#santino d'antonio/reader

[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 :)))

[of-tatooine]

DULCE PERICULUM | CHAPTER III - MOONLIGHT

through me among the people lost for aye.

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

The city of angels.

It was a night of profound clarity through the dim lights. Sparkling moonlight adorned pavement older than time, millions of brave and lost souls’ footsteps embedded in every crevice of the cobblestones.

Sampietrini, they were called. The traditional cobblestone on every major road of the ancient city, still surviving to the modern days. Battered, bruised, hit, yet still standing intact. Both a blessing and a curse to walk on.

Sampietrini.

Little Saint Peters. It was fitting that the patron saint of Rome protected over the sacred center of the ancient world, watching over it’s citizens as the guardian angel, shielding from harm's way almost. In every crevice, corner and side of the cramped up cacophony of buildings, alleyways that tied into their intricate maze for those who knew how to navigate it. Those who longed to get lost in it, each step taking into another unknown, yet another thrill. Each step taken further away from the safety of the large squares, wide open spaces bustling with people. Would the next step lead to a new danger to overcome, almost taken as a willing challenge, or would it open to the vast corridor of sunlight waiting at the other end?

The unknown.

Why did you long for the unknown? Why did each melodic thud of your heels against the pavement take you one step closer to danger, it seemed?

Who was your patron saint for the night, watching over your shoulder with every move you made?

It had been a couple of short hours from the time your private jet landed the place you called home, the sleek black car disappearing into the night like a shark, after escorting you to city center. The slightly cold nighttime breeze grazed your hair as it flowed freely, cobblestone smoothly transitioning into marble steps, then into the soft red carpet leading up to the giant double doors.

It was impossible to miss Il Continentale, at least for the ones who knew how and where to look. Specks of decorative light adorned the exterior, guards in full uniform at the entrance, with their hands holding the massive gates open for you to pass. The grandeur would only seem to continually increase with each taken step, an accustomed luxury of decadent chandeliers reflecting rays of light on green and coral marble columns, red velvet couches a mere step against sheer height of Renaissance ceilings within the expansive lobby. The countless of times you found yourself in the safe haven, your eyes almost always would divert to the worn yet lively murals adorning the ceilings - little angels, demons and saints alike, a cacophony of depictions let it be an eternal sins or act of good.

What caught your wandering eyes were the small halos etched on the figures of saints, denoting all that was holy they stood for, evoking the eternal respect of mere bystanders.

Devoid of sin.

Unlike you, and the people who walked this ground before, after or with you.

To your dismay, the golden shimmers of halos painted over the saints seemed to dim with each passing visit.

“Buona sera, signora,” came the friendly voice of the reception peering behind the grand marble counter with a casual backdrop of Botticelli spanning the entirety of the wall. Thoughts quickly shooed out of your mind with trained ease and a kind nod thrown his way, you watched your escorts quietly slip to the shadows of the back rooms as they carried your belongings through the establishment’s inner maze of corners, corridors and doors without being seen - secrecy being a top priority at a luxury assassin’s lair.

After all, there was no telling what horrors or pleasure went through the very four walls of each room of the hotel. What deals were done, dirty or nice, secrets spilled or treasures lost. Just like many others before you, your heart joined the slowly dissipating anxiety within your body of what was to come your way.

Many times you had walked in here, just like this. The sheer moonlight illuminating the ornate architecture, the classical crevices and elegant panels in lazy hazes. Heels digging against the marble, men and women in classical attire roaming about, often clutching a drink from the bar you tended to frequent more than you would have liked to admit. Many a nights you put your head on the plush pillows, sleep a welcome luxury at moments, embracing the warmth of it.

However, some tight knot deep, deep within your stomach kept reminding you of just how different this night would render the future.

It sent an even more unwelcome shiver down your spine.

Your eyes then found the man behind the counter once again. He did not have to ask you for your business here, nor for how many nights you would require service. He certainly did not need to remind you of the rules of the Continentale. No, he knew better than that as the receptionist’s fingers aptly swung over the keyboard in front of him, reaching for the phone next as he placed it over his ear. In the waiting moments that followed, your eyes wandered around the mostly empty lobby, more curious than hopeful to see if you would spot any familiar faces in the approaching dawn of the morning.

Besides the one you came here for.

“Ti sta aspettando,” came the long-awaited announcement from the receptionist, the respectful smile lingering at the corner of his lips as he carefully stepped aside to guide you towards the double elevators with an outstretched hand.

He was waiting for you.

“Grazie,” you would offer the man, a small yet audible chime signaled the bronze-colored elevator doors opening, taking casual steps inside. Watching the floor signs beam one by one as the chime signaling the penthouse finally went off, you let go of a breath that you did not realize you were holding.

Bronze doors did not leave any room for preparation as they opened to lead into a dark marble corridor, grand glass doors opening into the vast balcony with the eternally beautiful city lights twinkling in the distance as your steps took you closer to the center of the attention.

And, lo and behold, there stood your saint, pinstripe-covered arms stretched leisurely over the marble railings as he gazed over his kingdom. Candle light reflected off of the navy tweed on his broad back, sending a light sparkle on the crystal glass of the finest Chianti wrapped in his fingers.

Even with his back turned to you, a voice in you swore his green eyes twinkled  as he gazed at each monument, dimly lit window or reflection under the street lights.

A whole city rendered his playground, for his empire of sin to run foster. Each and every corner riddled with his influence, his men, his rules to be followed. An undeniable force running on unspoken rules, whispered by each passerby and accomplice included.

A cause for which you had been a loyal soldier, sworn for forever and always.

He had to break you first to own you, after all.

“It’s done.”

Your voice soft, betraying your previous anxiety during the journey back home. Mind transitioning into a state of eerie calmness, of habitual ease, the moment Santino turned around to meet your eyes. The eclairs of night danced in his dark curls, illuminating his taut skin. Piercing green found yours, a gentle grin on his lips right before the glass was raised up for another sip, perhaps in the light of the good news that were to follow. Manicured nails reached into your pocket for the long-awaited marker, placing it on the sleek black marble table extending through the length of the balcony.

The gleaming light off of the bronze marker, the object of his attention, hit Santino’s face, sending a look of partial relief upon the sight.

A content hum escaped his lips. “Bene,” his low voice uttered in a mere whisper, a soft beckoning of his fingers to call you closer to his position near the marble railing.

Your legs took you to your place right next to him, your hands finding the cool stone as you perched over gently. Standing next to him came so naturally. It was all you knew, for all these years. It was where you belonged.

Right next to him, on his right side. His queen, overlooking the kingdom she helped rule.

As your weary eyes took sight of the beauty in front of you that you could never get tired of, his hand found yours. Both creatures of habit, yet it never ceased to sent a shiver down your spine.

No one wanted to mess with Santino d’Antonio, and no one wanted to be indebted to him. That you knew. From the back of your mind, as you held onto Santino’s calloused hand, you could not help but wonder if a certain dark-haired assassin would repay his debt.

From then on, you could only hope he would not pay the favor back with his life.

[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.

[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

[fics-not-tragedies]

January 2024 Music Prompts: Day 7

Don't Blame Me ♫ Taylor Swift

Don't Blame Me ♫ Taylor Swift x Santino D'Antonio

I would fall from grace/Just to touch your face

Santino, with his brooding charm and penchant for taking risks, was a man used to living on the margins of society. The neon lights of the city reflected in his dark eyes the intensity that simmered beneath the surface. He moved like a shadow through the crowded streets, his thoughts a labyrinth of desires and pain.

One fateful evening, he found himself in a dimly lit jazz club, where the sultry notes of a saxophone told stories of passion and longing. The air was thick with anticipation and Santino took a seat at the bar, drawn by an invisible force.

As the barman placed a glass in front of him, he couldn't shake the image that had haunted his dreams - a face, delicate and distant, like a mirage shimmering at the edge of his consciousness. He could not resist the pull, the magnetic force that drew him towards an unknown destiny.

The jazz band continued its soulful serenade, casting a spell over the smoky atmosphere. Santino's eyes scanned the room, searching for the elusive face that had etched itself into the corridors of his mind.

And then, there you were - a vision in the low light, her eyes a haunting shade that held the secrets of a thousand stories. Santino felt a jolt in his chest, a heartbeat that transcended the rhythmic pulse of the jazz.

"I would fall from grace," he thought, captivated by the ethereal presence before him, "just to touch your face."

As if guided by an unseen force, Santino approached you. The world around both of you seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the haunting melody of the saxophone and the quiet murmurs of shared glances.

"May I?" he asked, extending his hand in a silent invitation to dance.

You nodded, a knowing smile playing on your lips. You two moved in rhythm with the music, bodies swaying to the intoxicating melody. In the dance's ebb and flow, Santino felt a connection that defied explanation - a magnetic pull that drew him closer to the mysteries you held.

The jazz club transformed into a sanctuary of shared secrets and unspoken desires. Santino, usually a man of few words, found himself compelled to speak.

"I would fall from grace," he whispered into your ear, his voice a husky murmur against the notes of the saxophone, "just to touch your face."

Your eyes held a mixture of surprise and recognition, as if you, too, had dreamt of a connection that transcended the boundaries of reality. In that dimly lit space, Santino and you shared a dance that spoke of yearning and the uncharted territories of the heart.

As the final notes lingered in the air, both of you found yourselves at the entrance of the jazz club, the city's lights a mosaic of possibilities. The night held a promise, and Santino couldn't resist the pull of destiny.

"Bella," he said, his words hanging in the air like a vow, "I’ve dreamt about you."

While your gaze held a silent agreement, you took his hand. Together you navigated the labyrinthine streets of the city, your footsteps echoing with the heartbeat of a shared connection that transcended the boundaries of time.

As you stood at the edge of a moonlit bridge, Santino brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle yet electric in intensity. The pulse of the city matched the rhythm of your hearts, and in that moment Santino knew that he had not fallen out of favour, but into the embrace of a destiny written in the stars.

"There is no one I want more, bella," he murmured, his lips touching yours.

And with that kiss, you knew he was yours for eternity together.

[purple-umbrella-girl]

Ahhhhh I love these stories so so much

John Wick Movies Masterlist

John Wick

The Jaguar

The Most Wonderful Time of The Year

Thankful

Domestic

Rivalry

Family (Addams Family AU)

Skinny Dipping

Late Night

Birthday Party

Headcanons

Kidnapped

Stormy Days

Santino D’Antonio

Married

What Had to Be Done

Morning

Argument

Happiest

The Italian and His Wife

Simple Moments

Dinner

Voices

His Wife (Addams Family AU)

Arranged

Changed

Sister-in-Law

Luckiest Man

Invitation

Sincere Moment

The D’Antonio Twins

Affection

Saved Me

The Elder

To Be Free

New Beginning

A Husband’s Job

Headcanons

Valentine’s Day

Vincent de Gramont

Sugarbaby - Headcanons

I Noticed 

The French and His Wife

The End or The Beginning

Being his Wife - Headcanons

Flames of Love

Yours

His

Date Nights

Small Steps

Obsession

Small Kisses

Yelling - Short

The Ink Under Your Skin

[mynameis-noe-body]

Okay, for marquis de gramont we can get reallll toxic. Both the reader and Vincent are angry with each other and are tying to make one another jealous at the event. Because they’re very kinda delulu and possessive they kill the people they're using to make the other jealous and confess their feelings

Thank you so much for this request, my dear anon. I hope you'll love this. 🖤

I am your slave

Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont × you (F/GN)

Rating: Teen & Up Audience

Status: Complete (one shot)

Author notes: I used Google translate for the Russian and French sentences. Let me know if it's incorrect!

Obviously. You muttered the word under your breath, chewing its bitter taste, testing its sound on the tip of your tongue as you watched, disarmed, as the Marquis made his triumphal entrance.

The most influential families of the High Table had gathered at the Hotel Mademoiselle de Condé for a gala and business evening. Those weren't rare events, but that didn't make them any less sumptuous. Money flowed freely, as did the champagne, the drugs, the caviar. And the lovers. Yes, they were purchasable too. Women and men of supreme beauty, unattainable, sometimes sons and daughters who were given away, exchanged, lent — everything, in exchange for favors.

But the Marquis — Vincent — never had to ask anyone for anything.

With a gallant gesture he opened the door of his 1970 Cadillac DeVille and offered his arm to a woman. And not yet another high-class whore that he would have refused to touch even with the tip of his little finger, no. The woman who accompanied him that evening was a creature of rare beauty, perhaps someone's protégé. Perhaps his protégé. She was graceful, elegant, she flaunted a cascade of golden curls that would make Venus herself envious. And you, you felt flooded with anger.

"Champagne" you ordered, snapping your fingers. They served you immediately. You too had your power, and you had never hidden it. You knew, deep down, that it was one of the things that attracted him. Your shy elegance fiercely contrasted the anger that could ignite in your heart. The strength of your hands, the fury in your eyes, the power you wielded ruthlessly. Yet, in his arms and in his bed, you were capable of the deepest love, the most total devotion. He was bewitched by it, and inebriated. Therefore, he loved to instigate every jealousy in you, just to have you desperate at the end of the night.

Vincent didn't even glance at you. He shook dozens of hands, ordered food and drinks, laughed with his colleagues and friends. And he ignored you. At least until, from the door of the luxurious hotel, taking off his Armani coat and handing the keys of his Ferrari Portofino to the doorman, Mr. D'Antonio entered.

"Santino!" you exclaimed, with a smile so bright it lighted the entire dining room. Many turned, if only for a moment, to watch you gallop towards the man, with a hem of your beautiful dress grasped between your fingers to reveal crystal heels that echoed off the walls.

Santino opened his arms, and welcomed you with a loud kiss on the cheek. "Meraviglia! Look at you — beautiful, you are beautiful."

Santino was warm, welcoming, purely Italian. And charming, in every aspect of his person. He knew how to make any woman feel like the most beautiful in the world. He gallantly offered you his arm and ordered for you. His laugh was loud, contagious. His exuberant nature amused you. You had been friends for years now. You had worked together, sometimes — often you had worked for him. And he appreciated you. He was generous in his payments. And above all, Vincent was morbidly jealous, because D'Antonio had no qualms about making blatant advances on you, even in front of all those people.

Vincent was daydreaming about murder. God, how he hated him. And yes, he had planned to take that beautiful Parisian home with him, one of the new acquisitions of his organization, now that he saw you... you were his favorite. Oh, bullshit — you were the only one. Since he had met you he had no longer been able to keep faith with his numerous lovers. One by one, they had extinguished his desire, and you had ignited his. Or they were fallen dead, because you killed them. Many of them, to be honest. And every time he learned of one of your murders, his desire to possess you — body and soul — violently took hold of him. He didn't want to give in, not that easily. But now he understood how difficult it was to resist you, while your hand caressed the muscular shoulder of that penniless Italian. That coward. The mere thought that you could enjoy yourself under his fingers made him vomit — so much that he poured what was left of the wine into the boulle and twisted his mouth in a grimace of disgust.

With my bare hands, he thought. He crossed his legs and wrapped himself in his double-breasted jacket, brooding. I want to kill him with my bare hands around his neck. He would have done it. He was Vincent Bisset de Gramont, the Marquis and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He could have attached Santino D'Antonio to a pole and set him on fire to make him feel a tenth of the physical pain with which, due to that jealousy, he himself was now burning.

The young woman he had brought with him caressed his face. Or at least, she tried. But he grabbed her wrist before she could touch his cheek. He looked at her with the same hatred. "Go take off that lipstick" he hissed, through clenched teeth. "You look ridiculous."

She obeyed, humiliated, and reached the bathroom. Of course, she didn't expect to meet you anytime soon.

As soon as you saw her walking away towards the toilet, you took your chance, followed her and closed the door behind you with a sharp slam, waiting for her right there, outside her niche. She, surrounded by that shiny hair, those brilliant eyes, those scarlet lips, had raised a single eyebrow in an inquisitive manner.

"And you are?" she asked, passing a cloth over her lips, cleaning them from that bright color.

You inhaled deeply. "You know who I am."

She allowed herself an amused smile. "Ah," she had commented, smugly, "nomer dva."

You thought that, before speaking, she should have made sure that you didn't speak Russian.

▪️▪️▪️

"Dance with me." Vincent took your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours and dragged you before you could respond, or refuse.

He had chased you as soon as you left the bathroom. The Marquis had immediately noticed your flushed chest, your freshly washed hands, your disheveled hair pulled back with a mechanical gesture of your hand, your pupils as narrow as pinpricks. Magnificent. On the dance floor, he had first twirled you once, before grabbing you and holding you against his chest; one hand — the right one — on your back, the lower part, the other intertwined with yours and pressed against his chest, on the beating of his heart. And his face in the corner between your neck and your shoulder.

You huffed, trying to maintain composure. "They're all watching us" you whispered in his ear. He smiled against your skin. "You'll make us look ridiculous in front of the High Table."

"Mon amour. I am the High Table." Vincent left the ghost of a kiss on your neck before making you sway in his arms. Another pirouette, and there you are again in his inevitable grip. "I could order half the men in this room to lick the floor where you walk, and they would do it for me."

You barely held back a small smile. "I can not stand you." But you settled a little more against his chest. The soft, slow music lulled you gently. "And what do you think of Santino? Would he kneel for you too?"

His nails dug into your side, making you flinch. You met his icy eyes in mid-air. So cold, so beautiful. "The Italian. That's it then, you like him."

"He's a charming man."

"He is rude, and vulgar. So pompous."

"And you're not?"

You almost heard him growl. Vincent shot a terrible look at D'Antonio, across the room, who was watching you swing on the dance floor with dark, annoyed eyes.

"You shouldn't be here with me" you added, coldly. "Your woman? Where is she?"

He laughed heartily. "Oh, please. We both know she won't make it out of that bathroom alive. How long did it take you to kill her?"

But you didn't answer. You never responded to his curiosity... it was your game.

Vincent grinned. The kiss on your neck now became passionate. You felt his soft lips caress your skin from your bare shoulder to the tip of your chin with five deep, intense kisses. "You drive me crazy."

This time, you smiled happily. "You are sick."

Vincent looked deadly serious, hovering over you, his back straight and tall to tower over your beautiful figure. "I will have monsieur D'Antonio's raw heart served to me on a silver platter. I will kidnap you, lock you in a dungeon, make you die of hunger and thirst if necessary — anything, as long as you admit the truth."

He was scary. Exciting. Terrifying. Beautiful. You blushed, panting slightly. "What truth? What the hell are you talking about?"

He smiled. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. "That you love me, mon amour."

"I —" yes, you loved him. And you loved the way he made you feel. You loved that hateful jealousy you felt for him, and that he felt for you. You caressed his face with an unexpected sweetness. Your eyes were large, languid. Vincent felt his whole body tremble like never before... "I'll tell you. Not now, though. Tomorrow morning. Now, take me home, and make love to me."

He stopped. He smiled, looking younger than he was. So happy. With a ridiculous low bow, he offered you his hand. "Je suis ton serviteur."

[thewhumpcaretaker]

WAIT everyone sit down and hold the phone.

I was trying to figure out who to ship Michael with because I don't really love writing x reader and I don't really like Kay or Apollonia that much (sorry) and most of the other characters are related. But...I just realized I can do crossover fics with the JW universe.

Michael Corleone x John Wick

Michael Corleone x Helen

Michael Corleone x Vincent de Gramont

Michael Corleone x Gianna D'Antionio

Michael Corleone x Santino D'Antonio

Do you see the vision???

[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⋆⋆•───

[lookalivefrosty]

Well.

I'm off to cry myself to sleep now 😭

—𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒐.

pairing: santino d’antonio x v (+john)

word count: 1.1k+

summary: Perhaps he loved you too fiercely, and how do you survive loving a calamity?

warnings: it’s sad folks, implied death

notes: basically final canon scene of ch13 but from santino’s pov that I wrote during a sprint on discord ages ago but many of you asked to see it here, so here you go. title is a latin phrase for “without the sun I’m silent” and if that’s not fitting for s/v dunno what is. 

children of ares series: 01 | …. |

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[nearer-than-the-eye]

LITTLE SAINT

listen Ahi giustizia di Dio! tante chi stipa nove travaglie e pene quant’ io viddi? e perché nostra colpa sì ne scipa?

"Ah, Justice of God, who heaps up such strange punishment and pain as I saw there? and why do our sins so waste us?" For Santino D'Antonio: John Wick's bitter ex, my most beloved villain, and whose name means sacred or little saint.

___

John Wick 2 may have come out nearly a decade ago, but being a Santino girl is a chronic condition. Cover and track list images are details from Caravaggio's Bacchus, and the epigraph is from Canto VIII of Inferno, translated by Robert and Jean Hollander.

Some extended thoughts about my process and choice of epigraph and cover under the read more!

This playlist mostly started because I was listening to "Young Caesar 2000," said to myself, wow, this would be a great Santino song, and put it alone on a new playlist. From there, for about a year, I'd throw on anything that particularly reminded me of Santino, songs that felt, not like they described him, but that they might narrate part of his inner monologue and feeling. Some John/Santino vibes starting slipping in there (almost inevitably), but I knew I wanted to keep things really closely tied to how Santino understands himself. I narrowed things down, did some ordering for the overall arc and (hopefully) smooth transitions, and here we are!

Essential to my understanding of Santino (and thus this playlist's formation) is NeverwinterThistle's Unholy Union and asuralucier's The Man You Want to Be, both of which you should absolutely run, not walk, to read.

I'll let the tracklist mostly speak for itself, but I hopefully captured Santino's arrogance and the fundamental emptiness and deep insecurity that arrogance covers. I really do think John is something real and true for Santino, in a world full of posturing, but he eventually cannot resist instrumentalizing John, just like everyone else. JW 2 is one of the JW movies most pessimistic about masculinity (if not THE most pessimistic), and the arc of this playlist would certainly be very different without Mitksi's "I'm Your Man." Which is Mitski's most pessimistic song about masculinity! So it all works out.

The title -- The fact that Santino's name means "little saint" has fascinated me since my first cursory google search that delivered this factoid, and I've always kept it in my back pocket when thinking about Santino as a character. He's always the little brother. His petulance and pettiness is so essential to his character, and it's, of course, what makes him such a great foil to John (who imagines himself as a rational actor, but has his matching streak of the petulance). Santino inherits all this splendor, and all he can do is try and claw out more and more. A petty saint, and certainly never a god.

Why Bacchus? -- Well, I was trying to get a good film still for the cover and eventually gave up, so then I went to go find something appropriately aesthetic for a playlist cover. I was going to do a Dutch Golden Age still life bc that's what I'm writing about rn and lushness (and rot) is so essential to Santino, but then I was like. this guy is Italian. SUPER Italian. Who's an Italian with dramatic shadows and lush still lifes? And thus Caravaggio. Bacchus because revelry, excess, beauty, ect....also the invitation of the painting--he's holding out the goblet to you, asking you to join him. But mostly because it's beautiful.

Why Dante? -- I KNEW this bitch had to have an epigraph from Inferno once I realized this was going to be a real playlist. I mean, speaking of pessimism! The Divine Comedy feels so crazy to read as a modern reader bc it's like. yeah all this suffering is God's perfect justice. That guy eating his own shit is part of the divine plan. Which, to me, lines up really well with my read on masculinity in the JW movies--perfect, unchangeable, and committing you to endless suffering.

Alright, let's really get into it. This tercet ("Ah, Justice of God, who heaps up / such strange punishment and pain as I saw there? / and why do our sins so waste us?") come early in Canto 7, as Virgil and Dante (our POV character and protagonist) leave the third circle of Hell, Gluttony, and enter the fourth circle, Avarice and Prodigality ("Why do you squander...Why do you hoard" is probably the most famous quote from this circle). If Santino was to end up anywhere, it would be in one of those two circles, so I enjoy that this is the point in the text Dante asks these two questions!

Speaking of: despite God's perfection, Dante sure loves to question what he sees in hell and then...not resolve those questions in any way. It's interesting to see that "who heaps up / such strange punishment and pain as I saw there?" is a question addressed to the "Justice of God" when. well. the Justice of God is the thing heaping up these strange punishments and pain!

Dante seems unaware of the paradox, here, which has a real resonance for me in the way Santino is just like, well, I HAVE to blow up your house, John! I HAVE to put out a hit on you after you fulfill the marker, John! But to point to the times he acted out of compassion (not calling in John's marker during his retirement) would completely undermine that logic. It says "there are some things more important than power," but if Santino acknowledged that, then he wouldn't be able kill his sister.

Dante can't walk through hell and say with his whole chest, "I don't think it should be like this, actually" and still trust and love God, so he doesn't. Santino can't believe "more power will make me more happy, our culture says so," and also consciously acknowledge that it's the culture under the Table (and his father!!! his god!!!) that has pitted him against his sister his whole life, that has instilled in him values that ultimately leave him empty. So he doesn't! And he dies trapped in that paradox.

And then that second question. "And why do our sins so waste us?" UGH. ugh. Dante. You fucking hit me hard with this one. This is the line that made me choose this tercet. There's so much to Santino, so much beauty, so much divinity--but our sins waste us. All that power is used only in pursuit of more power, and, in the end, he's destroyed by that pursuit. The first two lines of the tercet key into culture and the way we contort our selves to fit into culture, but this last line is just an exclamation of the tragedy. Why? we ask, and nobody answers.

[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.”

[bluelolblue]

Under Your Control

Sumarry: You took care of your exhausted husband, Santino. Since he is overworking himself often, he deserves to relax after everything. And the way to do that is with pegging him.

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Santino D'Antonio/Fem!reader

Note: Okay, it's finally done. It's been so long since I wrote anything with "reader" ahaha. I really tried my best to get myself to work on this and make it good enough, but like I said it's been a while since I wrote anything like this, so apologies if some stuff may seem odd. I really tried to make it good, and I hope y'all will like it! <3

Enjoy this pegging Santino fic ^ ^

°°••♡••°°

Santino is constantly overworking himself, not to mention times when he'd return home with bruises and blood on him.

That would break your heart every time and you'd treat his wounds and bruises no matter how many times he had told you not to worry about that.

“Santino, you seriously need rest. How many times have I told you that?” You said, walking over to the desk to take away the papers or whatever he was doing. “I'm sorry…” He murmured but before he could say anything more you took away the papers from him and tossed them on the sofa.

He sighed, leaning back against his chair. “Why did you do that?” He asked tiredly, sounding so innocent. Mostly because he was so exhausted. “Maybe because I care for your health? You obviously don't care and someone has to,” You said, going through his hair with your fingers.

Santino hummed softly, he loves when you play with his hair. “You need to relax, sweetie,” You murmured softly and leaned to press a kiss on his cheek.

“Wait...bella…” He said, taking hold of your hand. “Hm?” You hummed curiously. He seemed a bit nervous there for a second as he stood up from the chair, out of habit fixing his tie.

“Aw, what's the matter?” You asked, more in a sympathizing way. You reached to caress his face that seemed to be slightly blushing. “Ah, I just...I had a horrible week,” He said and finally looked at you, making eye contact with him.

“Yes, you did. I know,” You said, caressing his face with one hand. He takes a gentle hold of your hand that was on his cheek. “Go take a shower and join me in bed, okay?” You suggested. He hummed in agreement, this time he didn't use any of his excuses on how this paperwork is important.

You waited in bed for him, actually feeling sleepy. You wonder how he's doing this every day, having his routine all over the place and barely any rest.

You were starting to doze off when he came out of the bathroom, the scent of a fresh shampoo followed and he smelled so good. “Tired, love?” He asked softly as he got next to you in bed. “Mm, yes. How are you not tired?” You asked, chuckling softly as he kissed your neck. “I'm used to it,” He whispered as he continued to press kisses on your neck. “Yeah, I can tell,” You said with a tired smile and turned to his side to kiss him.

Well, he was eager all of a sudden. Caressing your thigh as you kissed him, and he took some control over the kiss. When he gets like this, you know what he wants.

“After everything you still have the strength for this?” You smirked, nipping onto his lower lip. “Always for you,” He breathed out, kissing your neck, your collarbone.

You moaned softly, going through his hair with your fingers while he left some love bites on your neck. He loves to mark you so everyone knows you belong to him.

“What would you like to do, baby?” You asked, ready to give him whatever he wants. He deserves it after this week. “Can you take care of me tonight? Please?” He begged, his tired eyes looked so cute. He had that puppy look.

You could feel yourself blushing but damn you can't resist him. Especially not now when he is clearly being submissive to you. “Yes, baby, I can do that,” You said and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

“I-I just need it… it's been so long since we did that.” It has been. Last time you fucked him was on his birthday so it's been months already. And the way he begged, moaned, cried out for you was so hot. You loved having him under your control, how submissive he was.

He always gets a bit nervous, shy when he's about to do this and you find it so cute. He's already slightly shaking just from the thought of it. “Hey, I'll relax you, sweetie. Don't worry, you'll feel better,” You pressed a kiss on his forehead, cupping his face. “Please, bella…” He begged, already melting to your touch and kisses.

“I got you,” You whispered. “But you'll have to behave for me, okay?” You had to remind him that you're the one in charge now. “Yes, yes, I will,” He nodded, eagerly looking at you. “Good. C'mon now…” You trailed off, tugging on his pants for him to take them off.

Santino understood and stripped down, tossing his pants to the side. He was already half hard and all you did was kiss him. “Please,” he whispered, getting more impatient and needy. “Touch me, please…” Good, he was begging even without you reminding him to do so.

“Ah, you're so needy already,” You said, rubbing his dick, watching him as he leaned against the pillows. He sighed in pleasure and smiled tiredy at you.

You couldn't resist him like this, before anything, you leaned over to kiss him while still rubbing him. He got hard quickly like this, with you kissing him and both moaning into each other's mouths while you still rubbed him, he could finish even like this.

“Mm… bella…” He moaned quietly, breaking the kiss. “Fuck…” he was getting desperate, and you loved how flustered he was. You chuckled quietly and lowered your to take him. He gasped softly when he felt your hot mouth around him.

“F-fuck… mmh…” He whimpered, looking down at you how you licked his tip before swallowing him whole again. That was always enough to make him moan and whine.

You felt his fingers going through your hair, how he gripped slightly tighter when you pulled all the way to his tip. “You're so good for me,” He praised, another whimper escaping him. You gave him a little smirk as you heard his little noises while you sucked him.

“You're so cute like this. So fucking needy,” You teased him, rubbing his slicked dick. You enjoyed watching his reactions, hearing his noises, it definitely made you wet in your panties.

“You think that's enough? I don't want you to come yet,” You stopped touching, he had enough of that. “Just a little more, please,” Santino begged needily, but you know what you're doing. “No, you'll get what you want now. Just get on your knees and bend over, okay? Just like we did before,” You instructed, and gave him enough space for him to get into the position while you took off your shirt.

You only had your dark black bra and panties on, and Santino really wanted to look at you. But damn, he’s fucking horny, and he needs this right now.

First you gotta give him a prep of course. “Just relax for me, baby,” You said as you lubed your fingers. “I need you so bad, please- unnh fuck!” He was cut off when you pushed your two fingers in, soothing him gently. “I know, I know, I got you.”

Sometimes he would give himself a prep, but sometimes you want to do it for him and he loves it. “Aw, you're so tight,” You smirked, thrusting your fingers in and halfway out. He felt so tight around your fingers and it was a bit difficult to push them in.

“Mmh- it's so good, bella, I love it- fuck…” He could barely talk from his moans and whimpers escaping him. Your fingers inside him always felt so good. Few times that was enough to make him come.

“I know how much you love my fingers in you, sweetie. You always take me so well, no matter how tight you are,” You chuckled softly, caressing his back with your other hand to feel him tremble.

Santino whimpered and gripped onto the sheets, feeling your fingers brushing inside him, pressing against his sweet spot. He slightly leaned back to your fingers, trying to get them even deeper.

“Patience, baby. You said you'll behave for me, remember?” You teased, giving him a little spank on his ass. “Y-yes, yes I know… please fuck me…” He begged, gasping shakily when curled up your fingers. “Ooh please…” He moaned and bowed his head. He was already so overwhelmed.

“Fuck, you're so good at begging… you have no idea how wet you made me just from that. Good boy,” You praised and could feel that he did relax more and was taking you easily now.

“D-did I do good?” He asked innocently and looked over his shoulder. “For a start, yes. Now you'll get what you want, you deserve it.”

He does deserve it after everything. And he's just such a good boy.

You chose the dildo you bought specifically for his birthday. It's fucking big and thick with some veins over it for the better feeling. Last time, it made him literally cry from pleasure.

You got yourself ready, having the strap on, lube is ready as well. Santino is shaking just from seeing the dildo. He rubbed himself while waiting for you, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.

Before anything, you gently caressed his face and pressed a kiss on his lips. “You're so good for me. Working all week till late at night and you still want to do this. You deserve a reward,” You said softly, watching how he blushed and his breathing got shaky.

“Anything for you, I told you, bella, I'll do anything,” He shivered when you kissed his neck to tease him some more. “Good. I'm very proud of you,” You smirked at him.

You lubed the dildo and pressed the tip against his hole. “Ah- fuck… please just…” Santino gasped, so eager for you to just push it inside him already. “It's a big stretch. You sure you're ready to take it?” You knew he was ready, but you still wanted to tease him a little.

“Yes, I'm ready. Please do it, I'll be good, I promise,” He begged, looking over at you. Since he begs so nicely, you gotta give it to him. “Alright, just take a deep breath for me,” You said, holding the dildo to push It in.

Santino took a deep breath in and exhaled shakily when you started pushing in. “There you go, just relax,” You soothed gently, holding his hips. “Fuck! Mmmh- yes, yes just go all the way in…” He whimpered and gripped the sheets as you went all in.

It's a big dildo but he takes it so easily. “Oh, you took it so good, baby. Very good,” You praised, knelt behind him and pulling his hips slightly closer to you so you get deeper.

You started thrusting, slowly at first so he gets used to it. He was already moaning, biting his lower lip to try and silence himself. He was aware that you just started and he is already moaning like a slut.

“You missed this, huh?” You asked and chuckled when he whined in response, trying to spread his legs a little more for you. “Being stuffed with this big dildo. Maybe one day I could find you a bigger one.”

Fuck, he'd love that. He’d love to use it while you fuck yourself with your own toys. Yeah, you two have… toys that you use together sometimes.

“F-faster… faster, please!” He moaned needily, slightly arching his back for a show. You chuckled but gave it to him. Fucking him faster as you leaned over and kissed the back of his neck. “I got you,” You murmured against his neck.

He whined, gripping on the sheets tighter as you brushed perfectly against his sweet spot. When you got him crying out, you just kept fucking him in that rhythm and at that spot.

“Cazzo! Per favore, bella!” He was moaning in Italian, which meant he was getting lost in pleasure. That was so hot, every time he does that it makes you hornier.

You leaned back, only to grip his hair and pin him down against the pillow. “Fuck, just keep moaning like that for me,” You smirked to yourself, having him in this position was always more exciting.

His noises were muffled by the pillow, sounding like he was crying and it wouldn't even be the first time he was crying because of how overwhelmed he is. He wanted to touch himself, his hard dick was already pulsing and just needed to be touched immediately.

So, he tried to reach underneath himself. “Eager, hm?” You teased as you noticed. “I-I need…” He moaned into the pillow. You thought about whether you should let him. “Think you deserve it?” You asked, and spanked his ass, making him yelp. He loves that, it really gets him going.

“Y-yes, yes…” You could hear him murmur into the pillow. He does deserve it, he's been so good for you. “Alright, you can touch yourself, baby. But not for long.” You're not gonna let him have his way for too long.

Santino finally started touching himself, fuck, he was already leaking some precum and he could feel it on his fingers. “Fuck, yes, yes!” He moaned eagerly, whining as you gripped on his hair tighter and fucked into him more harder and deeper.

He was shaking, his free hand gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. And when you did few more harder thrusts, how the dildo fucked right into his sweet spot, that got him moaning loudly. “Right there… fuck, don't stop!” He whimpered and gasped when you tugged on his hair, pulling his head up from the pillow.

“Here?” You smirked and continued to fuck him at that spot that got him crying out. “Yes!” He moaned in response. “Stop touching yourself, now,” You pulled his arm away, and he whined in annoyance.

“I need it, bella, mmh- please,” He tried, he really wanted to touch himself, he was desperate. “You don't need it, baby. You can come just fine without that,” You said, letting go of his hair so he can be even more loud.

All that thrusting into him felt so nice that you could feel yourself getting close. And he was definitely close, he was overwhelmed.

“J-just keep doing that… mmhhh fuck, fuck, fuck…” You got what you wanted to hear. Him being completely lost in pleasure and moaning nonsense. You could hear him moan something in broken Italian as well. So cute.

“Are you close?” You teased, just wanting to hear him struggle to talk. “Yes… ooh fuck me!” Santino moaned and some whimpers escaped him. “You're gonna come for me, hm?”

Fuck, he will. You know he will. You're just playing with him now. “Cazzo! I- aah…” He wanted to answer but with your thrusting it was difficult to get words out. “C'mon, say it,” You teased, moaning quietly afterwards.

“Yes- fuck, just a little more… just…” He whimpered, few tears spilling down his cheeks. “Go on, come for me, sweetie,” You encouraged, gripping onto his hips more as you fucked him harder.

It took few more harder thrusts and he came with a loud moan, shaking through his orgasm as he spilled underneath himself. “Fuck, bella!” He cried out as you fucked through his climax, your own following. “That's right, baby… fuck…” You moaned softly, coming in your panties.

You both were out of breath, but he was really panting with some whines escaping him. You pulled out and he immediately switched to lay down on his back, his legs spread. “Good boy. You did so good,” You praised, taking the strap off to join him on the bed.

Santino was so flustered, blushing hard, forehead sweaty and still catching his breath. “Bella… that was amazing,” He panted, and you chuckled at him. “Yeah? I thought I got rusty a little.”

“No, no… you were incredible,” He kissed you, a lazy little peck on the lips because he was so exhausted. “We should do it more often, then. If you'd like,” You teased, going over his nipple with your finger. His breathing hitched a little, “Yeah, we should,” He agreed, smiling tiredly at you.

You kissed him more deeply and longer, hearing him moan softly into the kiss. “Whenever you'd want to do it, just tell me. I'll always give you what you want,” You smirked, going through his messy hair.

“Okay,” he breathed out. “I need a cigarette.”

One more thing, he usually smokes after sex, but it seems like he'd like do it in the bedroom now.

“Here? In the bedroom? Didn't we say that you won't smoke here?” You asked. “Yes, but my legs hurt… please, can I just have one here? I promise I'll open up windows and spray perfume.”

Fuck. He is giving you that puppy look again. Especially how fucked out and exhausted he looks now. You can't really say no to him.

You sighed and gave him the permission. “Since you were so good… okay. You're so damn cute.” You couldn't resist him like this, you had to kiss him again.

“Thank you, bella,” He smiled softly, finally being able to light up the cigarette. You actually like when he blows smoke into your face. You just hate when your whole bedroom smells like cigarettes for a week.

“I love you, you're so good for me,” Santino murmured and kissed you. You could taste the smoke, and you loved it. Maybe it was still the adrenaline from fucking but it felt nice.

“I love you, too, baby.”

[weclassygirl]

A collection of fics for certain characters I've written for. Enjoy!

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE

John Wick Universe

Tenet

Tolkien - currently writing for sauron x reader

[alejandrafrausto]

FINAL HAVEN: One last safe place

un fanfiction de Alejandra Frausto

CAPÍTULO 2

La madre de Sara siempre le insistió que no confiara en desconocidos, mucho menos en hombres que parecían ligados al mundo criminal. Sin embargo, aquí estaba ella, salvando a uno de la muerte. Las balas continuaban impactando contra la puerta que los separaba de su verdugo, y los pasos se escuchaban cada vez más cerca.

Sin pensarlo dos veces y deseando que sus actos no tuvieran consecuencias en el futuro, Sara tira con esfuerzo de los hombros del hombre inconsciente, arrastrándolo dentro de su edificio. A pocos metros de que su perseguidor los alcanzara, ella cierra la puerta de golpe.

Fuertes golpes resuenan en la puerta de acero. Sin saber de dónde sacó las fuerzas, Sara arrastra al hombre de traje costoso hacia las escaleras, apoyándolo contra la pared para que no se desplome por completo. Con dificultad, lo impulsa un escalón a la vez, buscando una manera de mantenerlo en pie mientras suben juntos.

—Tienes suerte de que viva en el segundo piso —gruñe Sara—, porque si no, te dejaría tirado aquí mismo.

Sara siente que ha pasado una eternidad cuando finalmente llegan a su departamento. Sin tiempo que perder, recuesta al hombre contra la pared junto a la puerta, saca sus llaves y abre. El maullido de su gata la recibe.

Sara se vuelve hacia el hombre y lo levanta, ahora con más facilidad, llevándolo hasta su pequeño sofá.

Ya con el hombre recostado, corre de regreso a la puerta. Justo antes de cerrarla, escucha el eco de alguien arrojando la puerta principal del edificio, seguido de pasos apresurados en la planta baja.

—Mierda.

El asesino ha entrado.

Sara cierra la puerta con el menor ruido posible y asegura todos los cerrojos, incluyendo la cadena.

Sin tiempo que perder y con el temor de que el cazador la descubra ocultando a su presa, corre hacia el hombre en el sofá, que sigue inconsciente y sangrando. Echa un vistazo a su pijama, manchada con la sangre de él, y con el corazón en la boca, reza en silencio para que la sangre no haya caído al suelo tras ellos.

Sin fuerzas, y sin importarle realmente si lo lastima o no, Sara decide arrastrarlo de los brazos hasta su habitación.

Con dificultad, lo levanta y lo recuesta sobre su cama.

—¿Qué estoy haciendo?

Sara se regaña a sí misma mientras busca el botiquín de primeros auxilios en los cajones de la cómoda frente a su cama.

—Debería llevarlo a un hospital, no jugar a la enfermera.

Deja el botiquín en la cama, a los pies del hombre, que aún lleva los zapatos puestos, y se dirige al baño en busca de toallas limpias.

Al volver, ve a Canela, su gata sin ningún sentido de supervivencia hacia extraños, olisqueando y lamiendo las heridas de su cara.

—Ah, pero a Helen le gruñías y te erizabas.

Canela la ignora y sigue lamiendo las heridas del hombre desmayado.

—Espera —dice Sara, tomando el botiquín y apartando a Canela—, vas a infectar sus heridas. Déjamelo a mí.

Con una toalla, presiona la herida en su cuello, que no ha dejado de sangrar. La sangre tiñe rápidamente la toalla color pastel de carmesí.

Sara examina las demás heridas del hombre con más detalle; la única preocupante es esa.

Parece como si una bala lo hubiera alcanzado pero solo lo rozó, sin penetrar; sin embargo, el roce ha provocado una gran herida en su cuello.

Sara presiona con más fuerza una nueva toalla, ya que la anterior se ha empapado por completo de sangre. Sabe que debe hacer algo más, además de evitar que se desangre.

Sin soltar la presión con una mano, con la otra abre el botiquín.

Sara saca gasas, alcohol y algodón del botiquín; por el rabillo del ojo, ve cómo Canela se recuesta sobre las piernas del desconocido.

Con cuidado y mucha delicadeza, comienza a limpiar las heridas de su rostro. Parecen cortes, como si hubiera atravesado algún cristal.

A pesar de estar trabajando solo con una mano —la otra sigue haciendo presión en su cuello—, se concentra en limpiar el mayor número de cortes en su cara. La herida del cuello es la más preocupante, por lo que decide improvisar un torniquete.

Con precisión, retira la corbata que el hombre lleva puesta y, utilizando una toalla limpia, presiona la herida. Envuelve la corbata con la toalla alrededor de su cuello, apretando con fuerza pero con el cuidado necesario para no asfixiarlo.

El torniquete cumple su función mientras Sara sale de la habitación en busca de hilo y aguja.

—Estás loca si crees que vas a coserlo —se dice a sí misma mientras abre y cierra cajones en su búsqueda—. Y sin anestesia, ¿qué te pasa, Sara? —Finalmente, encuentra su caja de hilos y algunas agujas, que usualmente usaba para bordar, en una de las repisas de la cocina—. ¡Aquí están!

"¿Y si lo lastimo más de lo que ya está?", piensa, sintiendo cómo el pánico comienza a apoderarse de ella.

El pánico se intensifica cuando fuertes golpes resuenan en la puerta de su departamento.

Sara se congela en el lugar, imaginando quién podría ser. Sabe perfectamente a quién están buscando.

Los golpes no cesan, y lágrimas de impotencia comienzan a llenar sus ojos. No sabe qué hacer. Su mente se nubla, y el peso de la situación la abruma por completo.

—¡Sé que hay alguien dentro!

La voz grave y furiosa del hombre retumba por todo el departamento, acompañada de nuevos golpes que hacen eco en las paredes.

Sara ahoga otro sollozo, respira profundamente e intenta calmarse, aunque el miedo la consume por completo.

—Afronta las consecuencias —susurra para sí, mientras limpia con la mano las lágrimas que se escapan de su rostro. Con pasos lentos, se dirige hacia la puerta—. ¿No es así?

Su mano tiembla al tomar la manija, y más golpes la hacen saltar en su lugar. Sin quitar el cerrojo de la cadena que mantiene la puerta apenas entreabierta, separándola de su atacante, Sara reúne el último vestigio de valentía y abre la puerta lo suficiente para enfrentar lo que viene.

Un hombre, vestido con traje y corbata como el que yace inconsciente en la cama de Sara, se presenta frente a ella. Sin embargo, su atuendo parece más un uniforme que una vestimenta formal.

El atacante inclina la cabeza hacia abajo, encontrándose con la mirada de Sara, quien lo observa, teniendo que alzar la vista para mirarlo a los ojos.

—¿Sí? —balbucea ella.

El miedo la invade; él sostiene un arma en su mano derecha. A pesar de esto, Sara nota un instante fugaz en el que sus facciones se suavizan al oír su voz.

—Lo siento, estoy buscando a un hombre. Se llama Santino D'Antonio.

El hombre se detiene, esperando una reacción de Sara. Al no obtener respuesta, prosigue:

—Tengo razones para creer que está aquí.

—Lo siento, no lo conozco.

La respuesta de Sara es rápida, e intenta cerrar la puerta de golpe, pero el hombre la detiene, señalando el suelo. Un charco de sangre mancha sus zapatos.

《¡Qué estúpida, Sara!》, se reprende en silencio. ¿Cómo pudo no notar eso?

—Yo...

—Escúcheme bien —la interrumpe, su tono se vuelve más grave mientras Sara lo mira, incapaz de disimular su miedo—. Santino es un hombre peligroso y no dudará en hacerle daño. Déjeme entrar para llevármelo, y no la molestaré más.

—Pero lo va a matar —murmura Sara, apenas audible. No era una pregunta.

—Abre la puerta, y no tendrás de qué preocuparte.

Sara asiente lentamente.

—Está bien —dice, esperando que el hombre reaccione, pero él no se mueve—. Voy a cerrar para quitar la cadena.

Sin esperar respuesta y aprovechando que el hombre afloja su presión, Sara cierra la puerta de golpe. No piensa volver a abrirla.

—¿Señorita?

El atacante suena confundido y furioso al mismo tiempo. Sara, con esfuerzo, arrastra el mueble más cercano para colocarlo contra la puerta tratando de bloquearla.

—¡¿Señorita?!

Los golpes en la puerta se intensifican, y Sara se apresura a su habitación. No recuerda dónde dejó lo que había salido a buscar, pero eso queda en segundo plano; lo único que importa ahora es que ese hombre no entre.

—¿Qué estoy haciendo? ¿Qué demonios estoy haciendo? ¡¿Qué carajos estoy haciendo?!

Se ragaña en voz alta mientras cierra la puerta de su habitación y echa el seguro con manos temblorosas.

Lágrimas inundan sus ojos mientras observa al hombre, condenado a muerte, recostado en su cama.

《No lo voy a entregar, no es correcto》, se dice, convencida de que todos merecen una segunda oportunidad, sin importar sus acciones.

—Da igual lo que hayas hecho —se acerca a él con determinación, tomando un trozo de algodón empapado en alcohol de su mesita de noche—. Aquí estarás a salvo, lo prometo.

Con delicadeza, Sara pasa el algodón por sus heridas, limpiando lo peor. Cada vez que extrae un fragmento de vidrio de su rostro, su expresión se retuerce de dolor; sabe que debe estar sufriendo.

Sara arroja el tercer algodón usado a la basura, cierra las ventanas que dan a la calle y corre las cortinas. La lámpara junto a su cama y la luz del baño son las únicas que iluminan el cuarto.

Suspira con temor, pero está decidida a cumplir su promesa. No se arrepiente. Sobre su cadáver permitirá que alguien haga daño al hombre que esconde en su hogar.

Los golpes en la puerta no cesan, al contrario, se intensifican, como si quisieran derribarla.

《¿Debería llamar a la policía?》, reflexiona. Es evidente que esos hombres no parecen personas comunes; el que protege parece sacado de una película de la mafia italiana, y el que lo quiere muerto, como si su vida dependiera de ello.

—Si llamo a la policía... ¿cambiará algo? ¿O empeorará todo? —murmura.

Sara se inclina hacia él y revisa el torniquete improvisado. Parece estar funcionando; la toalla limpia que había colocado antes sigue del mismo color pastel, sin rastro de sangre. Sin saber qué más hacer, decide quitarle los zapatos. Además de que están sucios y llenos de lodo, están ensuciando la cama, y al menos así podrá estar más cómodo.

Con sumo cuidado, sin alterar el torniquete en su cuello, le retira el saco agujereado por las balas. Por un momento, el pánico la invade, imaginando que todas esas balas lo atravesaron. Pero al quitarle el saco y ver el chaleco de su traje intacto, un suspiro de alivio escapa de sus labios.

—Entonces...

Sara comienza a hablarle, sin saber si él puede escucharla. En realidad, lo hace más para calmarse a sí misma.

—Santino, ¿verdad? Así te llamó el hombre que te persigue.

Santino sigue inconsciente, pero ella continúa.

—De Antonio, algo así, ¿no? Me pregunto de dónde eres. Suena muy elegante, como un nombre europeo. Yo soy Sara Rodríguez, ya te imaginarás de dónde soy.

Echa un vistazo a Canela, su gata, que se ha acurrucado aún más cerca de las piernas de Santino. Sara la mira con incredulidad, todavía sorprendida de que pueda comportarse así frente a un completo desconocido.

—Y ella es Canela, que por lo visto te ha tomado cariño, porque no se ha movido de tu lado desde que llegaste.

Un fuerte estruendo rompe la calma que Sara había logrado momentos antes. La puerta de su departamento, junto con el mueble que intentaba bloquearla, ceden.

Pasos firmes y apresurados resuenan en todo el departamento. Sara, inmóvil, contiene el aliento, rezando para que su gata no emita el más mínimo sonido.

El lobo entró, y ellas estan ocultando a su cordero.

GRACIAS POR LEER

[fics-not-tragedies]

January 2024 Music Prompts: Day 12

I Can See You ♫ Taylor Swift

I Can See You ♫ Taylor Swift x Santino D'Antonio

But what would you do if I went to touch you now?/What would you do if they never found us out?/What would you do if we never made a sound?

Santino, a charismatic man with a mysterious aura that reverberated through the office corridors, became entangled in a secret romance with his colleague, you. The hum of the neon lights and the rhythm of the tapping keyboards formed the backdrop for your stolen glances and clandestine conversations.

One afternoon, when the office was in its usual chaos, you and Santino found yourselves alone in the break room. There was a tension in the air of unspoken desires, and the proximity of your shared space seemed to intensify the heartbeat of your connection.

Santino leaned against the counter with a playful gleam in his eye. "But what would you do if I touched you now?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that stirred the air between the two of you.

You, your cheeks flushing with a mixture of anticipation and hesitation, met his gaze. "What would you do if they never found us out?"

Your words, like a dance of possibilities, hung in the air - an unspoken agreement that lingered beneath the surface of your professional facades. The breakroom, usually a space for hurried lunches and casual small talk, became a clandestine meeting ground for the burgeoning romance that neither of you could deny.

Santino, with a confidence that bordered on audacity, closed the distance between you. His hand, warm and inviting, brushed against yours as he reached for a cup of coffee. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and your eyes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes.

"What would you do if we never made a sound?" Santino continued, his lips curving into a knowing smile.

You, caught in the magnetic pull of the moment, felt the walls of restraint crumbling around you both. The allure of the forbidden lingered in the air, a temptation that fueled the flames of your hidden desires.

As the days unfolded, Santino and you navigated the delicate dance of your workplace romance. The office became a theater of stolen glances, lingering touches, and shared secrets concealed behind the guise of professionalism. The unspoken understanding between you two heightened the thrill of your connection, like a covert operation conducted in plain sight.

During a late-night project, when the office was shrouded in silence, Santino and you found yourselves working alone. The glow of computer screens cast a soft illumination, creating an intimate atmosphere that seemed to invite the revelation of your concealed desires.

"But what would you do if I went to touch you now?" Santino whispered, his words a promise that hung in the air like a question mark.

You, your heart pounding, met his gaze with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. In that suspended moment, the boundary between professionalism and passion blurred, and the allure of what lay beneath the surface became impossible to ignore.

Santino, with a tender boldness, cupped your face in his hands. Your lips met in a quiet symphony of desire, a kiss that spoke of the suppressed emotions you had dared not acknowledge.

"What would you do if they never found us out?" Santino murmured against your lips, his voice a breathy confession.

You, caught in the throes of a passion that had long simmered beneath the surface, felt a sense of liberation. The weight of secrecy lifted, and the office, with its walls of restraint, became an arena for the unbridled exploration of your connection.

In the hushed stillness, as your kisses became a language of their own, Santino whispered, "What would you do if we never made a sound?"

Your workplace romance, once confined to stolen moments and concealed glances, became an open acknowledgment of the love that had blossomed amidst the hum of office machinery and the monotony of daily routines.