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happy74827 · 1 month

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One Call Away

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: During one of his "jobs," Deadpool gets a call from his favorite gal [GIF Creds: jdsheart]

WC: 1970

Category: Fluff, Major Comedy {TW: Deadpool’s Humor/Nonfiltered Personality}

This man is so hard to write. I’m always stressing the noggin when it comes to planning and plotting 😔

『••✎••』

"And away we go..."

One neck crack and a couple of hip twists later, he was off like Aladdin and his fucktoy carpet, scaling the building similarly to a chameleon on LSD.

The only thing that was missing was some epic music.

He'd been chasing this baddie around the city for almost two days now. Some big-shot mob boss with ties to Hydra, or the Mafia, or the Yakuza, or some other three-letter-acronym organization. It was hard to keep track of them all at this point. They were all the same, except for the name.

They all had their own agenda.

Kill him, keep him prisoner, pay him off...

Wade never cared enough to listen because it was always the same. He just got hired to do the dirty work, and the pay was good.

The killing was better.

This one, however, was particularly good at eluding him. He'd been trying to get his hands on this man for a few days now. It wasn't as though he was trying to be stealthy or anything, either. He'd walked right up to his front door, knocked, and was greeted with a spray of machine gun bullets.

So, the usual.

But then the guy ran and didn't stop. It was like the fucking Roadrunner met Sonic the Hedgehog, and they decided to fuck around and find out.

Wade was getting real sick and tired of being a Roadrunner, too. He had a reputation to uphold. He wasn't known as the Merc with the Mouth for nothing. He was supposed to be the one doing the running and the killing.

Not the other way around.

Finally, finally, he managed to reach the roof where the guy was currently taking cover behind a small brick shack. The sun was rising, but it was still dark, and there were a couple of floodlights shining on the rooftop. It made him think of the night he'd had that heart-to-heart with Blind Al, even though all she really wanted was for him to bring her some of that special brownie mix.

What a night that had been.

But anyway, this monologue is starting to get too long, and we should probably move things along, eh?

Right.

So, the baddie.

His name was something long and non-English.

Salvatore, or Santino, or Salvation... Whatever the fuck it was, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that it was time to make him dead.

He stepped around the corner and was met with a spray of bullets, all of which lodged themselves into his Kevlar vest.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled over the sound of the gunfire. "This is real leather, you know. I'm tired of all the offscreen sewing and shit."

When the spray finally ended, he took a moment to catch his breath.

"…ow," he whispered to himself.

"You shouldn't have followed me here," the man said.

"Yeah, whatever," Deadpool replied. "Look, I'll make this easy for you. You drop down and give me fifty, and I'll let you keep that hideous mustache you're sporting."

The man's eyes widened in surprise.

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"Yes, yes it is," Deadpool assured him. "You got a squirrel living in it or something?"

"It's just a little bit of gray, you dick," the man argued. "What about you? What's with the mask? Are you hiding a mustache under there, too, or something? Maybe some acne scars?"

Deadpool shook his head and stepped forward, his guns drawn.

"Don't come any closer!"

"You know, this would be much more intimidating if you didn't look like a cartoon mouse."

"Stop it with the mustache!"

"Alright, alright," Deadpool said. "Enough with the mustache. But what is it about your hairline? I can't put my finger on it."

The man sighed in exasperation and pulled out his pistol, aiming it right at Deadpool's face.

"Hey now, don't point that at me," Deadpool scolded him. "That's not a very nice thing to do."

He ignored him and pulled the trigger, a loud boom ringing out as the bullet fired. It whizzed by him but missed its mark.

"You really are a dick," He grumbled before aiming his gun right between the man's eyes. And he was going to shoot, honest.

He really was.

But then his phone rang, and he was well-reminded of the current song playing through his head.

I'm a buff baby that can dance like a man. I can shake-ah my fanny, I can shake-ah my can!

Needless to say, he was distracted.

He lowered his gun and looked down at his pocket, where his phone was still ringing and still vibrating against his leg.

"Shit, hold that thought," He said to the guy, and he holstered his gun.

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?!"

Deadpool put his finger up to shush him before pulling his phone out of his pocket to answer it.

If you're an evil witch, I’ll punch you for fu—

"Heyyyy," he said in a sing-songy voice, "you've reached the phone sex hotline. For kinks and fetishes, press one. For booty calls, press two. For your favorite mercenary, press three."

"Ey, pendejo—" His opponent started, but he cut him off by snapping and raising his finger.

"Cut it, Tuco Salamanca. Breaking Bad called and wants its meth-cooking mustache back."

"Wha-I-you-"

"Anyways, this is your favorite merc speaking. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

"Is this a bad time?"

Wade's eyes widened in shock, and his jaw dropped open when he heard her voice on the other end of the line.

"Baby girl! Is that you? Oh, how I've missed your voice. It's like hearing an angel, or an angelic chorus, or a whole bunch of angels, but you're the most important one. Like, the lead singer or something."

"I literally saw you last night." Your voice was always drenched with the most amazing kind of sarcasm, and he'd missed it.

"And?"

"It's only been a few hours."

"And?"

"That's a short amount of time."

"And?"

You sighed, but he knew you weren't really annoyed.

"Anyways, you sounded busy," you continued, "so I'll just let you go."

"What?! No! Don't hang up!" He shouted into the receiver. "I've only fiddled with my pistols! Nothing interesting is happening right now!"

"Your pistols, huh?" You asked a hint of mischief in your voice.

"Well, yeah. They're the most important part of the mission, you know."

In the corner of his eye, he could see his target making his way towards the edge of the building. Quickly and efficiently, without dropping his attention from his conversation with you, he lifted his gun and fired a shot at the man's knee.

"Ah, fuck!" the man screamed in pain. "My knee!"

"Hey! Language!" Deadpool scolded him. "The lady of the house is listening!"

"Lady of the- what the fuck?!"

"I said language, you mustachioed rat!"

"Mustachioed rat?" You asked.

"Sorry, babe," he replied. "You know how excited I get when Downtown Abbey is on."

“There’s gunshots in Downtown Abbey?"

"Gunshots? Oh, no, no. That was… uh, a car alarm. Yeah, the neighbor's car alarm was going off."

"Uh-huh," you said, not sounding very convinced. And, of course, that was right around the time the guy's gun went off again, this time hitting him square in the shoulder. It made the phone fall out of his hand and clatter onto the ground, but the call was still connected.

"Dammit!" He yelled, looking at the fresh blood dripping down his arm. "That's gonna take forever to heal!"

"Who are you talking to?" The man demanded, his gun still aimed at Deadpool's face. "You're working with someone?"

"Hey, now, I don't remember giving you permission to talk," Deadpool told him, holding his bloody arm up to his face. "Look, I've gotta call you back, babe. I know it's been so heartbreakingly long—"

"Again, only a few hours," you said.

"—but duty calls. Love you, bye."

"Love you, bye."

With that, the line disconnected.

"Ugh," he groaned, his heart aching for the loss of your sweet voice. "I miss her already."

"Ey," his opponent growled, drawing his attention. He started speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, which Deadpool didn't really understand, but he didn't have to. The guy was just ranting and raving.

"Alright, alright, chill," Deadpool said. "Just calm down. It’ll all be over soon, little buddy."

"I am not little! I am a giant!" The guy protested, and Wade could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "And I will not chill!"

"Well, can't argue with that, I guess," Deadpool said with a shrug, and he took aim. But before he could pull the trigger, the guy was running again.

"Hey, what did I tell you about running?!" He yelled, but his voice fell on deaf ears as the guy reached the ledge.

"I am a giant!"

"No, you're a giant asshat!"

"I will not be bested by some masked buffoon!"

"Buff? Me? Why, I never!"

"You're the biggest asshole I've ever met!"

"You know what? I am a big ass! A big, round, bubbly ass." He paused for a second. "Hey, what's your favorite flavor?"

"Fuck you, you red-clad imbecile!"

"You know, I'd ask you out to dinner first, but we're kinda past that now."

"Argh!"

"Alright, enough stalling," Deadpool said. "It's time to end this."

"Yes," the guy said, turning his gun back on Deadpool. "It is."

Of course, Deadpool being the smart-ass he was, he'd already taken a step to the side. As the bullet whizzed past him, he reached for his gun.

"Now, where did I put that thing? Oh, there it is."

He aimed the gun and fired, and the man fell back onto the ground. The bullet hit him right in the middle of his forehead, his blood splattering all over the concrete.

"Ha ha! Fatality. Deadpool wins!" He said, his voice taking on the deep, grounded tone of the narrator from Mortal Kombat. "Flawless Victory."

He stood over the body for a few seconds, reveling in his victory, before he felt the presence of another.

The gun on his right side got ripped from its holster, and the barrel was aimed back into his face, as it always seems to be.

But, he already sensed it was coming, so his fingers wrapped around his other and aimed that right in the golden spot… and let’s just say, The Golden Girls was a little less golden and a lot more crimson.

"Wow, this has got to be a record," He said as he bent down to stare at the new one’s anguish. "Two dead ugly mustaches in the same day. You can call me Sweeney Todd because shit… I just shaved you the fuck up."

He didn’t give the poor bastard a chance to even whimper before he fired another two shots into the man's head. All in all, this had been the easiest payday he'd had in a while.

He picked up his cell phone and slipped it back into its pocket before bending down and scooping up the mustache man's pistol.

"Ooh, lookie here, a nice, shiny new pistol," he said to himself. "Just what I've always wanted. Well, I don't actually need it. It's not like I have any other holes in my body, but you know what they say. The more the merrier."

He stuffed the gun in his holster and turned around, heading back the way he'd come.

"Time to get back to the good stuff," he said. "I have a date with my favorite girl."

He hopped up onto the ledge and looked down, his eyes locking on the window to his apartment.

And when he arrived, bloody and battered, you could only smile while holding up little ole Mary Puppins in all her drooling glory.

God, how he missed his girls.

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thewhumpcaretaker · 2 months

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HIIIIIIII

This randomly showed up in my head yesterday, perfect for the hurt/comfort hyperfixation that I've been feeling lately :P

Santino and John having an argument about idk what, but it got too much for Santino and when John got closer to him just because he actually wanted to calm him down because he realized how much upset Santino got, Santino slapped him.

And Santino immediately regrets it and starts crying and apologizing how he didn't mean to do that and wants to kiss John's burning cheek. And John hugs him and rubs his back, murmuring to him that it's okay, he is not mad or anything and lets him cry into his shoulder.

Brb crying 😭

Oh wow, this one is so sad 😭 I took it a little bit darker I think (as I usually do, hahaaa) because I think a slap like that would trigger John. He's been in too many fights, and Santino is normally one of the few people he can feel safe with, so it would actually be really upsetting for him and Santino has to comfort him too.

♥♥ A Slap From a Saint ♥♥

Disclaimer: Do not try this at home!! This is an abusive scenario. If someone puts hands on you in the heat of an argument, even just a slap, my advice would be to LEAVE. Don’t come back until they’ve had a lot of therapy, if at all.

TW: argument, slap, discussion of smoking and addiction

“Stop throwing out my fucking cigarettes! I TOLD you – “

“No. I’m not gonna let you smoke yourself to death.” Santino was rifling through his desk looking for any more, but he wasn’t going to find any. John had gotten to those too. The argument had started when Santino noticed them missing from the nightstand. Then he checked the bathroom cabinet and they were gone from there as well. If John had done his job well (and he thought he had), then Santino wouldn’t find any in the whole house. Granted, he would just buy more. But having to do that so urgently might at least force him to face the problem.

John just watched him while he slammed drawers shut. He looked tired. Worked up. He was frowning, with deep bags under his eyes. It had been a long day, John knew, and he was expecting a smoke when he got home. John felt really bad for him.

“You know, you have no right! It’s my business if I smoke or not. I can do what I want with my own health. You always fucking act like you know what’s best and I’m sick of it.”

“I’m trying to protect you,” John growled.

He glared, and grabbed his keys. “I’m going to the gas station.”

John stepped in his path. “Stop and think for half a second. You have to go to the gas station, right now? You’re addicted, Santino. I want to hear you say it.”

A terrified looked flashed through Santino’s eyes. He looked like he was about to break down, so John took a step forward. Too late, he realized that could make Santino feel even more cornered. Before he knew it, all of that nervous energy went straight into Santino’s arm and he slapped him across the face.

The room was suddenly very quiet.

“Fanculo. Cosa ho fatto… [Fuck. What did I do…]” Santino backed away from him in horror like he expected to receive the same thing back tenfold. Maybe because of the inadvertent, instinctual rage that had just hardened John’s features. “…I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you, I’m – I’m having a visceral reaction. Give me a second.” He shut his eyes and breathed. Not this from Santino…there were so few places he felt safe. So few people he felt safe with… He felt himself going into fighting mode. Everything shutting down. Danger everywhere. And just wave after wave of anger, physical anger. It demanded to be channeled into something so he channeled it into holding perfectly still, his muscles so frozen that they ached.

This was absurd. It’s just a slap. He didn’t even hit you. Don’t make this a whole thing. It barely even stung, and they’d fought hand to hand before, grabbed each other by the throat. But this was different. This wasn’t because they were enemies, or rivals over a contract. It was because Santino couldn’t see past his own rage long enough to hold back. To hold back like John was doing now, for his sake. For an instant, he felt terribly alone, as if Santino didn’t care for him in return. He was willing to hold himself back, but Santino couldn’t do the same for him, never learned how.

Never learned how. Never learned. Be patient with him.

There was something against his cheek. Flutteringly light, like a butterfly. He opened his eyes and realized Santino was kissing him, right over the spot that he’d struck. John sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. They looked at each other, both terribly sad and not fully knowing what to do.

“Please say something, John. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. How do I make this right? You can slap me back if you want.”

“No. I don’t,” he said firmly, and pulled Santino into his arms.

“Then what do I do?” His head was buried in John’s chest. All the anger of their fight was burned away and he started sobbing.

“Hey, it’s okay. You saw what I did there? I took a minute? Do that next time. I’ll show you. We’ll work on it.”

“But what about this time? I wish I could take it back.”

“Well…that’s what happens when you hurt someone. You can’t undo it.” John knew that better than anybody. “But I forgive you.” He sighed deeply through the heaviness in his lungs and rubbed Santino’s back, waiting for him to grow calm again.

“I don’t deserve you. I’m violent, John. You were just trying to help me…”

“I was,” John said. “I’m still going to.”

He clung to John, with his fists closed on the back of his shirt. “Okay. I won’t go to the gas station. And…and I’ll do what you say next time I get angry. I don’t ever want to hurt you again.”

He almost laughed at that. “You couldn’t hurt me, love. Even if you tried.” Santino laughed too, a little bitterly. It was true – at the end of the day, John could take him in a fight. “But…thank you. It means a lot to me that you don’t want to. I know that’s not who you want to be.”

He pulled back to look John in the eyes, despite the mess that his face had become. “It’s not who I want to be. And I won’t be, I absolutely refuse.” There was his stubbornness, put to good use for once. John took in the sight with deep fondness.

“You’re a good person, Santino.”

He just shook his head. “If I’m a good person, you’re a saint.”

“And you’re my little saint, getting better every day.” John kissed the top of his head. “I’ll guard you. Even from yourself.”

#john x santino #santino d'antonio whumpee #john wick caretaker #rage whump #// addiction #// smoking

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multific · 1 year

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Flames of Love

Vincent de Gramont x Reader

Summary: Your marriage has gone cold, and you don’t know how to reignite the flames.

Every time you looked at him, it was as if he was a different man.

He used to look at you with such adoration and love. One could be fooled if that even happened.

Now, Vincent looks at you as if you were not even there. Looks right through you. Most of the time, he ignores you.

You never thought marriage with him would be like this. He promised you love and care and yet here he was, not even talking to you. Barely a year into your marriage.

And you weren't even sure how it started.

Was it the wedding? John Wick? Winston? Did you do something? Did he find someone else? Did he grow tired of you? You weren't sure.

You tried to catch his attention, more than once. You wore dresses he liked, you often went to bed wearing nice things. You desperately tried to impress him. One time even walked into his office at night barely wearing anything and all he had to say was, 'You will catch a cold.' before he returned to his papers.

Sure, being a member of the High Table was a difficult and busy task. But this was no way to treat you.

As your anniversary approached, you thought about this all. About your relationship before, about it now, about the High Table and the changes in his job.

On your anniversary, you wore a nice red dress as you sat at the dining table and ate alone.

He arrived just as you finished your main course.

He took a look at you before turning to the bedroom. And you had enough.

Busy job or not, you won't do this anymore.

You followed him and found him in the bedroom, getting ready for a shower.

"Happy Anniversary Vincent." you said as you leaned against the door frame. He didn't even turn to look at you or said a word, he just nodded once. "Your gift will be on your table tomorrow, you will just have to sign at the bottom." this got his attention as he looked at you, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh! He talks! So, I'm not invisible! Divorce papers my dear."

"Divorce?"

"Of course. I refuse to stay in a marriage where I'm being ignored most of the time."

"I'm a busy man."

"And I would understand that. But you were busy before we got married. Yet, you still found time to at least tell me that you were sorry when a date got cancelled or something!"

"I'm not signing your papers. We are not getting a divorce."

"You failed as a husband. It might be hard for you to accept. But you did. You failed because I would have understood if you told me that you were busy, but you ignored me."

"You have no idea how much I work. You don't do anything all day."

"You asked me to stop working. You did so you could take care of me and have me closer. That is what you said, Vincent. So, for you to throw it at me right now..."

"We are not getting a divorce."

"Okay, fine."

"When did you take your ring off?" he asked as he only now noticed the two rings missing from your finger.

"I sent you a text today, asking you to have dinner with me. Now I know you are good with dates so you must have known what day it is. And yet, when you arrived home, you just ignored me."

"Why did you take your ring off?"

"Because I am not treated as your wife, why should I be your wife then?"

With that, you turned to leave.

Avoiding him at all costs and in the morning, you got on a plane and left for Italy to visit an old friend.

"Bella!" the man yelled as you stepped out of the car. "Beautiful as ever."

"Santino, thank you very much." you smiled as he walked over to you and kissed you on the cheeks.

"Truly beautiful. Where is that husband of yours?"

"He was too busy, so he couldn't come."

"Oh, trouble in paradise, I see." you wanted to roll your eyes at him but he quickly grabbed you and guided you into his beautiful home.

Santino was truly a joy to be around. As much as people hated him, he was a great friend of yours who always made you laugh.

He wanted you to marry him. Asked you many times but you always refused. You knew you didn't love him like that.

At dinner, he talked about his newest achievements, since he didn't have anyone to talk to, he was happy to see you.

"The last time I saw you, Bella. You were glowing. And now... you look sad."

"Last time you saw me it was on my wedding day."

"Has he been treating you well?" you giggled remembering his threat towards Vincent on your wedding.

"I would say he hasn't been treating me at all. He mostly just ignores me."

"French..." he made a face. "I hope it gets fixed for you, Bella. You deserve happiness."

"Thank you." you smiled at him as dessert was brought out.

---

It was your fifth day in Santino's gorgeous palace. There was just something about the air in Italy.

You sat out in the garden enjoying the sun and the amazing view.

Suddenly the chair next to yours was pulled out as someone sat down. You thought it was Santino but no, you turned and in fact, it was Vincent.

He was looking at you as your eyes met before you looked away from him.

"I hope you came to give me the signed papers." you said after a couple minutes.

"I'm not signing them, I love you." you made a face at that.

"You don't shut out people you love."

"I'm not like other people. I'm messed up, you knew that. I shut you out and focused on my new tasks. I worked too hard to lose my place in the High Table. It was as if I had to choose."

"And you did. You chose power."

"And now, I'm choosing you."

You let out a sigh.

"I know I failed. What you said was true. I failed you as a husband after I promised you I won't. My reason was that I finally got the power and respect I craved for and I didn't want to lose it. I took you for granted when I shouldn't have."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"To me, it does. I don't want to lose you."

"I need time to think. It is why I came here in the first place."

Silence filled the air. You only heard the wind blowing the trees and the birds.

"Do you love him?" his voice was barely audible. It could have fooled you. You honestly thought he didn't say anything but you looked at him, only to find him looking back at you.

"Santino?"

"Yes, do you love him?"

"He's my friend, he has always been."

"He loves you. He nearly shot me when I told him I want to see you."

"I don't love him. He is a friend."

"He protected you the way I should have. He provided for you the way I should have. I'm sorry. Truly sorry for failing."

"I need time to think." he nodded before standing up.

"Call me when you are ready."

You watched him as he left.

You felt like a piece of your heart left with him.

---

It honestly took you three days to fully think about everything.

You understood his reason, you could also see the regret in his eyes. He hurt you and yet, you still loved him deeply.

Somehow you were ready to forgive him.

You texted him the next morning.

You were in Santino's living room when Vicent arrived.

"Bella, if you need anything, let me know." Santino said before giving one last look to Vincent as he walked towards his office.

Vincent walked over to you, sitting down on the couch.

"You know that I love you. But I'm not going to forgive you all the time. I'm willing to give you another chance, but you have to talk to me. Don't lock me out and be the proud man that you are. It's okay to have insecurities it's okay to say if something is too much. I'm there for you to talk to. So, please, Vincent." he nodded as he grabbed your hand placing a kiss on the back of your hand. He smiled as he noticed the ring on your finger.

"Thank you. Truly. I promise I'll be better, Mon Amour."

You let out a sigh as he kissed your hand one more time.

You knew you were a fool for him. But you also could see the determination in his eyes.

He leaned over to kiss your lips.

...

Santiago watched the whole scene play out in his living room on the laptop.

He knew you would always choose Vincent, so he wasn't surprised.

But when Vincent's hand moved a bit too low for his liking, he barged out of the office, cursing in Italian.

"Not on my couch!" he yelled which caused you to giggle.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

Vincent Taglist: @l4venderia

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR PLAGARIZE ANY OF MY WORKS

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 9 months

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The Breaking Point

This fic is a sequel to To Be His Good Girl

Edit: I've removed my SPN kink Event bingo card, because I was reminded that Soldier Boy isn't part of SPN. 🤦‍♀️ The story hasn't changed at all.

Summary: Y/N has been acting up for days, and she won't explain herself to Ben. He may just reach his breaking point.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Pretty filthy smut. BDSM. Dom/sub. Dom Ben (Soldier Boy). Sub Reader. Disobedient Reader. Crying Reader. Lots of talk of punishments and discipline. Spanking. Paddling. Pussy Spanking. Mentions of Caning (breasts). Slight Bondage. Intense pain as pleasure dynamics. Light Fingering mentioned. Sir!kink.

Pairings: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Word Count: 3,925

A/N: Okay, so "To Be His Good Girl" was supposed to be a one and done fic. However, I've had a few requests to carry on the story, and then I found the above bingo card, and I thought it fit into Ben and Y/N's story pretty well. There is a third part to this little story. It's called, "When is it Enough?" and it will be out on Wednesday, January 10. It will fill my BDSM square for the above card. Hope you enjoy, and I know this story won't be for everyone, so PLEASE heed the warnings. ❤️

The dividers used here are created by @silkholland

Y/N and Ben moved in together not long after her first round of discipline. They spent a lot of time in the first month testing boundaries, pushing Y/N’s limits of what she could take. Ben was amazed by her constantly. They had regular discipline sessions, where he would test her and push her to see if she would continue to obey him no matter what, and she almost always did. When she failed his tests, she took her punishments well. Even if she was being punished for purposely acting bratty, which had only happened a handful of times - mostly just to get a rise out of him - she quickly became remorseful when he corrected her behavior.

Their discipline sessions had never failed to leave both of them sated and happy.

Then one random Tuesday, four months into living together, Ben came home to find Y/N completely withdrawn. He thought maybe she was just hormonal, as women tended to be once a month, and he let the attitude slide for a day or so. When she didn’t improve, he threatened her, promising her if she didn’t smarten up, he’d make sure she couldn’t sit down for a week. The effectiveness of the threat barely lasted the day however, and by the next morning, she was back to grouching and sulking around the apartment.

Ben awoke that morning as he felt her shifting out of his arms and getting up. Then he heard her growl angrily as she stubbed her toe on the bedside table. “Piece of shit.” She grumbled to herself as she fell back to the mattress she’d just risen from. He reached out to rub her back but she stood up again, pulling away.

“Hey.” Ben said, voice still croaky with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N just shook her head. “Nothing, I’m just running late.” She told him, and she rushed out of their room to shower.

When she came back to the room, wrapped in a towel, Ben was gone, and she sat at her vanity and brushed her wet hair, shivering as cold droplets of water dripped from the ends. She glanced in the mirror and then quickly away. She didn’t really want to look at herself at the moment.

Ben came back into the room with a tray of delicious smelling food. Y/N frowned. “You cooked?”

He snorted at the ridiculous question. “Of course not, I got the doorman to order us breakfast from Santino’s.”

Y/N nodded, but her frown stayed in place. “You know, that’s not really his job.” She said, voice chiding.

Ben looked at her for a minute. “Well I tipped him a hundred dollar bill, so I don’t think he minded.” He shook his head. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been in this mood for days and I’m getting fucking sick of it.”

Y/N shrugged and mumbled. “Sorry.”

Ben set down the tray and caught her wrist as she stood up from the bench. “No, I mean it now, seriously Y/N, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I told you. Jesus, just fucking drop it.” She barked at him.

Ben’s scowl darkened and he quickly sat down on the bench she’d just vacated, yanking her across his lap. He pushed her towel up so her bare ass was exposed, swiftly cracking his palm down onto her damp skin.

Y/N screeched and fought against his hold. But he subdued her easily and delivered five more blows. “Explain your attitude right now.” He demanded.

Y/N sniffled. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m just…I've just been sleeping badly.”

Ben turned her in his arms so he was cradling her. “Yeah, I noticed. What’s causing the bad sleep?”

Y/N just shrugged and wiped her nose. “I dunno.” She said in a small voice.

Ben knew she was lying, but she looked up at him with her big, sad eyes. “I’m really sorry, B-, I mean, sir. I’ll behave myself, I promise.”

He knew he was being too soft with her; the attitude she’d been giving him for days now demanded punishment. But he found himself reluctant. He knew she was hiding something from him. She’d been fine on Tuesday morning when he left for the Tower - her usual sweet, bubbly, occasionally precocious self - but when he returned that evening she’d been moody and closed off.

This brief spanking was the only consequence he’d doled out so far even though she’d been snapping at him and unresponsive for days. He contemplated flipping her back over and continuing the spanking, but her jutting bottom lip and watery eyes worked far too well on him and he sighed and stood her up beside the bench.

“Get into bed, eat some food, and then get some more sleep.” He ordered.

“Yes, sir.” She said, obeying reluctantly.

But over the next two days nothing really improved. She wasn’t snapping at him as often, but she was still quiet and subdued. Ben tried a few times to distract her, kissing her and touching her gently, but though she never denied him, her responses were far from passionate and Ben wasn’t about to force her to sleep with him.

Finally, nearly a week after her moodiness had begun, she pushed Ben a step too far, and he realized he had no choice but to take action, for her sake.

They were eating dinner and Y/N started to pour a cup of coffee to have with dessert. But Ben stopped her. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be drinking coffee so late in the evening. You’re having a hard enough time sleeping as it is.”

She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.” She said as she poured herself a cup from the carafe on the table.

“Y/N, I said no.” His voice was firm, but she just ignored him and took a deep gulp of coffee.

He grabbed onto her wrist to stop her drinking more. “Did you hear me?”

Y/N yanked her arm out of his grasp, her face thunderous, temper ignited. “I heard you, but why do you fucking care?” Y/N screeched. She threw the cup of hot coffee at him and it smashed against the arm he held up in front of his face just in time.

As he lowered his arm he saw Y/N’s jaw drop, almost as though she was unable to believe what she’d just done. “Ben, oh god, I don’t…” She trailed off, her hands covering her mouth.

Ben brushed away the chips of pottery that clung to his shirt from the smashed mug. His voice was ice when he spoke.

“Get into that fucking bedroom, and get into position. Right fucking now.”

“Ben -”

“Now!” He bellowed and Y/N bolted out of the room.

Ben bent to pick up all the broken pieces of the cup and sank into his chair. He shook his head; she’d left him no choice.

***

Y/N sat on her knees in her bra and panties, head bowed, waiting for Ben to come dole out punishment. She knew she deserved whatever she got. She couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to correct her behavior. She knew she was being insufferable and incredibly disobedient. But she couldn’t pull herself out of this place she’d sunk after the phone call on Tuesday morning.

Ben walked in and Y/N’s breathing picked up. He came to stand directly in front of her but she kept her head lowered until he spoke.

“Look at me.”

Y/N looked up and the unrelenting anger on his face made her shiver. He was dressed in his green super suit as he always was when he was disciplining her.

“Obviously,” he started, “I’ve been far too lenient with you this week. I was hoping that little spanking the other day would be enough to straighten you out, but I was very wrong. So now…it’s clearly time for something more severe.”

He walked away but Y/N didn’t let her eyes follow him, dropping her gaze back to the ground. She could hear him moving things around in their closet and knew he was digging out the instruments of her punishment. She heard the snap of a leather belt and closed her eyes.

After five minutes of silence Ben returned to stand in front of her and tilted her chin up so she was looking at him again. “My over-the-knee spanking clearly wasn’t enough to set you straight, so I’ll have to try a little harder.”

He snapped his fingers and she knew that was her cue to stand. “Bend over the end of the desk, arms out to the sides. Hold on.”

Y/N did as she was told. From behind her, Ben continued explaining.

“I’m going to spank you in three different ways. There's power in threes, it really drives home a point. First, I'll use a wooden paddle on your ass. Then, my leather belt on your pussy, and lastly, a cane to your tits.”

Y/N felt her breath kick up and fear lodge in her throat.

“You will receive a total of sixty strokes. Thirty with the paddle, twenty with the belt, and ten with the cane.”

Y/N’s stomach flip-flopped. “Sir, please…” she began, but Ben cut her off.

“And since you seem to enjoy quiet so much this week, you will take every single stroke without making a sound.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she looked over her shoulder, “Sir I-”

“Starting this second!” Ben barked out, immediately silencing her. “Face front.” He ordered and she swung her head back to face the door of the bedroom.

“I mean it, you disobedient little brat. I don’t want to hear a single word from you, not a whimper. If you cry, you'll do so silently.” He leaned close to her ear and growled his warning. “You disobey me again and you will regret it. Do you understand? You may speak to answer.”

“Yes, sir.” Y/N said, almost breathless.

“What will be the one exception to my rule of silence?”

“Belgium.” Y/N answered in a whisper, stating her safe word.

“That’s right.”

He straightened up and moved away to get the paddle. “Now, you’ve been paddled once before,” he said from across the room, “that time you came home late and didn’t call. But that was only ten strokes. No doubt, this will make a bigger impression.”

She heard him move into position behind her and then heard the familiar sound of the heavy wooden board whistling through the air before landing with a hard thwack on her ass; her white cotton panties offered very little protection and she bit down on her lip to stop from crying out.

“One.” Ben counted.

Once again the paddle whooshed through the air before it smacked hard against her ass, the sound of pine hitting skin reaching her ears just before the burning pain spread out across her ass cheeks.

“Two.”

And on he continued, spreading the blows across her whole ass, along with a few to the very tops of her thighs.

After the fifteenth blow, Ben stepped back and admired the red he could see blooming just under the bottom of her panties. The red of the spanking contrasted with the white cotton very nicely.

After giving her ass a moment’s break Ben gave his order. “Take your panties down. Leave them just at the top of your thighs.” He instructed not wanting to lose the pretty color contrast.

Y/N shifted painfully and pushed at her panties until they were down over her ass and framing her cheeks.

When he started in again Ben targeted the thickest part of her ass, just above her thighs. He maneuvered the paddle in an upswing and landed an incredibly stinging blow, making her flesh jiggle.

“Sixteen.”

After twenty strokes, the heat was radiating off of her ass like an oven. The apples of her ass cheeks were stained purple and red, thick welts decorating her soft skin. Ben could see her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

But he hardened his resolve and delivered the last ten strokes, the impact so hard that he raised her feet off the ground with every blow.

“Thirty.” He said as the last one landed. He moved away to set down the paddle and then came back to rub his hands across her bruised and battered ass.

“All of this could have been avoided, kitten, we could have been having a much more pleasant evening if you hadn't decided to act like such an unbearable brat all fucking week.”

Y/N nodded, remaining silent, and Ben sighed. “Stand up. Pull up your panties.”

She obeyed and when she moved to face him, Ben saw the pain that spasmed across her face and he wiped away some of the tears that still fell. “That’s gonna hurt a long time, baby. You’re probably gonna wear this lesson on your skin for a week or more.”

Y/N lowered her gaze and Ben recognized her look of true contrition. He tipped her chin up. “You may speak. Tell me what’s going on in your head. Why are you being so disrespectful?”

But though she had permission, she remained silent, merely shrugging and shaking her head.

Ben sighed again, more frustrated than ever. He shook his head and spoke with firm resolve. “Okay, you need more pain to remind you who you answer to, I guess.” He pointed angrily at the bed. “Lay down flat on your back, with your ass at the very foot of the bed.”

Y/N complied immediately. When she was laying flat, grimacing from the pain of the pressure on her abused ass, Ben approached, holding a rope, and grabbed her right ankle. He raised it high in the air and spread it out wide, strapping it to the bedpost tightly. He repeated the action with her left leg so she was stretched wide open, her cunt on full display.

Ben moved to the table where Y/N could now see he had his implements laid out. He picked up a particularly thick leather belt and brought it over to where she lay.

“Okay, kitten, same rules. Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll regret it. Belgium is there for you to use, always.”

Y/N nodded and closed her eyes, biting her lip. She’d had her pussy whipped a few times, but it was never more than a few strokes and even then the pain had been incredibly intense. At least these strokes weren’t going directly onto her clit.

But as Ben brought the leather down to crack against the incredibly delicate skin of her pussy, it didn't feel like much of a difference. She raised her hips off the bed in an instinctive need to get rid of the sting. Again her thin cotton panties were no barrier as Ben rained fire down onto her cunt.

“One.” He stated in a firm voice and Y/N wanted to weep at the idea of starting the pain over at one.

As Ben continued the punishment at a slow but steady pace, Y/N considered using her word and making him stop so she could spill her heart out to him, and try to make sense of the pain that had been sitting in her gut for a week, pain that stung almost as much as the blows landing on her skin.

But she was ashamed, she felt worthless, and she realized in that moment that she’d been egging Ben on all week, practically begging to be punished. She wanted to feel this pain, she couldn’t articulate her other pain, but this she could understand. She knew how to take this - this pain obscured the rest.

“Ten.” Ben called out with the latest blow. She knew what was coming before it happened as he set down the belt beside her head. He grabbed hold of her panties and shredded them as he ripped them from her body.

He looked down and clicked his tongue. “Jesus Christ, baby.” He pushed a finger through the dripping slick that glistened on her reddened pussy lips. “This is a punishment. You are not supposed to be getting off on it.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush. She couldn’t help the way her body responded to Ben’s punishments. The pain never failed to blossom into heat that swept through her whole body and made her pussy weep.

Ben tutted again before picking up the belt to continue. The next blow landed on her bare pussy and the agonizing, fiery sting made her bite her lip till it bled to stop from making a noise.

“Eleven.”

By the time he reached nineteen, Y/N had also curled her hands into such tight fists that there were crescent moons cut into her palms from her fingernails. And then he brought down the last stroke and it landed so hard that a short squeal burst out of Y/N's throat despite everything she was doing to keep silent.

Ben dropped his arm to his side and Y/N could hear the actual disappointment in his voice when he spoke; it made her want to cry.

“You are just determined to disobey me over and over. I thought you were my good girl. What's happened to my good girl, huh?”

Y/N pushed up on her elbows so she could see Ben's face. She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“Speak.” Ben said briskly.

“I didn't mean to sir. I'm so sorry. I'm trying to be your good girl. Please don’t hate me too.”

The words just slipped out of her and she hadn’t even known they were there.

Ben’s face darkened. “What are you talking about?” He asked. “Who said anything about hating you? I’m just disappointed. Disappointed that you’ve been disobeying me over and over, and yes, angry at your disrespect.”

He ran a soothing hand over her raw pussy, pushing his middle finger into her slick folds to tease her clit. Y/N gasped and then met Ben’s gaze and saw the truth in his bright, beautiful green eyes as he spoke.

“But Y/N, I discipline you because I care about you, so that you know I care about what we mean to each other, about our roles in this relationship. I punish you because I care about how you conduct yourself. And sometimes I discipline you with pain because I know you crave it, crave the release of it.”

Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as she realized just how right he was. She had been craving the release of pain, the release of the pain that sat unmoving in her heart. All week since the phone call with her father she’d been down, heartbroken and feeling worthless.

It had been almost a year since she’d spoken to him. He’d made it clear a long time ago that he thought she was just a pathetic loser, and he was ashamed of her. But she’d called to tell him that she was dating THE Soldier Boy, that they lived together in a fancy apartment and she was spoiled and cared for. She thought it might make him see her as valuable - the fact that someone important wanted her.

Instead he’d told her he wasn’t interested in hearing about her whoring ways, that he didn’t want to know what rich old man was acting as her sugar daddy. He’d called her disgusting and an embarrassment. He told her he didn’t want her associating with his new family, he didn’t want his children soiled by her.

The words had sunk deep into her skin and had been cutting her ever since.

Now, as she laid there, exposed and completely vulnerable, in the most visceral and literal way possible, she began to confess everything. Ben quickly untied her legs from the bedposts so he could sit beside her and pull her into his lap. She told him everything, whispering her father’s cruel words, embarrassed by how true they felt.

When she fell silent, Ben shook his head. “Y/N why wouldn’t you tell me this earlier? I would have handled your punishment very differently.”

She shook her head. “No, I wanted to be punished. I deserve it.”

Ben kissed her forehead. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t have punished you. You disobeyed me all week and refused to let me into your problems, you do deserve to be disciplined. But I told you, I would have done it differently.”

Y/N sniffed. “How?”

Ben smiled. “I would have taken you over my knee again. I would have held you close to me and reminded you over and over that I’m only punishing you because I know how special you are, because I know what a good girl you can be. I would have made sure you know that if I didn’t care about you,” he paused and then pressed a brief kiss to her lips, “if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t discipline you, I wouldn’t care enough to.”

He wiped away her tears. “And I would have made you come on my fingers between punishments to make sure you know that even though you might deserve to be punished sometimes, you definitely deserve to be pleasured all the time.”

Y/N’s tears ran unchecked once again as Ben continued. “Instead I was disciplining you harshly because I didn’t know what was causing your terrible behavior and I needed you to know I wouldn’t stand for it endlessly. I gave you so many chances this week, why didn’t you reach out to me?”

Y/N shrugged. “I was embarrassed. I was afraid that…” She buried her face in his chest, the material of his suit rough against her cheeks. “I was afraid you’d hear his words and think he was right.”

Ben huffed. “Ridiculous.”

“And,” Y/N continued, “and honestly I just couldn’t understand how I was feeling to even try to explain. Part of me wanted to not care about him, and part of me wanted to crawl into a ball and cry forever. So,” she shrugged again, “I just acted out.”

Ben sighed and then kissed the top of her head. “Well, I’d say your discipline has been severe enough. That can be all for tonight.”

But to his surprise Y/N shook her head. “No, don’t…you set out a punishment, I shouldn’t get out of it just cause I cried and finally told the truth. You taught me that. Once a punishment is set, it needs to be seen through, no matter how sorry I get after.”

Ben frowned. “But Y/N, I told you, if I’d known the truth, I would have disciplined you a lot less harshly.”

“But you only didn’t know the truth because I kept it from you.” When Ben opened his mouth to argue again, Y/N interrupted him. “Please, Sir.” She said in a whisper. “I need the pain. And I need you to…to show me you care enough to correct me when I do wrong.” She shrugged. “I also made a noise when it was forbidden to do so, so I need to be punished for that too.”

She looked up at him and her eyes were misty. “Let me show you that I can be your good girl again.”

Ben took a deep breath and nodded, pride shining in his eyes. “Then get down on your knees, kitten, and show me how good you are.”

Jensen:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@akshi8278

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

Any/All:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@eevvvaa

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

#soldier boy smut #spnkinkbingo #spnkinkevents #soldier boy x reader #ben x reader #bd/sm kink #dom/sub #heed the warnings

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corleonecaretaker · 2 months

Text

✦ 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.

#jw godfather crossover #saintangel #michael corleone x santino d'antonio #santino d'antonio #michael corleone #the godfather fanfic #john wick fanfic #wickblr #// smoking

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r1-jw-lover · 8 months

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Caine as John Wick's Mirror: Part 2

Part two?! Really?

Actually, I was quite satisfied with the analysis I previously wrote on Caine, but then I just rewatched the first John Wick movie and now I have even more thoughts to add on the subject matter.

So buckle up because this is going to be another long post.

Tagging @evren-sadwrn, @chaoticgardenbread and @jotunvali02 again. <3

In my last analysis, I have already compared Caine with Cassian due to how similar they function in relation to John within the John Wick universe. This time, let us compare Caine with the next most similar character to him in the John Wick franchise: Marcus.

On the surface level, Caine and Marcus have similar arcs within the movie they appeared in. They are both friends of John Wick who were recruited by the villain to hunt and kill the Baba Yaga but deep down were secretly on John Wick's side.

While Marcus agreed to Viggo's contract out of his own free will whereas Caine was blackmailed and threatened by the Marquis, they would eventually forsake the job given to them and choose to give John a helping hand in a moment of crisis, a decision they were willing to die for.

(The sad and tragic part of it is that only one survived and got to live out his happy ending and the other was punished for it and died.)

The more I think about it though, the more I feel this is where the similarities end.

For one, Marcus looked way older than John, likely closer to Viggo in age. Even so, he hadn't retired from the business, and was living quite comfortably in a large apartment in New York alone. (It's almost as if Marcus is an alternate version of John if he didn't choose to marry Helen and had continued to live on his life as an assassin.)

By comparison, John was retired, and while he had a large bungalow in the New York suburbs to live in, the large wide empty spaces of his home seemed to amplify how lonely John felt after losing Helen.

Marcus: How're you holding up? John: I kept asking why her. Marcus: There's no rhyme or reason to this life. It's days like today scattered among the rest.

As much as his comforting words were sound, Marcus was content with his own life, and John clearly wasn't. On top of the implication that Marcus didn't have any family whatsoever, you can see why John immediately questioned Marcus about his intentions of visiting him after Helen's funeral right after the quoted dialogue above.

John was too drowned in his grieving for his wife's passing at the time that no one's condolences, not even Marcus (the person who Viggo claimed John was close with), could truly comfort him.

Because John wasn't done grieving while he was alive, when Iosef killed Daisy, John went on a rampage to avenge his dog. When Santino burned down his house, John shot him on Continental grounds, the supposedly safest haven in the criminal underworld. When John sacrificed his ring finger to the Elder, he rebelled against the High Table's forces head on alongside the New York Continental.

You know what finally made John Wick stop running, accept his death and find his peace?

It was when Caine comes into the picture.

For the first time in a long time, John had found someone who's similar in age as him and in a position similar to him mentally and emotionally-speaking, more so than anyone else in the franchise.

Just like John, Caine was also retired. He was discontent with his life, and he was lonely, due to the sheer fact that Caine wasn't allowed to get close to his daughter.

Despite being on opposite sides, John and Caine were equally caged by a strong sense of helplessness internally. (Where John acted upon it with defiant rage, Caine responded with palpable fear.) That's why we're rooting for both of them to get their unconditional freedom, and why the sunrise duel is so important not just for plot reasons.

Unlike Marcus, Caine had an innocent family member at stake, and because John intimately knew how it felt to lose a loved one, he ultimately sacrificed his life so to prevent Caine from having to experience the same grief John had painstakingly gone through for four entire films.

And that's something John was finally willing to die for.

(It's unfortunate that within the same movie John had unknowingly created another John Wick in Akira, but that is an entirely different story altogether.)

#john wick #jw4 #john wick 4 #john wick chapter 4 #caine #caine jw #caine john wick #marcus jw #marcus john wick #john wick analysis #character analysis #keanu reeves #donnie yen #long post

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mrssimply · 5 months

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You shared the kiss prompt list so I get to make requests too, right? riiiight? Cause I would love John and Santino with a combo of #9...in public & #35...to gain something 😈

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I GET PROMPTS. LOOK AT THAT. 4K WORDS.

Also, you might note this is only "part I." because when I was figuring it out, I got two ideas. Wastly different ideas but I still decided to have them in the same fic, so now there is a part I. and part II.

I also used the opportunity to write an AU from my own fic (and isn't that narcisism at its peak?). It's a "what if" version of my HC.

So here goes Part I.

I put it on AO3 because it's too long for a simple Tumblr post, but here is the start.

-------------

The phone vibrated again on the side table.

Santino’s hands spasmed against the white linen of the sheets. He hissed as it reawakened the pain in his fingers. His left hand was totally useless, three of the fingers broken under his father’s shoes. It was his dominant hand, of course, he’d done that on purpose.

Blinking, he tried to focus on the ceiling, but only one of his eyes totally opened, and the room swam in front of his eyes, bringing a fresh wave of nausea. He shut his eyelids again with a shuddering breath, choking on the blooming agony coming from his side as he did so.

He heard high heels clicking on the sterile floor, the woman stopping by his bedside to take hold of the phone. The vibration stopped.

She sat on the edge of the bed, pushed back a curl from his forehead.

“How do you feel?” Gianna asked.

Trying to talk proved challenging: his throat was sore, but more than that, it felt like his whole face was a giant bruise. His jaw didn’t feel right, and there was a metallic aftertaste when he swallowed.

Still, he tried to push through, using his right hand to try and sit up. It didn’t work, alarm blaring in his body as wounds and bruises flared over his whole torso and right leg.

He stopped all efforts with a pitiful whine.

Gianna’s cool hand over his forehead felt like a blessing against his feverish skin.

The phone rang again.

They ignored it.

She helped him drink a few sips of water with a straw, using the bed’s control buttons to help him up just enough so he wouldn’t choke.

“Where…?” he tried to ask. She got it anyway.

“Still in New York, a private clinic. No one knows you’re here. Father wants you back in Naples as soon as you can move.”

Santino wanted to laugh but it came out as a sob. He blinked hard to stop the tears from falling, and it exhausted the little energy he had.

The smartphone buzzed once more.

Both siblings looked at it, at the name flashing on the screen until it stopped.

“He’s not gonna quit,” Santino told her. It hurt to move his lips, and his tongue felt heavy, but he knew he needed to deal with that soon.

Gianna sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose before nodding. She handed him the device, he took it with shaking fingers.

“You know what you have to do.”

He nodded, letting out a shuddery exhale.

This time, when the phone lit up in his hands, he accepted the call.

“Santino,” John breathed, relief coloring his tone.

“Hello love,” he replied softly in neapolitan, before letting the silence stretch.

“Where are you?”

Trust John to know something was wrong from two words. Or maybe it was the fact Santino had been gone for a day now, if he trusted the morning light coming from the window.

“I’m with Gianna,” the younger man replied. John wasn’t fooled.

“Where are you?” he insisted.

Behind him, Santino could hear the rumble of a car at high speed. John had been on a job for the Tarasovs in another state: a supplier that needed to take a step back and leave his second in command take the reins. When John was involved, taking a step back generally meant six feet underground.

His father must have known, Santino mused distantly, he would’ve waited for the right moment to corner his son alone. It also showed that despite his bravado, D’Antonio Senior was just like the others and feared John Wick.

“My father paid me a visit while you were gone,” Santino explained, feeling his throat close up. “He knows. About us.”

John stayed silent, taking the information.

“Where are you?” he repeated a third time, like the rest didn’t matter.

When he got like this, there was nothing to do, Santino knew that intimately. He’d experienced it numerous times, from John picking him up from his desk to carry him to bed like he weighed nothing, boxing Santino into corners when the young man got angry, waiting for the rage to pass and passively letting Santino snarl and bite him. When he looked at him as he undressed, the assassin’s complete focus on him, on each patch of revealed skin. Patiently waiting for the permission to come closer and—

“I’m already gone,” Santino replied, voice strained by heartbreak, “don’t come for me.”

He hung up, let the phone slide from his hand and clatter to the ground.

Gianna bent to pick it up, caressed his cheek gently, and left.

Read the rest on AO3

#john wick #santino d'antonio #TW child abuse #TW suicidal thoughts #TW fucked up family dynamics #TW homophobia

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lioncunt · 1 year

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what are your opinions on the different lestats? and louiss? claudias and armands?

tomstat: a fantastic lestat, did his homework, very fun very angry gave validation to everyone who thinks lestat is lying about his height. flamboyant and cruel and charming he captured it all very well. writing wise anne just didn’t incorporate anything from the other books so he was pretty shallow.

musicalstat: BORINGGGGFF anne tried to make him woe is me i did nothing wrong SHUT UUUUUUUP. i loved his storyline with nicki in this one even though it was less insane and complex and him and gabrielle had great moments but god he was so boring. hugh panera or whatever did a garbage job

qotdstat: still haven’t watched it but i hate him on principal

samstat: my bestest friend sam reid who lives in my hippocampus and we compare tvl annotations teehee. my little science experiment i love to poke him with a stick. yeah of course he’s the best lestat no comparison he’s possessed <3 and best written as well! even if he doesn’t reference macbeth </3

rat piss: the worst louis i’ve ever seen i hope he drowns in a puddle of his namesake! writing wise he’s meh i think cher would’ve done a much better job with the script

musicallouis: he’s such a cutie he just wants things to be chill…..plus he actually was visibly in love with lestat awwww embraaace it embraaaaace it. he should’ve been in it more as is the case with every iteration of louis since the dawn of time

jacoblouis: RAGGHHGGF RHFNENWK. my girlfriend my munchkin tootsiekins,,,,,,,my beauty my angel. best written best acted emmy tony grammy oscar olivier golden globe. i once had a dream i was married to jacob anderson

kirstenclaudia: LITTLE BABY she’s just a little baby she didn’t do anything that’s a baby. the cutest lil babe. they captured her so well in the movie i love her sooooo much

musicalclaudia: SO FUN her song is my favorite song in the show I WANT MORE I WANT MOOORE like yes and you should have more!! have whatever u want !!!!!! also should’ve been in it more she was great

baileyclaudia: MY LITTLE GIRL MY DAUGHTER she’s my actual child like actually. best claudia of course she’s amazing and beautiful and so talented <3 as will be delainey my other daughter <3 but yeah i love bailey’s claudia so much that when the news broke she wasn’t coming back i cried in real life and it wasn’t tearing up either!

banderasmand: meh. i love antonio banderas but he was Meh and i stand by that. i think by changing armand SO drastically you just kind of. lose the whole character. anyway he was a perfect santino!

drewmand: SO GOOD SO SO SO GOOD HOLY SHIT HES SUCH A GOOD ARMAND. even though he has super long straight hair in it i forgive him cause he has the voice of an angel

qotdmand: hate him on principle etc see above

assadmand: the real life armand the armand of my dreams and as a rashidmand truther from day one . and day one being WHEN HE WAS CAST. i knew i knew in my soul he was secretly armand i took one look at assad’s headshot and i said that is armand. and i was RIGHT. anyway he’s barely been in it but i know he’s the best <3

#interview with the vampire #ask #anonymous #vampire chronicles

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tobytheeggo · 2 months

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ExplodingKittens (Santino + Orin) story because I blacked out in an ArtFight Hitlist and this is the one time I wrote consistently

Keep in mind this was written for someone who probably knew nothing of the Franchise

Orin (The Catcher) is an assassin who very committed to their job, even being very skilled at it, but being ridiculed for dressing unseriously. Santino on the other hand, is a high ranking High Table member (different than associate) and is the co-leader of an Italian mob titled '(the) Camorra'. The two met after Orin received an internship from some string pulling by a higher up, thus leading to Orin becoming one of Santinos back up guards/on duty assassins.

Beforehand, Orin had already been crushing on Santino, being that he walked into the same hotel they were in for a meeting with the owner and Orin found him very appealing; so working alongside him was already a dream come true, but of course Orin kept it professional. One day however, it became to much to bear and it felt wrong to have feelings for your boss and just not say anything, so Orin told Santino, and he surprisingly didn't have an issue with the idea of dating them, thus the two becoming a couple.

Their personality's both combat and compliment each other as Santino is known for his selfish behavior and impulsive decisions, making him very power hungry and destructive; especially when doubling down on promises of respect. Orin however, even as an assassin, they can be described as very good-spirited and fair; someone who you can find a friend in, someone who's morally good if not for the assasinating. Together, Orin tries to bring out the good in Santino because they believe everyone has a little heart of gold if you search deep enough and Santino doesn't mind it, if anything he loves them deeply, and the feelings are shared mutually.

#explodingkittens #santino d’antonio #orin cassidy #the catcher #john wick oc #jw oc #writing #oc x cc #oc x canon #backstory

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theartofimagining13 · 2 years

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Hello sweetie. May I request #1 & #6 with Jonathan Pine and John Wick. Reading those two sentence prompts had me laughing 😆

AMBIENCE: The sounds of rain

WRITTEN BY: A.Wölf.

NOTES: These requests have taken me months to write and for that I am sorry but here's the link to the prompt list so we all know what we're dealing with lol [ Prompt list ]

Thanks for your patience <3

Jonathan Pine did not remember the last time he had slept without a gun under his pillow, but when he heard the metal screeching as the fire escape ladder outside of his partner’s apartment dropped down, he thanked that cautious sixth sense he’d been born with. It startled him awake him in the middle of the night but, in a swift motion, he grabbed his weapon and stood near the window with his back pressed to the wall. He stared at his lover who was in a deep slumber and with the blankets covering her naked self.

Pine would protect her like a guard dog. Whoever was planning on breaking in on this rainy night was in for a surprise. The vertical window was opened from outside and a dark figure creeped in drenched in the rain. He was halfway in when Pine pressed the barrel of his gun against the stranger’s temple and cocked it, and he froze as soon as he felt the cold metal on his skin.

“Move one inch and this will be your last night on earth.” Pine threatened in a quiet yet menacing tone. “Who are you?”

The man slowly but defiantly turned his face to look into his interrogator’s eyes. Pine’s face fell at the sight of his former colleague John Wick but that wasn’t enough for him to lower the gun. Pine knew that John had been rendered excommunicado; he had gotten the text like the rest of the Continental members.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Pine inquired.

But he knew the answer for it was lying right there on the bed. Pine’s partner and John had a past together long before he came into the picture.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Wick answered.

The two men held some sort of staring contest for almost a complete minute until the lamp on the night table was switched on and both their heads snapped towards it.

“What the hell is g-?” Pine’s partner began to ask with narrowed eyes but they went wide and she trailed off when she recognized her old lover. “John?”

She immediately grabbed a robe and carefully put it on before standing up. She reached the two men and glared at Pine.

“Put the fucking gun down!” She ordered but Pine ignored her.

“After what he did?”

“So you heard about Santino?” Wick asked.

“Everybody did, John. You should not be here.” Pine answered.

“How can we help, John?” She asked ignoring her lover.

“I just need a place to lay low for the night.”

“Of course.” She said with a nod and without an ounce of hesitation. “I’ll arrange the guest room.”

Pine’s mouth fell open and he stared at her with utter confusion as she left the room but then John said her name and Pine’s face twitched with anger.

“I’m afraid I’m not alone.” Wick confessed then whistled.

Instantly, his gray Pitbull jumped through the open window and shook the rain off.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Pine muttered under his breath.

“Dog’s welcome to stay as well.” She said before leaving, closely followed by Pine.

He cleared his throat as soon as they reached the hallway.

“A word?”

“What, Jonathan?” She sighed as she stopped to face him.

“This is madness.” He began. “If anyone finds out he’s here…”

“Jonathan…” She interrupted him. “If it were you or me, John would do everything in his power to help us and you know it.”

“And it is my job to do everything in my power to keep you safe.” He retorted. “So you need to get out of here in case things get ugly. Why don’t you stay at your parents’ for the night? I'll stay with John.”

His worried semblance and good intentions made her smile and warmed her heart, so she took a step closer, caressed his left cheek and leaned in for a soft kiss. She pulled away and Pine returned the smile thinking that he had won until she spoke.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Once in the guest room and fresh out of the shower, John sat on the bed wearing some of Pine’s clean pajama pants and a white v-neck t-shirt, and his former lover was right in front of him cleaning the nasty wound on his forehead.

“Why did you do it, Jonathan?” She asked.

Wick couldn’t stop staring at her while several memories projected themselves like films in the theater of his mind. All he heard was his name on her lips for she was one of the few people who called him by his full name.

“So, you and Pine, huh?” He asked.

She froze momentarily then smiled.

“Yeah…” She hesitated. “Is that… weird?”

“No.” Wick rushed but his face said something else. “Yes.”

“I know that you two used to work together but-”

“It’s not that.” Wick interrupted her. “It’s the… similarity in names.”

She chuckled and thought Wick was just joking but then he grabbed her wrist, preventing her from fixing him, and he stared into her eyes in silence for a long time and leaned in closer until her heart was racing and she gulped.

“Is it his or my name you moan in bed?”

Her lips parted and all air left her. Suddenly every memory she shared with John, the most explicit ones, flooded her brain, and she remembered how John Wick was a man of few words but with her, it was a completely different story. She wasn’t thinking anymore, her body acted on impulse and ended the distance between them before brushing her lips against his for the first time in years. John deepened the kiss and it was clear that he had missed her as much as she had missed him but the guilt crept in and she pulled away.

“I-I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Jonathan…” But then the name conundrum was present again so she just left the room.

Pine was hiding in the nearest bathroom. He had heard everything. He had seen them sharing that kiss and it made his stomach clench but he also knew that before him there was Wick, and while she never went into detail about their past, Pine was sure that whatever happened between them had meant the world to her, and it scared him. He wanted to be much more but wasn’t sure he could ever be. And this frustration he would take out on Wick, so he walked into the guest room.

“So, the whole city wants you dead and this is where you decide to hide?” he asked while leaning against the wall next to the door and folding his arms. “You do know you’re putting her in danger, don’t you?”

“No one followed me here. I made sure of it.” John said dryly.

“You were covered in blood, John. I would’ve stopped underestimating them a long time ago if I were you. You just had to go and defy Winston, didn’t you?” He accused. “Listen, I know that you two have history… and so do we, so you’re only staying here for old times’ sake but don’t get it twisted. She’s my whole life now and I will do whatever I have to do to protect her. If anything happens to her because of you, I will personally hunt you down and make your life a living hell before I put a bullet between your eyes. Understood?”

“I’m leaving in the morning.” Wick stated.

“Good.” Pine nodded coldly and turned to leave but stopped and faced Wick again, and spoke while pointing at him with his right index finger. “And don’t you fucking dare stay for breakfast.”

#Prompt list requests #It's WiNe o' clock #John Wick #Jonathan Pine #John Wick x reader #Jonathan Pine x reader #Tom Hiddleston #Keanu Reeves #REQUEST

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