked that every time.

Aftershocks of pleasure were still sending him twitching. It was better than being drunk, better than being high. He could barely talk but he managed, “Yes. I’ve never…I’ve never felt this good before.”

A wordless grunt. Michael was already learning to read him and that one sounded like disapproval of Kay. That disapproval translated right into more protective affection. Just about everything seemed to bring out protective affection in John. He slid into bed behind Michael and hugged his torso from behind, nuzzling the back of his head. Spooning him. Michael would be blushing as soon as his blood could make its way back from his pelvis to his cheeks. John’s hand closed over his above his heart. Why was he so sweet?

For the first time in years, Michael felt safe. He sighed, feeling his breathing slow. John would be gone in the morning. But how could he return to Kay after being held like this?

“John?”

“Hm?”

“I think…I could let her go.”

[corleonecaretaker]

So, Santino and Michael... who's more dom and who's more sub? :]

Note for new people: I realized I should mention that there's actually a Corleone brother named Santino - that's Sonny's full name!! And that's not who we're talking about, this is Santino D'Antonio from John Wick. Okay cool, let's proceed.

Aaaaaaaa thank you for letting me yap about them!!

So, I think they have one of those complex, topping-from-the-bottom dynamics that I love so much, hehe! Technically, Michael is the dom in bed. But Santi is really just allowing Michael to live out his power fantasies while getting fucked rough (which you know he enjoys so much because yeah...typical Santino).

But in reality, Santino is the one person that Michael can't control. Not only does he outrank Michael because of the High Table seat, but he's wild and unpredictable and always seems to get his way. It drives Michael crazy trying to pin him down, figure him out, and just generally get the upper hand. But he also loves it because no one has ever challenged him this much, especially while having his best interests at heart at the same time.

Oh, and Santino is guiding things emotionally too! He's very manic-pixie-dream-boy, breaking Michael out of his no-nonsense shell. "Loosen up, don't worry so much! Embrace the chaos!" That's the energy Santino brings to the relationship.

[corleonecaretaker]

Okay but Michael giving his silly little hat to Santino

I can make this happen.

Sources: Santino | Michael's Hat

[corleonecaretaker]

Do you have any headcanons for Saintangel? :]

Of course I do!! Thanks for asking ^_^

I had a few when I first talked about the ship, but here are some more.

CW: NSFW, smoking

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

Santino has a "thing" for Michael's broodiness. He'll see him staring off into the distance and immediately start trying to seduce him into a better mood...partly because he thinks Michael looks hot like that, but partly because he cares and doesn't want him to be sad.

Michael is one of the only people who can calm Santino down when he's panicking. He has that steady, calming energy.

They sit in each other's laps. Yeah.

They have very rough sex - a lot of verbal degredation and slapping and biting...yeah, they're both talkative and kinky and both have a violent streak, so it's noisy and messy and hot.

But sometimes they are sweet. When Santino sees that things are getting REALLY bad for Michael mentally, he will just hold him and kiss him slowly and remind him that he's loved. Santino will never leave him no matter how many betrayals Michael may go through from other people.

And when Santino gets really agitated and angry and seems like he needs to talk about a trauma-related thing, Michael picks up on it and listens. The first time this happens, Santino is afraid that Michael's going to snap at him, because Michael is so repressed himself. So maybe he'd shame Santino for that...but he doesn't. He just seems really shocked that someone would treat Santino that way, especially a family member who was supposed to be looking out for him. He'd be a lot gentler with Santino after that.

Michael takes him on a tour of Sicily (this is a big part of his family history that's important to him in the movies). Santino has lived in Italy for a long time, but he's never toured Sicily in any depth. They have a really good vacation there.

Santino gets along well with Michael's siblings too. He feels like he's finally a part of a family that has some genuine warmth to it.

Michael thinks Santino's cigarettes are cheap and tries to teach him to smoke quality cigars. But Santino ends up teaching him to like gas station cigarettes instead.

They feed each other's bad habits a lot of the time...but as the relationship goes on and they start to care about each other, they start to genuinely care about their own lives too.

If they get married, I think it's Michael who proposes. Having a spouse and a family is just so important to him, so it makes sense.

Michael keeps antagonizing the High Table and won't bow down to their rules, and Santino keeps covering for him, until they both get into serious trouble.

So they end up on the run and trying to find a way to retire peacefully, just like Santino and John would.

[corleonecaretaker]

Holy fuck, I am actually very interested into Michael bc DAMNNN why he kinda... hot... and honestly goes VERY WELL with Santino, I like this crossover ship a lot :]

Like the slut sitting they both do (I call it that but, it's just men sitting with crossed legs HEHEH), they were meant to be in some universe 🗣

Left image is from Pinterest, and the one on the right I got from Blue, the Riccardo Scamarcio expert, hehehehe!!!

Okay so, allow me to explain why in fact Michael is… kinda… hot… (and also why he goes well with Santino). This is just an excuse to describe his entire character lmao. Enjoy a partial summary of the Godfather movies!

Spoilers Below

So Michael was not initially supposed to be the heir to the Corleone family, and in fact he wanted nothing to do with the mafia. He left to join the marines (very John Wick coded of him), which was a big rift between him and the rest of his family. And he promised his soon-to-be wife, Kay, that he would never become a part of the mafia (yes, he had a wife, also very John coded of him, although they had a much more troubled relationship - we’ll get to that).

Buuuut a bunch of things happened which led to his father being attacked and hospitalized, and then the eldest son being killed, and Michael ended up as the head of the family instead. And he really stepped up, because he actually does care about his family more than anything else and he had to defend his siblings and his own wife and kids. He didn’t want to express that love by being a mafia boss, but…well, he didn’t have much choice. So he just went with it and became VERY tough and ruthless because he brings determination to anything he does (again, John coded).

Besides that, expressing love through violence was all he ever knew. He doesn’t really know how to express affection in normal ways - at least not by opening up to people. He can be physically affectionate, and a provider, but not much else. He was always supposed to be the one who has everything together and gets things done. He’s distant with his wife and kids, and honestly pretty controlling, and lies to them about the mafia stuff that he’s doing, so eventually she divorces him. On top of that, his brother Fredo betrays him and Michael ends up killing him over that, and that murder haunts him for the rest of his life. So his efforts to protect his family ultimately destroy it in multiple ways, which is very tragic.

And that, in short, is why Michael sits so slutty. It’s because his lap is filled with the weight of his crimes.

So how can Santino help with this? Well, firstly, I think he can relate. They have a similar background of growing up in a world where violence is an expression of love. But if they direct some of that energy into a spicy sex life instead of murder, I think it would do them a lot of good. Also, I think Michael just pairs really well with a brat because he has that cool, aloof, determined sort of air about him…until suddenly something pushes him past the point of patience and he shows off his power (or perhaps his weakness and inner turmoil, depending on how you look at it). And when he reaches that point, Santino can accept him for it.

[corleonecaretaker]

Ten Sentence Tuesday

Thanks for the tag @bluelolblue! A link to that post is here. Have the start of my John Wick x Michael Corleone slowburn:

The most impenetrable kind of man is not stoic. Michael Corleone smiles, he jokes. He goes Christmas shopping and laughs with snowflakes on his nose. He surrounds himself with family, with a wife and children. He arranges bright, warm, soft things around himself. And he sits in the middle of them, and he hardens against them all. John Wick is stoic. But John is pierced by thousands of bullets, thousands of blades. Like wind through a flute, they pass through him, singing. And he lets himself be open to them, in memory of the love that pierced just as deep.

It was inspired by this passage from The Godfather III, when Michael is speaking to Cardiinal Lamberto about the state of Europe and of his own soul:

<Cardinal Lamberto moves towards a fountain.> Look at this stone. It has been lying in the water for a very long time, but the water has not penetrated it. <He breaks the stone.> Look. Perfectly dry. The same thing has happened to men in Europe. For centuries they have been surrounded by Christianity, but Christ has not penetrated. Christ doesn't breathe within them.

I'm going to try to make the tone of this piece more serious - we'll see how it goes, haha!

I am tagging @evrensadwrn if you'd like to join! (I'm not sure if it's actually Tuesday where you are but that's okay)

[corleonecaretaker]

If Santino is the stable one in this relationship omg Michael you little bitchy ass AHAHA

Santino's time to shine, put that slut in his place 😭

Michael is so determined to be in control all the time. I think he needs someone chaotic to totally mess things up for him so he can see that it's okay. Like, he's so lost in chasing after honor and power that he's seriously losing grip. I can just see him laying in his bed at night seething and worrying and not being able to sleep, getting up to pace around thinking about who he's going to take out next to maintain the family name.

Can't do that if Santi's riding him all night hehehehehe!!

Maybe they go out for midnight walks sometimes when they're both stressed about work and end up making love under the moon in a park somewhere. And by making love, I do mean Santino hits him and calls him filthy names until he starts confessing how much he regrets the things he's done and finally lets himself cry. Michael tends to get kinda frenzied with catharsis at that point and keeps begging to be hit more but Santino won't let him go too far. No matter what, once he breaks down, the game is over and Santino just holds him and takes care of him. "You know what Mikey? You're beautiful like this. Don't hate yourself, yeah?" And then kisses him softly and they talk about their fears and trauma while holding each other until the night wind gets too cold.

[corleonecaretaker]

I’m so sorry (I’m not at all actually) but I’m back on my crossover hijinks:

Kay x Helen anyone? Because although we adore Michael around here, let's be real: Kay deserved better and Helen is the best of the best.

Image Sources: One | Two

[corleonecaretaker]

Literally Santino in The Godfather au talking with Michael and eye fucking him before uhh... his charm works

Smoking cigarettes or cigars, too

That's actually him in that au, that's insane AHAH

Aaaaaaaaa exactly, that’s literally him!! How could Michael resist? He looks so smug and so handsome. He’s definitely about to say something teasing.