#santino x john

[mrssimply]

The Burning of Rome

Part I - Spark

The Burning of Rome, the last part of the Wild Animals Rebellion Series is out.

I've decided to illustrate this fic with moodboards, so you can expect more of them.

For now, only the first part of the story is up, I'm still writing it but I needed to put it out there...

Anyway, look at them being happy. Look at them closely 'cause they won't stay that happy for long.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

HIII <333

This is something that came back to my mind when you asked me about omega Santino x omega Vincent

What about omega Santino x omega John? How would they act, considering how Santino is, we all know that, how would omega John handle him? What would they even do when they go into heats? Especially if it happens at the same time LMAOO

I think John would be really caring and would understand Santino's frustrations since he also goes through the same, but he handles it a bit differently

What do you think about that? :]

Hiiiiii! 💙🖤💙🖤

Oh boy this is gonna be really explicit HAHA!

They are absolutely going into heats at the same time, because their scents will trigger each other immediately. So that’s…a challenge!

The way I see it, when you’re both omegas, you have to plan ahead for heats. Basically it’s like knowing that they’ll both be incapacitated for a few days, so they have to stock up on supplies in advance and get to somewhere safe as soon as they realize what’s happening. And they’re definitely doing cycle tracking and things like that to be better prepared. They’d also need the help of bodyguards they really trust, like Ares, to keep them safe during that time. Essentially, everything an alpha would do, they do for themselves in advance.

Santino’s fixation on proper scheduling helps a lot with this stuff.

I also think, like most Santino and John content, this ends with them running away from the High Table together to a place where they can be safer, at John’s insistence.

As far as the moodiness goes, even if they’re both that way at the same time, it works out pretty well because John is emotionally intelligent enough to read Santino’s irritation as discomfort. So even if he’s spaced out at the time, he doesn’t get mad back. He just gets really sweet and weepy and starts nuzzling and massaging Santino. Full puddle mode. “I don’t want you to be hurting…” That turns any irritation into affection pretty quickly.

Occasionally they do argue but again, it turns to affection quickly…this time as hot make-up sex!

They are super cuddly and needy with each other. Just laying together in a pile of blankets trying to get as much physical contact as possible between them. If you’re standing outside the door, you hear nothing but inarticulate, adoring whining for SO LONG

Nonverbal safewords like tapping three times, to help them communicate when they’re too spaced out to speak (this is good to know for any readers who do BDSM with gags, btw)!!!

When they both have chills, it feels so good to hold each other and keep each other warm.

To actually deal with the horniness itself, they use um…toys. Santino thinks it’s better than actual alpha could ever be - he’s always suggesting freaky new types of toys to try and John is a little shocked at first but pretty quickly he realizes he wants to experiment too and they gradually learn what they like together!

And uhhhhh yeah I think I’ve gotten sufficiently wild in this ask now 0.0 Thanks Blue, I had so much fun writing these steamy sillies together!!

[bluelolblue]

Labyrinth

Okiee, I'm posting this here bc why not.

A changed version of John chasing Santino in the mirror place (Reflection of the soul? I think it's called like that lmao).

The title name was inspired by the song Labyrinth by Miracle Musical, I even put some lyrics (although changed a little to fit with the text and dialog) bc I think this song represents what happens here perfectly.

I tried to write this in more of a psychological way. It was my first time writing something like this, with lyrics and psychological style. So sorry if it looks weird, I tried to do something.

I hope it's good enough, I really just did this for fun :)

Relationship: Santino D'Antonio/John Wick

It wasn't supposed to be this way, really. He was just supposed to have his celebration of joining the High Table.

Literally becoming the Camorra prince.

But John wouldn't let him have it. Not after what he did to him.

Walls keep spinning and his path keeps turning.

Patience thinning and his calves keep burning.

Running away from the boogeyman was actually more difficult than it had seemed. Full of his pride, Santino thought he would escape easily.

But he was lost alone in the labyrinth of mirrors. Alone. Almost alone. With the boogeyman chasing him.

Running in circles.

He feels like he's never getting out.

'I'm trapped.' He thought to himself.

The mirrors, everything looked the same.

Trying to escape from this thing that he fears.

But all the stairwells lead straight to hell.

Until something went wrong. He's not sure how John found him, but he was caught like a prey animal.

That is what John's good at.

Hunting.

But not animals.

He can see the beast getting closer.

John grabbed him by his throat and slammed him into a mirror. Good thing the mirror didn't shatter and cut them both.

This time no one was there to save him. No Ares, no one. It was just him and the beast choking him, squeezing hard on his throat.

Everything seems clear like the end is near.

He's dying to get out.

In the glass labyrinth, he's the mouse.

His breaths were coming in sharp gasps, trying to get some air. However, the more he tried, the more John pressed harder. Gripping onto John's hand wasn't helping either. He was just making it worse for himself.

Was he really going to die by John Wick hands? It had seemed exciting to fantasize about it, but experiencing it felt like nothing he had imagined.

Everything seemed to get dark when John let go of him and he collapsed onto his knees. Holding his throat as he coughed and gasped for air.

Why. Why didn't he kill him?

He even had a gun. Why didn't he shoot him?

But instead started choking him and now let him go?

He can feel the fatigue but he's dying to shine.

While Santino was busy trying to catch his breath and not pass out, John crouched in front of him and pulled Santino's chin up so he makes eye contact with him.

"Good boy." John told him and smiled.

It made Santino feel even more sick. He was so confused, yet he could feel himself slightly blushing. Oh the praises-

What the hell?

John must've noticed how Santino was looking puzzled, so he chuckled before speaking, "Wasn't this exciting, Santino? Isn't this what you wanted?" He teased him, tracing his thumb near Santino's lips.

"Y-you can't be serious.." Santino breathed out weakly. Eye to eye with him, like this. So vulnerable, exhausted. "I can." John replied. "I thought you wanted this." He stood up, admiring the way Santino didn't even try to fight back anymore.

Not that he could. Not like this. Santino had to look up at him, seeing how John sighed in pleasure from this sight.

Knelt in front the boogeyman, lo spettro, looking up innocently.

"Yeah, you liked it. Look at you..." John murmured softly, smirking at him, going through his hair with his fingers. Santino shivered a little.

Fuck. He really...liked it.

"John...don't do this.." Santino muttered, but continued to look at him. "Hm?" John hummed playfully. "Let me go.." Santino said quietly, trying to stand up only for John to grab him by his throat again.

But gently.

Santino whimpered. Dammit, John is playing with his prey.

The whimper. The sign of weakness and vulnerability. John loves that. Especially in Santino D'Antonio. A crime lord, the Camorra prince.

"Good boy. That's what I wanted to hear. I'm going to need to hear a lot more." John purred, smirking at him.

Blushing. Oh fuck- he was so fucking flustered and...turned on at the same time. Under John's hand. Being called a good boy.

'I don't want to fail.'

But all the stairwells lead straight to hell.

Maybe he finally reached the point of no return.

It's just a game he plays.

Here in this labyrinth,

He's trapped.

[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 :)))

[tobytheeggo]

OH MA GOODNESS :3

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

I hope this will suffice :]

[corleonecaretaker]

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

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

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

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

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

Urgent Business

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine then. Show me how much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[johnwickcaretaker]

🖤💙 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅𝑺𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕 💙🖤

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

[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.

[weirdo1next1door]

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

[kavalyera]

john wick incorrect quotes (ship version)

[mrssimply]

The Burning of Rome

Read the fic on AO3

[please make me happy and open it on its own tab or big enough to see the details - Thank you]

This drawing has an older sibling here

[thewhumpcaretaker]

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

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

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

🖤💙 Walking Home 💙🖤

TW: alcohol, arguing

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

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

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

“And you don’t?”

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

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

And from there, things…escalated.

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

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

It was then that he heard someone calling his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bluelolblue]

I still think to this day about the scene where Santino kept asking John how he is gonna kill him and after John replied with "My hands" my man goes "Ah, how exciting" and the way he fucking said that- AUGHH (Riccardo did such a good job).

I am convinced he has a degradation kink AND a praise kink, (probably a few others too).

Why praise kink? Have y'all heard him say "bravo" in deleted scenes? He likes to give praises...and be praised. I bet he likes being called "a good boy".

WAIT HOLD ON A NEW IDEA HEAR ME OUT-

A different ending where John somehow caught Santino and indeed ended up choking him but instead of killing him like that, he let's him go and says "Good boy." So, John ends up mocking him the way Santino mocked him AND GETS SANTINO SO EMBARRASSED AND FLUSTERED-

This just made me want to write a short fic with that ending 🌚

[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.

[tobytheeggo]

More blue (with MarkerMischief dolls) :3

@bluelolblue

[corleonecaretaker]

✦ ℍ𝕚𝕥 𝕄𝕖 ✦

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

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

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

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

Image Sources: One | Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough. “Do that one more time.”

Santino took a long drag, and obliged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael’s heart wouldn’t stop racing.

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

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

The move was answered with a slap across the face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hit me,” he muttered.

A slap across the face. Good. Fucking good.

“Hit me.” Louder this time.

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

“Hit harder!”

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

“I SAID HIT ME! HIT ME HARDER!”

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

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

And Don Corleone came inside his filthy rich suit.