#Iron Man TAS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoeforalbedo · 2 months

Text

Dolly (Finale)

Demon Alastor x Demon Housewife!Reader

Tw: Alcohol, Club, reader referred to woman, murder, rushed work.

Note: It’s kinda rushed. I tried. I was watching a school play and it was Chicago so I thought why not start it off at the club. I was also going to write a smut but it wouldn’t save so I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Last part was literally taken from Hannibal 😭😭

———————————————————————

Loud sounds of the trumpet ring throughout the club. It’s not the modernized type of clubs. No, flappers gather around dancing to the music with others at the dance floor. It’s almost as if everyone gathered together to learn the choreography as they all seem to dance in unison.

“Whiskey?” A small lady asks, holding a glass cup.

“I’m good Mimzy,” You smile. You lean back on your chair.

After years of loneliness, you’ve finally come to the end of your days. It was no natural death. Even in old age you found yourself feeding off the high you felt from murder. It was the only thing keeping you sane, ironically.

One moment were falling back onto the ground, the second you were greeted by the gold pearly gates. “Welcome to Heaven. Name please?”

“Hi, I am Y/N L/N, I believe I would not be on that list,” You smiled.

“Is that so? Surely I fine mannered lady like you should be on the list.” The angel hummed and looked at his list. “How odd, your name isn’t here.”

“I hope not, it isn’t. I’m very aware that murder is a huge sin,” You chuckled.

“Oh. . . Well then-“ You found yourself falling once more.

“My dear wife can’t handle her liquor well,” The static voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Oh Alastor, you know I’m not one for alcohol,” you say, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I’ll take that, Mimzy.”

“Oh you two are truly a match made in hell,” The short flapper laughs.

“Hell?” You smirk, looking at Alastor.

“Truly.” Your husband answers, taking your hand and kissing the back of it.

“Oh I’ll leave you demon couple to be. I don’t plan to be a third wheel. Ta ta~!” The flapper waves, getting lost in the crowd.

“I believe we have time,” You look at him mischievously.

“I believe we do!” Alastor looks at a certain direction of the club, eyes landing at a man sniffing some substance. “I wouldn’t want to waste the night, especially since my wife dressed all pretty for me. Care for a dance?”

You jump up from your chair. “Why I thought you’d never ask!” You smile as Hit the Road Jack through the speakers. The song is very much after Alastor’s time however he found that he enjoys his music.

The two of you get to the dance floor. He places his hand at the small of your back and swing in sync with the music. He takes the lead, spinning and twirling you around.

“How I missed this!” You scream over the music.

“I’ve forgotten how amazing you are,” Alastor compliments, hooking your leg around his waist.

“Dancing was one of the many things I’ve missed.”

Alastor slowly dips you low to the ground before pulling you back up. “The day I took you dancing, I knew I was in love.” No, actually his mom suggested he take you dancing although he was taken off guard when you managed to keep up with him.

The demon lets go of your hands, letting you shimmy around him to allow you to have a clear view of what’s going around the club. He then takes your hand, pulling you back in and guiding you to twist your hips while kicking your feet.

It’s amazing how in synch you two are with how fast the song is. At the same time, the both of you are keeping a lookout for the man that you both could not bother to know the name of.

“Alastor,” You suddenly say darkly, looking over his shoulders.

“Allow me.” He managed to maneuver you both in the dancing crowd, spinning and twirling along with them.

“How dramatic you are. We could have walked!” You chuckle.

“Well you know me, I am one for theatrics. I trust you can handle the rest?”

“Of course dear!” You smile. He twirls you one last time and you spin much farther than you should, causing you to bump into a man who ends up spilling his drink on him.

“Shit you woman this is expensive!” The man yells.

“Oh I apologize! How clumsy of me,” You apologize profusely, taking your handkerchief out and trying to dry the liquid. Your doe eyes look at him innocently, looking full of regret.

“Well I’m sure I can forgive you, if you give me your. . .” He scans your body, taking in the black dress that is modest yet perfectly hugs your curves. Your cleavage peeks out just enough to leave the rest for the imagination. “Yeah, how about you offer me your body for the night.”

You look at him with innocent confusion. “I’m afraid I can’t do much for a night. A laborious task of cleaning the stain of your suit would take me a couple hours at best!” You play coyly although you know he intends to sleep with you.

“I- you know what, how about you come with me. I’ll show you a good time,” He smirks.

“Oh that’s just the experience I’m looking for!”

“Perfect.” The man leads you out to the back of the club. Your back is leaned up against the brick walls as the man gets very close to you.

“I’m not sure how this is more fun compared to dancing.”

“How did an innocent thing like you get into hell?” The man chuckles, taking your wrists and pinning it over your head.

“I lied just a little bit,” You answered.

“How naughty,” He hums, about to burry his face into your neck until he was simultaneously pulled back by shadow tendrils.

“I’m sorry for my vagueness. I lied about murdering someone,” You smile then walk to Alastor’s side.

��Who the fuck ar- Fuck,” the man’s eyes widen realizing that the one holding him captive is none other than the radio demon he had messed with a couple days prior and that you are associated with him.

“Am quite aware that I allowed for this to happen, but I still hate the fact that someone touched what’s mine,” The radio demon says menacingly, the filter in his voice going in and out.

“Alastor, sweetheart, how about we save this for the broadcast,” You mutter to him, putting your hand on his chest. “It was the plan after all, right?”

“Why you’re right, my dear. Well then!” He wraps an arm around you and teleports the three of you to his radio station.

“Oh fucking hell. Come on man! I don’t even know who this bitch is! Spare me!” The guy begs.

Alastor’s head spin towards the man while the rest of his body remains still. “This bitch is my wife and I will not tolerate your demeaning words. However!”

The man sighs in relief. “I do not fight my wife’s battles so my dear, do as you please.”

“Gladly. I was thinking meatloaf for tonight,” You smile as you glide towards your poor victim with a butchers knife.

“Good afternoon to my fellow sinners of hell! It is I, Alastor, accompanied with my lovely wife for the first time.”

“Hello!” You say cheerfully as you chopped the man’s fingers, a scream filling the studio.

“Today there will be music, dancing,” His filter disappears, “screaming,” his voice goes back to the usual, “and all that jazz so sit back, relax, and enjoy.” Another scream resonates through the air as Alastor plays some peaceful music. He then turns to you who has been chopping off the man’s external parts. “I hope you’ve left some for me, ma chere. I’m still rather irked from earlier.”

“Oh he’s still very much alive, see!” You say, pulling the man’s cheek to force a smile on his face.

“Lovely. I hope you don’t mind a bit more blood, my dear.”

You chuckle, “Oh I’m by far very used to it.”

He kisses your forehead, “What a doll you are, me cherie.”

“Only for you.”

“Just fucking kill me already!” The man begs.

“Gladly,” Alastor says, voice deep without any filter.

———————————————————————

“Smells delicious dear,” Alastor kisses your head.

“Of course! We made it together. Is Charlie and her father almost here?” You ask as you place the last dish down on the table.

“I believe-“ A knock is heard. “They are here now.”

“Let’s hurry and greet them!” You say excitedly, taking your apron off and putting it away.

The two of you open the door with bright smiles.

“Hello you two!” You greet, hugging the both of them.

“Well hello,” Alastor says, less enthusiastically as he glares at Lucifer.

“Well if looks could kill,” Lucifer begins only to be interrupted by his daughter.

“Well I’m glad that we were invited to your home, although of course we always have space at the hotel, and I feel so bad for coming empty handed,” Charlie speaks almost as if she’s being chased by something by how fast she speaks.

“That’s absolutely fine. My wife really only ever eats the food she or I prepare,” Alastor says. “Shall we?”

The father and daughter find themselves walking past the living room where deer heads are posted above the fireplace. Once they get to the dining room, the vibe is much more homey.

“You can tell who decorated what in the house,” Lucifer snickers.

“Wow! These all look delicious!” Charlie’s eyes sparkle at the food.

“Please have a seat!” You say.

All of you begin eating, making small talk. “This tastes good. What kind of meat is this?” Lucifer asks curiously.

“Rabbit,” Alastor answers.

“He should have hopped faster.”

The couple look at each other. You smile, “Yeah, he should have.”

———————————————————————

Tags: @notsentimentalll @mixplara @futureittomainn @karolinda007-blog

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin x y/n

413 notes · View notes

bones4thecats · 3 months

Note

I'm not sure if you accepting RoR request but can I request Shiva, Buddha, Qin Shi Huang and Nikola Tesla with a fem reader that's Nyarlathotep? (crawling chaos from HP Lovecraft) she looks normal and even cute most of the time but she can be very much terrifying when turning into her cosmic horror form or if she wants to just mess around with the gods (mostly Zeus and Odin) by messing with their heads most of the time and they can't do much because she's an outer god but around them she's very sweet and helpful and ties her best to push away her violent tendencies for their sake

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Shiva, Buddha, Qin Shi Huang, and Nikola Tesla Name: {Character} with a Nyarlathotep! Reader Requester: Anonymous

A/N: At this point, I may as well make a page dedicated to my H.P. Lovecraft-themed Reader pieces, since I've written like three pieces now! It's ironic because of how much I love reading about these characters, lmao

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🪩 This man thrives on destruction, he's the God of it for crying out loud!

🪩 When he first met you, you and your father, Azathoth, were attending the Gods' Council meeting, and you were one of the Gods who decided to spare Humanity, and when asked by him, you just replied with a sly

" Oh, I do not wish for them to live because of pity or love, silly! Quite the opposite, actually! Humans have caused so much chaos and madness, it's wonderful! And, I plan on keeping them for as long as I find them enjoyable. Now, ta-ta~ "

🪩 He'd be lying if he said he didn't find you a hint alluring, you looked far cuter than what was written down, you were always described as a being that looked more 'monstrous' and 'hideous' than anything Humanity could've created

🪩 Shiva and you would normally speak whenever necessary, but, after a while, your more distant bond grew into a blooming friendship and eventual marriage!

🪩 This God definitely doesn't care about how mad you sound with your words, he just fears that maybe one day you'll either say something to the wrong person or you'll end up going unstoppable with madness and get annihilated by a stronger being

🪩 Whenever Loki messes around with Shiva, you end up messing with his mind a lot, prompting Odin to knock you away, which makes you target him, much to his birds' annoyance

🪩 Shiva tried pushing his own violent tendencies away for you and his fellow wives' sake, and because of this, he ends up having a special day every month for him to go out and let out those thoughts and actions, and, when he notices just how much pressure was building on you, he'd take you with him

" Go ahead and blow that massive boulder up! Good job, my Being of Chaos! "

🍭 This guy was concerned when he first met you, you were seemingly more insane than the other Gods he met, and that included those such as Loki, and we all know how crazy that guy is

🍭 The only reason this guy even spoke to you was because of how strongly your father stood with the destruction of Humanity, every. single. time. that the Gods voted

🍭 Buddha was getting annoyed with how ignorant and oblivious your father was, and he could tell you were as well, and when he asked you about how you truly felt about your father, you acknowledged him, unlike many different Gods, and spoke to him calmly with hidden insanity

" My father is quite ignorant and, to be honest, sometimes even I wonder how in the name of the universe he has so much power. But, let me be honest with you, Buddha. Because of this, he's fun to manipulate. But, don't tell anyone about that, yeah? Yeah! Alright, gotta go, bye! "

🍭 He was quite off-put when he asked Brunhilde about you, and when she said how dangerous and hideous of a being you were, he was confused, you were adorable and seemingly sweet

🍭 Your God-friend and you were some of the only Gods who voted for Humanity's safety, though, you both kept it to yourselves, not wishing to have a certain someone's rage on your asses

🍭 When Ragnarok commenced, you teleported to speak to Brunhilde, telling her your plan of siding with Humanity during the Gods' strongest point to break them down mentally, you did love to watch them struggle, after all!

🍭 After finding out that Buddha was siding with Humanity, you jumped down, causing many to believe you were fighting against him, but, when you announced your defect to their side, your father's rage knew no bounds

" Oh, father, just how much of an ignorant prick can you be? Humanity does have some, decent, qualities to them. And while I may never fully understand them, I will try my best to do so. Anyways, have fun fighting, my dear! "

🍭 Much like Shiva, he appreciates how much you try staying sane around him and the Human Fighters, it lets him know just how much you do care about him

👑 When Qin first met you, it was because one of your father's minions accidentally caused mass destruction to his home, leaving many lives in ruin and an emperor very, very, upset

👑 You attending the small meeting with your father, though you spent your time screwing around with the nearby humans, causing the ruler to ignore your father's rambles of incoherentness

👑 While he initially disliked how unsettlingly cute yet sadistic you were, once he got to know you a bit better, thanks to some well-spent time on Earth by yourself, he began to see you for what you really were

👑 Being raised by such a cruel yet idiotic being, you really didn't have the best examples when it came to interactions with other brings, heck, you had some of the most horrendous relationships with your two siblings, Nameless Mist and Darkness

👑 During one of your first meetings while on decent terms, he asked you exactly what you were going to do, since he had heard about Ragnarok forming from one of the guards of his

" Ragnarok? It sounds pretty pathetic to me, honestly. Though, I suppose watching the smug smirks of those so called Gods fade would make me smile myself. I kid, I kid! Oh, you see right through me, emperor! Honestly, really it's a funny thing, but, I may side with Humanity in the downfall, you know how I am! "

👑 Qin disliked how cruel and hostile you were with pretty much anyone, but, when he noticed how much softer and seemingly polite you were with his fellow fighters, he would smile to himself

👑 You must really care about him if it meant you were trying to push back the only thing you ever knew behind just so he could be happier and not driven to the brink of insanity himself from stress

" Why am I so kind with the mortals? I figured I was being sneaky with my behavior, oh well! They're far weaker appearing then they really are, I suppose. And I respect that, to a degree. I'm not going soft, damn you! "

🧪 Nikola Tesla, the man known on Earth as the 'Ultimate Mad Scientist of His Time', and his title alone was enough to interest you

🧪 Once you learned of where he resided in Valhalla, you took a small trip there, leaving a simply written note on the table your father sat at daily, and setting a straight-lined course there

🧪 He was just working on his newest invention when his doors slammed open, making him jump and snap his head back to see a fairly tall humanoid-being standing there

🧪 While he stared at you, you smiled and ran up to him, allowing your form to float above him and ask if he was indeed the human known as 'Nikola Tesla'

🧪 Once reassuring his identity, you began asking about his work, from how he made something so complicated look so seemingly simple, despite the multitude of horrendously long equation written on his chalkboard

🧪 Due to his own curiosity, Nikola had to push himself to ask who and what you were, in which you just laughed and answered him with a honey-coated voice

" Who am I? That's quite surprising, dearest mortal! I am Y/N, the offspring of the Outer God, Azathoth, and the God of Madness, at least in many's eyes I am. Humans are different creatures... ANYWAYS! How about you explain about that, uh, what did you call it again? Ah, yes! The electric engineering, how does that work again? "

🧪 Nikola was very off-put by how devoted you were to being by his side to learn everything he was working on, and, in all honesty, he kinda enjoyed having you around to speak to, it made him feel a little less lonely

🧪 While he was being scolded by Brunhilde for speaking to a God who was said to have only sided with Humanity to make them suffer at their own hands, he couldn't help but argue back with how you were far more gentle with his fellow scientists when working on his armory

" Brunhilde. While I agree with the fact that their father isn't ideal in the slightest, Y/N is going behind his and the multitude of Gods' backs just to help me and my fellow geniuses win Ragnarok. You may not trust them, but I do. Now, I recommend you leave before they arrive, it may get ugly, and I do not wish for their aura to destroy our hard work. "

208 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

Note

You seem like a decent person so I wouldn’t be shocked if you don’t have this thought. But I just saw something that REALLY made me think this (I won’t say which one, after all this is just me being a jerk I’m sure).

Do you ever get submissions where you think “MAN, someone here needs to go outside. The argument you describe would not have happened if you guys just went out and like interacted with human beings occasionally.”

It wasn’t a stupid submission or anything like that. But it was an argument that I really, genuinely felt could only happen if you lived on the internet almost 100% of the time. It’s concerning. But I would not be shocked if this is just me being ta

The thing is, you're still interacting with human beings on the internet, it's just that the communication has been made so abstracted that often people forget. The problem I have with how people act online has nothing to do with caring a bit too much about a fictional character or whatever and everything to do with the callousness and casual cruelty that comes from forgetting you're talking to people. You know, building that shell of ironic memey detachment and getting too caught up in dunking on people for internet cool points.

Which is kind of hypocritical for someone running a blog like this that kind of exists to dunk on people, I know! But I think the line between a justified dunk on someone who truly deserves it and just ripping on people who are literally just minding their own business is being lost. I totally get what you mean, and I think NAH in this case because everyone has little judgy moments in their head like that. And that's fine and normal! But I think the internet overall might be a little less awful to exist on if we collectively were a little less bloodthirsty in the comments section about it.

180 notes · View notes

eldritch-spouse · 3 months

Note

Now I want something. I want admin to spank Morell.

I know a regular piglet wouldn't even make him flinch BUT ADMIN, Admin is enhanced with Krulu's strength. So Admin could make Morell moan for sure.

[Fem reader.]

TW: Dubious consent to no consent; Abusive spanking; Blood; Humiliation; Physical and mental abuse.

You're not sure why your Lord approved of this idea so readily.

You wouldn't even call it a proper punishment plan for Morell's latest minor infraction, it was more of a vaguely intrusive thought that surfaced in your mind. To bend the large, proud monster over your knee and have him lose some of that attitude.

Krulu immediately gave you the greenlight to do it, with some manner of glee even, somewhere between genuine anticipation and humor.

You've come to learn your higher seems to sometimes prefer humiliating punishments over the physically painful ones. It leaves a much bigger imprint on the soul than the marring of flesh, he tells you.

Who are you to question his absolute wisdom?

Besides, it'd be lying to say that you aren't looking forward to Morell's reaction. For as rowdy and assertive as he can be with his coworkers, the chef has always had immense respect for you, being one of the first to pipe down and get in line with new directives or goals. It's something you admire in him.

So, surely, he's not going to flip out now is he?

The kitchen is quiet. Sterilized even. You had the bobbles take care of it before leaving. Part of you considered doing this in the warehouse, in front of the pigs he'll have to look in the eyes when the time to slaughter them comes. But that's already too much sadism for a slap on the wrist measure, isn't it?

No. You'll do it in the kitchen, a much more intimate environment.

Sitting on one of the restaurant chairs you dragged inside, you're roughly in the center of the large room itself, next to the main chopping block, legs crossed. Sharpened eyes study the previous work of the bobbles under Morell's hold. His training is efficient, you'll give him that.

It's taking him a while to come back in. Fact of the matter is he's not even in this floor, most likely. That's part of the problem, how often he's leaving the restaurant for extended periods of time. A frown slowly graces your features, nails tapping rhythmically on the iron legs of the chair. Tsk tsk.

You're considering additional punishment methods for his extended work post abandonment when the telltale squeak of boots on tiles hits your ears. He's in a hurry.

The kitchen doors blast open, Morell puffs with physical exertion and looks scratched in several areas, bits of... Gravel? Rock? Cling to his arms and apron, which he dusts off rapidly, opening his mouth to presumably start barking orders at his team of workers, except- He finally gathers enough wit to notice his actual surroundings.

Squinting, frowning, then finally spotting you. There's a short, vapid blink before he reacts.

" M- Admin, miss! " The shroom greets, nodding respectably before quickly closing the doors behind his large figure.

The monster looks aggravated, guilty. He obviously knows you'd never like seeing him deviating during work hours. You're willing to bet he's gulping behind that thick pink scarf. Morell scratches at his forearm and impulsively keeps dusting himself off, waiting. " Can I get'cha anythin' ta eat? "

" Morell. " You smile, sarcasm all but dripping off your words. " Pleasure seeing you here, for once. "

The mushrooms monster's hands rise immediately in a sort of placation attempt almost unbecoming of his large stature. " Ah know- I know it looks bad, miss, but it ain't like ah'm leavin' the floor ta screw 'round- "

" Did I ask for excuses? " You cut in.

Morell pipes down instantly. " No ma'am, ah'm sorry. "

And this is why he stands out to you. His obedience to authority figures. Morell has always been the kind of monster man who doesn't just bend for others at a whim. He's a stubborn bull of a guy, and all that's missing are the horns to furnish him. When with his coworkers, the shroom is rough and brutish, shooting them down the moment they attempt to mess with him, getting loud, in their faces, threatening them whenever they think they know better. When you first hired the chef, you wee already counting on having to use a sterner hand to keep him in line, and yet, since the very first day, he's regarded you with a courtesy and level of respect that's almost strikingly out of character compared to other sides of him.

Krulu shared this initial wonder too, finding it amusing that the shroom adapted extremely quickly to the roles he should play before you and your Lord. He knows better than to oppose you, sides with you, is very cooperative and available. Commendable qualities.

" I've always liked that about you. "

" ... Beg pardon? "

" How polite you are, without even having to be taught better. " Something you can't say for all.

In spite of the flattery, the chef doesn't relax. " Thank you, ma'am. "

Funnily enough, his accent sometimes takes a backseat in these moments too. Maybe because he's trying to speak like you? You could pick him apart all day, honestly.

" I don't want your apologies, I want you to know your punishment. "

He looks like he wants to desperately say something. Explain the situation, say that he's not at fault, that it can't be helped. You have an inkling of an idea of what might be wrong, more gargoyle shenanigans. Morell looks into your challenging hues and nods, bitterly swallowing any words. Fear flashes briefly in that dark canvas of a face.

It's not often he misbehaves enough to warrant punishments. The most he tends to get is a slap on the wrist for playing too much with the slaughter piglets.

" Of course, ma'am... "

Good boy.

" You're having issues dealing with the gargoyles again. "

Morell nods, hands over his chest and fingers tapping his elbows, the subject very quickly drawing a furious grimace from him.

" They're breaking in and taking meats, finished orders, body parts, sometimes even bobbles. "

Another nod.

" I would be angry too. But you know what I wouldn't do, Morell? Take it upon myself to go out there and hunt them down, when there's already someone who can do that, employed in these very grounds. "

The tapping turns into a tight grip.

" Why not come to Belo about this? A power such as him, who has wings to pursue them with flight, who holds a weapon capable of obliterating them with little effort, whose job is precisely to maintain order here. "

" Buh-! "

" Hush. " Your warning is heeded. " Don't step outside your role, Morell. Perhaps you have the strength to take one or two down, but your effectiveness lies here, in the restaurant. That- " You motion past the kitchen doors. " Does not concern you. "

He sighs quietly, rolling his shoulders. " You're right, ma'am. "

" Good. I'm glad we could get on the same page. " You grin, uncrossing your legs and patting a stocking clad thigh. " Now, for your punishment this time, I want you to bend over my knees. "

Oh. This is precious.

At first, the cook makes a face like he's certain he didn't really hear right, giving himself a few seconds to see if he can decipher what you really must have said. And then, slowly, it starts to sink in, the realization isn't the only thing that sinks however, that expression falling into a somber and wide-eyed look, questioning you. Wounded even.

And hat's how you know it's going to be effective.

" Ah... Come again? "

Oh, the hopelessness.

" You heard me, Morell. " There's no doubt he did.

Another few stunted seconds pass where he seems to be mourning his dignity, presumably. Your eyes glint with cruel anticipation.

" ... Do I hav'ta, miss? "

So polite. Adorable, even. He's smart enough to understand he doesn't really have a choice, somewhere between bargaining and pleading.

Suffocating the urge to giggle and kick your legs, you offer Morell an almost mocking solemn nod, as if it pained you too to be doing this. An open palm claps gently in your thigh, hurrying him.

The chef's face scrunches again, and if the skin directly under his cap weren't so dark, you would probably be able to spot the stress creases forming on his forehead. He shuts his eyes and takes a silent deep breath, reaching back to undo his apron. Morell takes his sweet time getting ready, and because he's been obedient thus far, you allow him those precious moments of peace. The desperation is such so that he even takes the time to fold his dirtied butcher's apron.

Finally, wearing only pants and boots, the monster stands before you, defeated before you've laid but a single finger upon him. Brilliant work.

" Knee. " You insist.

Slightly luminescent eyes scroll from his own massive figure to your much smaller one. " Ma'am... Ain't it gonna hurt? "

He knows better. He's seen better. The force and resilience bestowed upon you by your Lord knows hardly a limit. Morell could throw himself onto you, where as a normal human's bones would creak and shatter, you'd merely wonder how to best castigate him.

" I don't stutter, Morell. "

Boy, does that get him moving.

Somewhat awkwardly, the cook sinks to his knees. If his peculiar skin allowed it, you know he'd be covered in goosebumps when he angles himself across your legs. A tremor wracks his body, though you're quick to lower a hand on his broad back, encouraging the shroom to let his weight settle on your thighs.

A few seconds pass in that stillness. That delicious silence, the walls dripping anticipation and Morell radiating a level of mortification that has the spectator behind your eyes grinning with glee.

And then, as if gouging the right moment to lunge, you yank his pants and underwear down. The way Morell jumps could almost be compared to a frightened cat's leap, a tremor followed by this choked noise of embarrassment that all his coworkers would surely mock him over for eternity. The chef's rump perfectly fits his worked physique, yet there's an unmistakable softness there, an appealing shape, something Santi has openly admired before- To his own detriment, as such was quickly followed by a wooden spoon to the top of his head.

It's a nice ass, you'll admit. Shame he doesn't let anyone touch it.

Snickering at his panic, you soothingly rub a hand over his backside, feeling the give of his bizarre anatomy. Shroom monsters don't have the same type of skeletal structure humans do, their bodies are spongier in nature, yet by no means does that mean they're less sturdy. Humming peacefully, you take the time to squeeze over the spots that cover his blue hide, fondling the grown monster currently surrendered to you in thought.

Your forearm begins to sprout blackened veins, lovingly possessive growths that curl over your limb and encompass it, appropriate it. In a matter of seconds, Lord Krulu has transformed your hand into one of his, dark and deftly long fingers furnished with the claws of an apex predator. You raise it in the air with nothing but pride and adoration.

And oh, if Morell had any hope that your spankings would be tame, then it'd be a compliment to call him a fool.

Because when that same hand crashes down, the muted force of your god thunders across his entire body.

And he squeals.

Nicely done.

Both of you freeze. Your hand doesn't sting minimally, but the imprint immediately left on Morell's asscheek is a testament to the level of strength that was so effortlessly doled out.

No one moves for a second, the shock of that bizarre bleat being processed. You'd never guess a sizable monster like Morell could make such a noise, like a confused animal in pain.

The grin that crawls up your cheeks is sickening.

" What was that, Mori? Did one of your pigs escape? "

He's panting, quietly, but not subtly enough to miss.

" ... No. "

" No? "

" N-No miss. "

You snicker. " Alright, must have been my imagination. "

A tune is hummed serenely when your hand rises off his already overheated flesh, and the way the chef sucks in a desperate lungful of air is as riveting as it gets. But like Hell you'll give him the privilege of certainty, lowering said palm again with a deceitful gentleness, petting him, resting.

The next whack has spittle flying past grit teeth. He muffles part of the humiliating noise, at the cost of drooling on himself like a beast. Morell shivers atop you like a stuttering car engine. Krulu laughs.

" Honestly, I'm almost sad to be bruising a rump this pretty, Morell... " You muse, watching his cerulean hue steadily bleed into navy bruises that muddle his naturally glowing spots. " But it does make for an interesting sight. "

He stays quiet, and, in retaliation, you let that very same hand wander a little. Krulu's features recede to allow your human softness to brush over his skin, moving between the chef's legs. Instantly, there's a sudden tension in his entire body, more so than when he feared the spanking, and although you only teasingly feather over his asshole, Morell squirms in endless discomfort as if you had stuck pins and needles on him. Pressure against his perineum rips a grunt out of him, though reaching past the butcher's balls reveals the expected, he's entirely limp.

Something easily fixed.

" Part your legs a little. "

The shroom monster gulps, voice only a tad hoarse. " Admin, miss... "

Be it with the sharpest claws or bluntest nails, most men don't enjoy having their family jewels crushed. " Part. Your. Legs. "

He does, arms flexing in suffering until you relent. You don't need to warn him not to make you repeat yourself again. His reward is a much softer grasp around his manhood. And, with no pain to distract him, it's easy to get Morell to twitch in response, even if his fear is still palpable.

You stroke him until he hardens in your hand, something easy to achieve considering this sick fuck loves making his terrified little piggies worship his cock before he guts them into a dish. There's nothing like a human's touch to many of the workers here, and he's no exception. You can't help lick your lips when he starts silently rocking the slightest amount into your motions, soft sighs leaving his slowly relaxing form. Goading him further into this state of mindless pleasure, you offer him slightly faster friction, until he's properly bucking into your hand, ruffling groans of enjoyment.

He could never have spotted the spare arm sprouting from your back, could never see its dark length extend in the air-

Before it slammed down with enough force to rattle the skeleton out of anyone.

" HHHRK- "

You laugh, loud and jovial, this childish cackle ringing through the kitchen at your Master's impatient and cruel swat. Poor little Morell jolts and groans openly, the growing wave of pleasure interrupted and now intermingled with shock. His confused mind struggles to process the difference between pleasure and pain, lumping both together in a way that has him throbbing.

He seems to still at his own body's response.

Perfection.

You don't cease pumping his cock when the third arm lifts again, forcing the chef to experience both extremes of sensation when he's spanked again. He spasms uselessly, you bet his eyes are bulging by now.

Time to force him to think.

Whack

" What area of The Clergy's Eye have you been assigned to? "

" Tha- Kitchen! " He struggles, huffing.

Whack

" Where shall you stay when working then? "

More confused twitching in your hand. " Kh- Kitchen! "

SMACK

" Are you going to leave it again to do things that don't concern your station? "

" NnNO! "

The pace of your hand quickens, yet so does the your Master's rightful penance. Morell's bruised, indigo-tinted behind starts blooming into shades of abused purple. Tattoos of Krulu's divine hand furnish it nicely. You have no doubt this monster will sleep on his stomach for the following week.

Thwack thwack THWACK

" Will I have to do this again, Morell? "

He sobs, a real ugly sob that he quickly tries to suck back in, making you swiftly lean down to spot... Ah, the first few tears falling on the tiles. Good.

" No- No please- " And yet he still leaks precum like a faucet. What's going through that head right now?

Pleasure, pain, fear, regret, shame that reaches the skies.

Your Lord generously offers.

" You learn fast, I'm sure I won't have to discipline you again, right? "

The chef shakes like a leaf, yet there's no denying he's close to orgasm. His legs flex from more than just pain now. " Y- Yes, ma'am! "

CRACK

" Though I'd say you're enjoying it if I didn't know better. "

He makes a sound somewhere between a whine and a blubbered wail. " No- 'M not, please- " It's the most pathetic thing you've ever heard coming from him.

" Mhm, okay then, I believe you. "

The next set of unrelenting spanks makes even you cringe, Krulu's force jostling not just the fully grown monster but yourself as well. It's actually a little exciting to witness. Spots where Krulu's claws intentionally caught onto the tender flesh turn into depraved welts, droplets of blood flying out with each merciless motion, spraying the snow-tiled ground and even yourself.

Morell screams, wails, shrieks like his arms are getting ripped out their sockets. It's a symphony of panicking pain that hardly lets him breathe in between each tormenting snap and quick pump. He makes the mistake of sucking too much air into his lungs at a time, then starts coughing and hiccupping hopelessly.

The moment your Lord halts is when your fervent motions take the stage, and Morell, tortured, oversensitive and disoriented, lasts less than five seconds before throbbing hard and shooting ropes all over your fingers. You pump his cock throughout the entire orgasm, milking it, making a mess that you then wipe on the inside of his thigh, letting his cum-soaked length rest.

Another pause stretches for a long few moments where everyone is winding down. And, as adrenaline seeps out the mushroom monster's pores, he breaks.

Totally limp upon you, Morell attempts to fruitlessly hide his face behind broad arms while his sniffling and gasping escalates into the most defeated, utterly humiliated sobbing there is. He struggles with breathing properly, scratching his own throat as tears splatter steadily on the ground, keening whines bubbling out of the still shaking man. In his despair, he tries to huddle closer to you, tries to fold himself into a ball even with your legs in the way.

You don't know if it's your Lord's enjoyment or your own, but the view sends a pulse of arousal straight up your cunt, cheeks heating.

" There there... " You murmur, rubbing a comparatively cool hand around the edges of his punished skin. The way he tenses and tries to push his sobbing behind a tightened jaw is adorable. " It's all over now. "

The trembling doesn't stop, but the butcher manages to quiet his own wailing within a few minutes. Tears still drip onto the ground.

A few taps get him to move off your legs, but Morell quickly finds out changing positions is torturous, sharp burning stings eliciting choked grunts and heaves from the monster. He settles, embarrassingly, for laying almost on his stomach, prostrated before you on the ground.

Grinning, so wet you can feel your panties soaking, you push the chair away and sit on the ground next to the recovering monster, pulling his face onto your lap and petting that large cap of his.

Morell chokes, clinging onto your clothes. You didn't think he'd break this hard, but it's a lovely reaction.

" 'M sorry... 'M-... Sorry... "

And, as you study his sorry state, you can't help but smile warmly. Bruised ass darker than night, blood still spilling, half-hard cum-coated dick out, arms and face wet with tears, grasping onto you for dear life...

You wouldn't mind doing this more often.

#Morell oc #mellsfern #terato #monsterfucker #terato tag #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster x human #not sfw #minors dni

133 notes · View notes

misojunnie · 2 months

Note

can i request this?

https://www.tumblr.com/misojunnie/728375539407159296/i-find-the-vampire-and-werewolf-rivalry-dynamic

but instead of vampires it's witch/warlock/wizard please?

☆ &team as your werewolf bf! w/ a witch (or warlock) partner :)

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

byun eui joo - ej

is very unserious about you being a witch

when you finally confessed his first question was to ask if you could cast a spell on him that gave him super strength

he's so easy going n sweet :( got very quickly acclimated to the magical door slamming, floating pots and pans, etc

"honey, next time you summon a goetic demon, can you please make sure he's gone by dinnertime?"

murata fuma - fuma

quite surprised you were a witch; probably made an awful pun to cover up his shock

will easily lay his life down to protect you from the people who are prejudiced against you, even if its a fellow werewolf

you love your man <3 someone tried to jump him once and you cursed them for all of eternity

"can you do the dishes tonight? and please don't bring them to life on accident again."

koga yudai- k

tried to scare you away with garlic when he found out, and you had to tell him that only works on vampires

despite his initial shock, he quickly got accustomed to your habits

read the entire wikipedia page on witches so he'd be "well informed of all your needs"

makes an awful witch themed pun at least once a week, ex: "witch, please."

wang yixiang- nicholas

found out you were a witch like a week before you broke the news

^ secretly peeked into your bedroom one time and saw you curling your hair with a levitating curling iron, but decided to say nothing until you were ready

hates it when you put spells on him, eg; "I'm leaving, and if you even try to immobilize me, y/n, I swear to god-"

has asked you to curse ta-ki more than once or twice

nakakita yuma - yuma

he thinks it's hot

asks you to put spells on him so he can walk on the ceiling, which you continually tell him don't exist

tried to prank you once and you used magic to throw him through six layers of drywall on instinct

safe to say he hasn't tried to prank you since

asakura jo - jo

didn't even believe you at first, his first reply was "oh, really? then where's your big hat?"

it took you a week to convince him that it wasn't a prank, and he only believed you after you sent him through space and time

always takes care of you after you exhaust yourself from casting too many spells

found out you were ironically terrified of the conjuring and still makes fun of you for it

shigeta harua - harua

was shocked at first, but quickly came around when he realized how wonderful your magic could be

always wants to hear witch lore and all the stories about your covens and history

was suspicious you put a love spell on him but eventually realized that he just loves you a lot. damn.

hates when you make him clean because he knows you could easily do it with magic

ta-ki

poor baby went into actual shock when you told him you were a witch, but he had no complaints

genuinely had no idea that witches existed

"wait, so do you have warts and stuff? no judgement."

is still amazed every time you do a spell, even years later

hirota riki - maki

his only knowledge of witches comes from playing minecraft

"so wait, you don't live in a hut? not even a swamp?"

when he gets too hyper you cast a spell on him that glues him to the wall or something (comes in handy when you need to study)

asks you to summon demons just to do his homework

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

a/n: sorry for this super late reply! I have very little knowledge of witches so I hope I did this request justice ;-; this was sooo fun

84 notes · View notes

kairiscorner · 2 months

Note

omg i have a request for denji 🤭🤭 first off:: time skip (aka high school) fluff pls, fem!reader, maybeee something like the reader was gonna go on a date (planned to meet up at the local park?) but got stood up and while denji is going on a walk he spots her and recognizes her from school (same class or just saw in halls idc) decides to take her on a date?? idk it sounds cute lolol

hearts' day 002.

a surprise date with denji.

"what's got you all sad and stuff?"

a gruff voice asked you while you sobbed into your now wet palms. you looked up slowly at him with watery eyes and trembling lips, hoping you didn't look so pathetic, like you didn't just get stood up on a date you waited a whole week for.

you sniffed back your snot and blinked away your hot tears as you realized it was that blonde kid in your class, hayakawa, asking you what was up with you–his pinky finger gracefully shoved away in his nostril, picking his nose, while he looked down at you with his amber colored irises.

you didn't know what was more pitiful, the fact you got stood up by someone you really liked and were left alone after waiting around for them for nearly 3 hours at this point, or the fact that you were being sort-of-but-not-really comforted by a stranger, who wasn't exactly a stranger, from your class, picking his nose for a sizeable booger.

with a shaky breath, you looked up at the color of the setting sun–the deep, fiery red, orange, and yellow hues in the sky reminding you of how long it had been since you arrived in this damned park, only to be made a fool out of when nobody arrived to take you to the date you really, really looked forward to going.

"...i got stood up." you muttered, wiping away your tears as your gaze fell down to your bright, shining shoes that you bought specifically to impress your date. denji let out a small, 'huh' sound, and sat next to you on the bench; flicking away a small booger he caught, then wiping his finger on his shirt after.

"well, what if we went on a date?" he asked you nonchalantly. your eyes widened at his suggestion, but a part of you felt a little grosses out by it. "us?" you asked in sheer confusion. "yeah. what, don't wanna go on a date with the one and only chainsaw man? too scared ta do it? i bet you are." he said with a mischievous grin and a devilish tone of mockery in his voice as he challenged you.

this boy always said he was chainsaw man, not like anyone–nor you–believed him, but at this point, you were too broken up to really give a damn about anything else he was saying aside from the fact he was more than willing to take a pretty girl who's been disappointed and heartbroken out for the night of her life.

you sighed, leaning your head against the bench's backrest and shrugged. "okay." you murmured, making denji chuckle and stand up. he extended his clean hand towards you and gave you a sharp, toothy smile. "i've got a game of uno waiting for us back at my place, and a little devil to take care of, but she's not gonna give a shit. maybe."

you find yourself chuckling ironically at how sweet his gesture is, offering to take you to his place to play a game of uno, maybe get some takeout from that chinese place he's been mumbling to himself about craving their food for, and maybe brewing you some tea even though he hates it–all because he's heard you like it.

"ya like tea?" he asked you when he turned to you, not realizing you two were holding hands this whole time. you snap out of your inner thoughts and look him in the eyes. you nod and raise an eyebrow in surprise. "how'd you know?"

"dunno, y'seem like the type to like tea. you're like... all pretty and sweet and shit, y'know? and i heard you talkin' to yer friends once about this tea house y'really wanted to go to someday, so... yeah, if i get the money, i'll take ya there. but fer now, yer stuck with the denji hayakawa special brew." he joked, making your cheeks feel a little warm at how thoughtful he was being without even trying.

something tells you this new surprise date would be a little better than you expected, hopefully.

#denji hayakawa #denji #denji csm #denji chainsaw man #csm denji #csm x reader #csm fanfic #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #denji x reader #denji x you

94 notes · View notes

gaysindistress · 1 year

Text

Sad girl - eighteen

summary: James has an interesting new business proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with.

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing, Bucky’s smartass, angst, guns, violence, Walker has decided that he wants to be Joe Goldberg

word count: 2.2k

a/n: there are some POV shifts in this part but I tried to make it obvious with dividers so it wasn’t too confusing. Anyways, there’s one part left!

part 17 | series masterlist

Taglist: @missvelvetsstuff @angelsincident @spencerreidisagorgman @goldensunflowe-r @i-have-no-life-charlie @esposadomd @iateall-yourcookies @littlelizardlizzie @alana4610 @kandis-mom @beware-my-thorns @ozwriterchick @reader-without-a-story @unaxv @wh0reforbucknasty @cjand10 @vickie5446 @katymae12344 @openup-yourmind @callsign-athena

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

The Stark Estate is always the looming house on the hill as the SUV approaches the large iron gates. The brick mansion is mostly covered in vines and plants, much to Pepper’s dismay. Anthony thought it gave the 20s-built house character and a homey feel so the vines were left along with the ridiculous amount of landscaping that lined the driveway. Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes at the blatant display of wealth as the SUV rolls down the driveway to the main house. Scott is the one to meet the men, standing with his arms crossed in front of him. The SUV slows to a stop beside him and Bucky gets out of the driver’s seat.

“The others in position,” Scott asks him as Bucky adjusts his black jean jacket to conceal his holster and gun better.

“Yep, yours?”

Scott nods while the two walk into the house. While Pepper may not have any say about the outside, she took full advantage of changing every little detail inside to fit her taste. White and marble covered every inch of the 20,000 square foot home, a stark difference from the industrial and wood feel of Bucky’s house. It reeked of cold indifference as they walked up the same stairs Doll nearly cracked with anger that day. Scott pushes open the heavy doors, letting the other man enter the room first.

As usual, Anthony is seated at his desk however without his normal crowd of men in black. Thor and Loki are reclining on the couches, guns completely on display due to their relaxed posture. A younger man, who he assumes is the new recruit Peter Parker is standing off to the side of Anthony.

“You brought a kid?” Bucky tries to hide the disgust in their voice when he sits in the same chair he had during that meeting.

“He’s not a kid and you didn’t bother to dress for the occasion,” Anthony, however, doesn’t even bother to cover his disapproval at Bucky’s outfit.

Leveling a blank stare at the other man, he speaks again “We’re not here to do business.”

Anthony rolls his eyes dramatically, making a show of it as he gestures to Scott to come over. He says something about the ETA of John to which Scott tells him he’s at the gates before leaving the room.

“What’s the status of your team?” He turns to his son-in-law.

“Waiting for my cue.”

“Good good. How about my daughter?”

“Safe.”

“Wow, I forgot how quiet you are,” he widens his eyes in annoyance, “Anyways when John gets here, I don’t want you to speak. Let me handle it and if I need you to step in, I’ll let you know.”

“Fine by me,” a hardened expression takes on his face as he rests his hands together in between his spread legs.

John’s voice echoes up the marble staircase as Bucky’s phone rings.

“Buck we have a problem.”

Nat had promised Doll that his meeting would only last a couple of hours and that it was just a business meeting.

“I swear it’s just a meeting that’s all.”

“He took his gun,” Doll is trying not to panic, however with his injury and their developing closeness, it’s getting harder and harder to stop it.

“He takes it everywhere.”

“But this is different, I can feel it. He didn’t tell me where he was going and he always tells me.”

Nat takes her by the shoulders and stops her pacing, “Do you really want to know?”

She pushes the other woman’s hands off of her, “Obviously.”

“If I tell you, will you promise to stay here until he gets back?” she demands as she sits down on the living room couch.

Doll takes a seat as well while nodding her head.

“He set up a meeting with John at your dad’s house to get him to cut his bullshit and to get your mom. Steve and Sam are headed in to get her as we speak.”

“Natasha what the fuck?” she jumps off the couch, yelling at Nat, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew this is how you were going to react. Now sit your ass back down. They’re going to be back in like an hour.”

Doll’s phone goes off, the ringtone specifically set for Morgan and she answers it in confusion, “Hey Mo Mo, what’s up?”

“Sissy help! He’s hurting everyone,” Morgan’s small voice is full of terror as she whispers into the phone.

“Mo Mo what’s going on?”

“John, he's hurting everyone. Sissy, please help!”

She looks at Nat with frightened eyes, “Where are you? Are you hiding?”

“I’m hiding in Daddy’s closet,” she cries into the phone.

She gestures to Nat to stand up as she holds the phone between her head and shoulder, “Okay Mo Mo, stay there and don’t make a sound okay? Do not open the door unless it’s Daddy, Mommy, or Scott. I’m coming.”

Hastily shoving her feet into her torn vans, she throws a pair of keys to Nat and points to the door, “Start the car and call Bucky. Shit is going down.”

“Buck we have a problem.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“She’s not here.”

“What do you mean she’s not there?”

Sam shutters from the other line, “The woman we saw isn’t her. She says she’s a housekeeper and that Walker forced her to dress up as Marianne and stay in her room until he came and got her.”

“Fuck, get out and get over here,” Bucky hangs up the phone as John bursts into the room dragging the woman in question beside him. Blood is dripping from her eyebrow and her lip no doubt from where he hit her. Bruises are starting to form on her face and arms as she drops to the floor when John lets go of her arm. Thor and Loki jump to their feet, guns drawn and pointed at the man.

“Gentlemen! What a lovely fucking surprise,” he exclaims, holding Marianne by the hair, “Imagine my surprise when Scott here told me that I was being set up and I found your two buddies lurking around my house.”

Anthony stands but the sudden movement is not welcomed by the furious man and he pulls his own gun on the woman beside him.

“Sit down or I’ll shoot sweet Marianne,” the threat causes her to start crying and begging for her life as she claws at the hand holding her hair, “Shut the fuck up.”

Anthony does as he’s told and sits down. Bucky’s chest rises and falls at a steady pace, the soldier and mercenary in him remaining calm even when the room is up in arms. He rubs his eyebrow in mild annoyance that the meeting went south so quickly. He expected that this would happen, just not so quickly. Scott, on the other hand, is frozen by the door after being caught double-crossing his boss.

“Thor and Loki sit,” John demands of the two brothers.

Thor glances back to Anthony who gives him a nod and a dismissive wave. A shot rings out and is followed by a thud. Bucky glances over his shoulder to see that Scott is the one hit. Footsteps and shuffling are heard from behind him as the two brothers collect the body and take it out of the room. Looking forward again, he can see the disgusted and sickened face of Peter who hasn’t moved an inch since this whole thing started.

“Peter, go find my wife and daughter,” Anthony directs the young man.

He doesn’t move at first but Anthony saying his name sharply snaps him back to reality as he rushes out of the room to find the two other Stark family members. Marianne cries out again as John rips her up to her feet and forces her to sit in the chair next to Bucky.

“Care to explain what the real reason for this meeting was?” John sneers at the two men, eyes rapidly shifting between them.

Taking a deep breath and shifting his feet slightly so they’re more solid on the ground, Bucky speaks, “It was to ask you to leave my wife and her mom alone however objectives have changed.”

“Enough with the cryptic nonsense, start talking,” he shoves the gun into the woman’s hair, releasing another cry for help.

“Let her go and we can.”

“No.”

“I’m not going to ask again,” Bucky rolls his shoulders and shifts to the edge of his chair.

“Then don’t,” he moves his attention to Anthony, “And you. I can’t believe you would help him with all of this. I had to go through Scott to find all of this out.”

Anthony licks his lips, “He is married to my daughter so I felt obligated to help.”

John lets out a downright evil laugh, “Obligated? You felt obligated? That’s fucking hilarious. I think you wanted to cut me out of the deal and saw your opportunity.”

“So what?” the older man shrugs his shoulders at the accusation.

“If you felt so obligated to help your family then you would try and stop me if I shot Marianne?”

“No, she’s not my family.”

“You’re not going to shoot her. You are going to let her go though,” Bucky clears his throat and aims his stare at John.

The constant demands are starting to wear down his resolve and his finger grows restless on the trigger. Taking out all three of them right now would solve all of his problems. Taking out all three would bring back his sweetheart and he could have her all to himself. The decision is made for him when three shots crack out and three loud thuds hit the floor.

“Fuck, get out and get over here.”

Sam curses under his breath as he pockets his phone and waves Steve over from his search of the bedroom.

“Buck said to head to the Stark estate. John took her with him.”

“Shit,” Steve curses before turning to the housekeeper, “Go home, pack your stuff, and get out of here.”

She nods quickly while crying and takes off out of the room. The two men reupholster their guns and leave the room. They swiftly exit the house and climb into their SUV, speeding off to the Stark Estate.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Sam tells the man to his side as he races through the city streets.

“Me too. Did he say anything else?”

“Not just that we needed to get over there. Do we have a first aid kit?”

Steve reaches behind the driver’s seat and pulls a backpack to the front. Opening it, he digs through it until he finds the kit.

“I hope you’re wrong,” he says, shoving the kit back in and putting it at his feet. He pulls his gun out and checks his clip before checking the rest of the clips attached to his tactile vest.

“Me too, man, me too.”

Nat refused to let Doll drive, insisting that she could get them there faster and in one piece. Morgan had hung up the phone before they left in fear that John would hear her voice and find her. She promised to answer when her sister got there and called her to get her out. The phone rings over the car’s speakers and she smashes the answer button when she sees that it’s Sam calling.

“Nat get her out of New York. We’re here and shit isn’t looking good.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Doll says with an eerily calm voice.

“Shit, where is Nat?”

“Here.” “Please tell me you’re not on your way here,” the stress of the situation is draining his energy.

“Morgan called me crying that John was hurting people. She’s hiding in our parent’s closet. Do you know where their room is?”

“Do not go in until we can meet you. Nat, make sure she stays put until we have eyes on you and Bucky,” Steve’s voice is harsh and authoritative as he takes over the call, “Doll I need you to answer me.”

“Yes I won’t go in until I see you or Sam,” she begrudgingly answers, slouching into the car seat.

“Good see you guys in a few,” he hangs up the phone.

“Do you have an extra gun?” She asks, opening the glove compartment and riffling through it.

“No close that,” Nat slams it shut, “you’re not going in.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #mob au #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky barnes x reader #sad girl - bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

164 notes · View notes

wander-over-the-words · 6 months

Text

BioFluff Week 2023 Fic #2

Title: Close Encounters of the Rapture Kind

Prompt: Monsters/Costumes

Summary: The one where the Big Daddy and Big Sister suits come in handy, and Eleanor’s going to her first Halloween party, for which there are some ground rules.

Characters: Subject Delta, Augustus Sinclair, Eleanor Lamb; mentions of Little Sisters, Billy Parson, Big Daddies, Big Sisters, Splicers, Sofia Lamb.

Pairing: Augustus Sinclair/Subject Delta, with some family fluff with Eleanor.

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption and physical assault.

Notes: Second submission for a new BioFluff Week! Here’s the response to the prompt ‘Costumes’! Realistically, I’d imagine Delta would’ve been long-since cured by the time Halloween comes around, but fuck it, I like this idea. Happy Halloween!

All material belongs to Irrational Games.

Fic also available on AO3.

…

“I remember this Sinclair guy from when I was a kid,” one woman says to the other, frowning lightly as they lead their children through the iron gates of the most expensive and lavish house in town, which currently has three HAPPY HALLOWEEN banners strung up above the doors and across the outer fence on either side of the gates.

“He never used to open his gates to anybody who wasn’t givin’ him cash. He used ta sit on his porch and smoke sometimes, but other’n that, he’d just pop up in town every so often and then disappear again back into his house. Used to give me the creeps, him and this place. No idea why he’d be entertainin’ trick-or-treaters now…”

“Didn’t he go missin’ some time ago?” says her companion, holding her own child by the hand as they walk down the path toward the house.

“Yeah, ‘bout twenty years ago or so. My ma thought she was hallucinatin’ when she saw him in the street the other day, with that girl by his side.”

“Well, there ya go: he’s got a child now. Bet she’s got her daddy wrapped around her little finger an’ asked him to open the doors to trick-or-treaters this year, so he has. Just had a change of heart, is all.”

The first woman hums, clearly holding no hope for Sinclair’s character, but keeps it to herself as the four of them climb the steps, up onto the porch that they used to see Sinclair sitting upon as kids.

There’s a sense of trepidation in the air; Augustus Sinclair was considered more-or-less an oddity to the people in town at best, since he hardly interacted with anybody who wasn’t a client or staff (either his own or the ones working at the shops in town, during the times he’d magically pop up). The older folk in town knew him better; they would say he was a horrible man and would tell true stories of how he screwed good people over with that ‘fancy law degree’ of his, no sense of morality or empathy to him. Just before he disappeared, he abruptly fired his entire house staff, uncaring how much they were relying on his money or not.

Meanwhile, the kids would share theories of what he got up to in that big house, ranging from being some secret serial killer to actually being a ghost. Made him seem so much scarier during the times he’d appear in town, the suspected murderer or spirit being so much closer to them.

Now, here they are. On his porch. Previously forbidden land. Like something from a legend.

They share a look, then shake their heads at themselves, feeling silly, and then the second woman encourages her daughter to knock at the doors.

The little sugar plum fairy toddles up and knocks the hardest she can.

It takes a few moments, but then there comes a thump-thump-thump from behind the doors, like large boots hitting wood, and then the doors open, and the two women feel their faces pale as they look upwards.

“Oh, wow!” exclaims the first woman’s son, dressed up in a cardboard costume to look like a robot.

The little girl gasps, then grins and exclaims, “I love your costume!”

The large diving suit figure stares back silently, yellow-glowing porthole pointed at them all, and does nothing as he simply stands there, bowl of sweets in his hands - hands so big, they look like they could crush the four of their skulls in one fist, which only serves to make the women’s faces pale more.

“M-Mr. Sinclair?” one of them stammers.

“Nope,” comes from beside the doorway, and Augustus Sinclair pops his head into view before stepping forward to stand beside his…friend, “that’d be me. Evenin’, now. Happy Halloween an’ all that.”

“Uh…who’s…?” the second woman says, slowly pointing at the…person before them.

“Hm? Oh.” Sinclair looks up at them, then pats their arm. “This here is Delta. He takes the holiday all seriously, as you can see. He’s, ah, dressed as a haunted divin’ suit.”

Finally, ‘Delta’ moves: he turns at the waist to look at Sinclair, then looks back at the two women and lets out a little grunting noise.

“Uh - the, ah, helmet blocks his speech, ya see, heh,” Sinclair quickly says. “I’m his little helper for the evenin’, just here to play translator. Ha - I told him this costume was gonna be a pain in the neck ta greet trick-or-treaters with, but he don’t listen ta me, hehe. Like I said before: he jus’ loves this holiday.”

He looks down at their children and hastily changes the topic, clasping his hands together.

“But here I am, gabbin’ - I’m sure your little ones are just itchin’ for some of that candy they’ve been promised.”

He nudges Delta with his elbow.

“Go ahead, chief.”

Delta looks at Sinclair, then tilts himself forwards at the waist to look down at the children. His shoulders lifting upwards, he lets out some…noise that - call them crazy - sounds like whalesong, and Sinclair flashes them a grin, even while the women’s eyes widen.

“Aw, he’s just sayin’ that he likes the looks of your costumes,” he says, and the women can only wonder how the hell he knows that.

“Thank you!” says the little girl, curtseying to Delta in her little pink tutu, which prompts another one of those strange noises from him.

Carefully, Delta lowers himself down to one knee, and even when he’s kneeling like that, he looks huge compared to the rest of them, thanks to how thick his body is, seemingly all muscle even when the suit is a little baggy.

It does nothing to calm the ladies’s opinions of him; they continue to stare at him like they’re worried he’ll drag them into the house and prove those childhood theories about Sinclair being a murderer correct.

However, he doesn’t do anything like that. Instead, he just innocently holds out the bowl of sweets to the children, who, surprisingly, ignore it in favour of descending upon him.

The little robot boy boldly goes over to poke at Delta’s bicep and tug on his sleeve, coming over so quick that Sinclair takes a small step back to keep the kid from entering his personal bubble, while the little girl is staring, fascinated, at Delta’s left hand. After a moment, she reaches out to touch his finger, and Delta passes the bowl to his right hand so that he can offer his left one to her for her to get a proper look at it.

The women look like they don’t know what to do with themselves; it’s obviously not appropriate for their children to just go poking at a stranger like this, but he doesn’t even seem to care that they’re doing that, and to be honest, this…’Delta’ is giving them the creeps.

“Uh - honey,” the first woman tries to say to her son, but Sinclair holds up a hand to stop her.

“Aw, now, it’s alright. He doesn’t mind a little curiosity.”

“Are you a robot?” the little boy asks Delta, tilting himself to look at Delta’s porthole from where he stands by Delta’s side.

“No, no,” Sinclair says in his place, “there’s a man under there - flesh ‘n’ blood, like you an’ me.”

“Are you really super tall,” the girl asks, then, “or do you got stilts on?”

“Ah.” Sinclair holds up a finger. “‘Fraid we can’t tell you that, little lady. Trade secret.”

The boy raps his knuckle against the bottom of Delta’s helmet, testing the material that it’s made from, and gawks when he realises it’s real metal and not something like painted papier mâché.

“Is that helmet really heavy?” the boy asks. “You must be really strong!”

“Oh,” Sinclair chuckles, “trust me, son, he is. Could lift a car with those big ol’ arms o’ his.”

“Where did you get your costume?” the girls says, undeterred by the lack of a proper answer to her last question.

“Uh,” Sinclair’s smile turns slightly awkward, “I, ah…I know a guy. He, uh, made it an’...I paid for it all.”

“What’re these?” the boy then asks, tilting himself the other way now to look at Delta’s back, pointing.

“Those’re oxygen tanks, son - so’s he can breathe.”

“But what about those ones?” the boy adds, pointing now specifically to the glass tubes that contain some kind of gooey liquids that glow red and blue.

“Oh. Uh.” Sinclair’s smile falters, then he picks it back up, if a little uncomfortable-looking now. “That’s his, uhh…ectoplasm - s-since he’s a haunted divin’ suit and all.”

Coming back around to stand in front of Delta, the boy looks over at his left arm to follow the tube of blue going into Delta’s wrist; Sinclair watches the kid like he’s worried the boy’s going to ask another question about that ‘ectoplasm’, but when the kid doesn’t, the tension leaves Sinclair’s body and he subtly gives a sigh of relief.

The little girl is still investigating Delta’s hand. She pats at the rings on his gloved fingers, then moves around to stand beside him so that she can press her hand to his, the bottoms of their palms matching up, and she breathes a soft “Wow…!” at how much bigger Delta’s hand is compared to hers. She then moves back around to stand in front of him and takes hold of Delta’s finger in the entirety of her little hand, squeezing it and tugging on it to test Sinclair’s answer that Delta really is human and not some spectacular machine he’s programmed. When she evidently feels flesh and not metal or wires, she gasps and turns to her mother.

“Momma,” she calls, “I wanna dress like this next year!”

“Me too, me too!” the boy exclaims quickly.

The women look only more nervous, and Sinclair barks out a laugh before nudging Delta’s shoulder.

“Why, do ya hear that, chief?” he says. “You went an’ got yourself a coupla little fans here.”

Delta lets out a long note of that…whalesong he seems to be talking in (what kind of helmet is he wearing that reduces his speech to that?), before he holds out the bowl of sweets again, giving it a little shake.

“He’s askin’ if y’all wanna grab your candy now,” Sinclair says. “Go on, now - one a piece.”

The kids look at him like they forgot that was why they came here at all, then both rush to the bowl Delta’s holding out between them, each taking a stripey lollipop from the collection in there with words of thanks, grinning at Delta as he comes off of his knee and gets back up to full height. The kids only just grace his knees.

Just as the children are getting fascinated with Delta all over again, their mothers start ushering them off the porch, telling them there’re still plenty of houses to visit, and so the kids wave goodbye to Delta and Sinclair.

Sinclair wiggles his fingers in a goodbye wave, while Delta waves goodbye to match them, which just delights the kids; they’re grinning and giggling all the way up the path.

“He’s neat,” the boy says to his mother.

“I like him!” the girl exclaims. “He’s pretty!”

Their mothers, on the other hand, are still the picture of nerves as the second leans over to the first and hisses, “I thought you said he just had a daughter?”

“I have,” the first says, “no idea who that was.”

Behind them, the doors to Sinclair’s home are shut - and now that they are, Sinclair grins up at Delta as Delta lets out a long crooning noise, his own version of cheering.

“What’d I tell you, kid?” Sinclair says, hands on his hips. “I knew they wouldn’t be able ta tell you ain’t jus’ wearin’ a costume! I reckon we mighta just found a day where you can blend in!”

Leaning down to put the bowl of sweets on the nearby low windowsill, Delta’s crooning again, his shoulders perked up high in his symbolism for happiness.

His first human contact since arriving on the surface, outside of fellow Rapture survivors, had gone off without a hitch! He’d been worried that his appearance would be frightening for the kids - the Little Sisters only loved him, after all, because they were designed to - and he does feel a little bad for scaring their mothers like that, but they’d liked him! They’d really liked him! Reminds him of finding that one audio tape in Dionysus Park made by that little boy, Billy, who thought the ‘yellow-eyed girl’s’ dad was ‘strong and nice’.

He doesn’t doubt that there may still be some kids who might find him scary, but for now, he can bask in the feeling of having interacted with people outside of his loved ones.

Of course, he adores Augustus and Eleanor, and they’ll always be his favourite people, but…it’s nice, to be able to show his (albeit covered) face to other people. Makes him feel a little less like some freak they have to hide behind closed doors.

Delta reaches out and throws an arm around Sinclair, bringing him in for a grateful, overjoyed hug, and Sinclair nearly stumbles with how suddenly he’s brought in, then ends up laughing into Delta’s chest and hugs him back the best he can with their size difference.

Delta squeezes him as gently as he can without harming him, then pulls back to point toward the doors with his free hand, uses the same finger to tap the corner of Sinclair’s lips, then briefly struggles to think of how to communicate his message before he gives an awkward thumbs up.

Luckily, Sinclair understands what he’s going for.

“Aw, now, ain’t that sweet? You think nothin’ of it, honey,” Sinclair replies. “I’m happy ta play translator for ya - not like I got anythin’ in particular to do tonight, anyhow. Though - those kids were gettin’ a little too talkative for my tastes. It’s probably best for me ta talk to the grown-ups, make sure they know you only look a little scary, such is the theme. They ain’t had the experience of takin’ a train ride with you, now, have they?”

Delta croons, still delighted by how this has all turned out, and gives Sinclair another squeeze before letting him go, feeling Sinclair pat his side and pull back from the hug.

“Now, you just watch, chief,” Sinclair says, starting to turn around, looking over his shoulder at Delta and oblivious to the footsteps coming down the stairs, “cause I’m bettin’ that this time next year, you’re gonna have every child in town dressed as little Big Daddies. A-heh. Suppose that’d mean we’d call ‘em ‘Little Daddies’, now wouldn’t we?”

He chuckles at his own joke, earning a laugh from Delta, and then turns his head to look in the direction he’s intending to walk - only to come face-to-face with a Big Sister.

Instinctively, Sinclair scrambles backwards, letting out a burst of a panicked shout and reaching for Delta - which has Delta lurching toward him to protect him, purely instinctual too - before Sinclair’s brain catches up to the situation, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to block off anymore sound. The same hand goes down to his heart a millisecond later, before he fixes the Big Sister with a stern look.

“Now, I thought we mentioned not wearin’ the helmet when you’re home?” he says. “Break the rule if you want, but you’re responsible for the heart attack I get.”

Delta gives him a sympathetic little pat on the back, crooning to him softly to try and be comforting, as the Big Sister reaches up with both hands and pulls her helmet off.

“Sorry,” Eleanor says, hugging the helmet to her chest with one arm while moving strands of her hair out of her face with the other hand, smiling sheepishly. “I just heard the trick-or-treaters and got so excited.”

She looks up at Delta brightly.

“How did it go, Father?”

Shoulders rising higher than ever, Delta lets out a long croon of excitement, clasping his hands together with a fondness.

“Aw, those kids had no idea that that wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill Halloween costume!” Sinclair exclaims, grinning up at Delta, all panic from before dissipating in a moment as he’s overcome by pride and secondhand excitement. “Even went an’ got called pretty by that little girl out there! They just loved him.”

Delta lets out another delighted note of whalesong.

Eleanor reaches out to touch his arm.

“That’s fantastic, Father! I’m so happy for you,” she says. “Your first contact with the outside world! And it’ll only get better once we remove you from your suit, and then,” she grins, “you can come outside with Augustus and me and you can see the entire town, as we have!”

Delta looks as though he could explode from the excitement, the way his body language starts to bunch up, and Sinclair chuckles and pats him on the chest.

“Sure, but if that’s the case, then we’re just goin’ ta hafta hope you’re still beefy enough to carry this here suit on your back. Otherwise, once Halloween comes back around, we’ll have to find somethin’ else for you ta wear to the door.”

Eleanor smiles at her father, then looks to Sinclair, raising an eyebrow.

“Speaking of which, Augustus - aren’t you going to dress up as well…?” she asks, looking him up and down, in his usual attire. “It’s well into the night for you to be without your costume.”

“I’m as dressed as I’m gonna be, honey,” Sinclair replies bluntly, “as a businessman who doesn’t do Halloween.”

Eleanor gives an exasperated scoff while Delta lets out a long note that decreases in volume as it goes and sounds something like booing, giving Sinclair a little nudge in his own way of telling him not to be boring.

Sinclair holds up his hands. “Now, don’t give me that - I told you both from the start: I don’t do Halloween. Only reason I opened the gates at all this year was cause we wanted ta test if your daddy could get away with showin’ himself tonight. That’s it. I just don’t partake in the tradition.”

Delta lets out a huff that echoes in his helmet, and Sinclair looks up at him with mock offence.

“Why, I just went an’ spoke your words for you, chief, an’ this is how I’m repaid? Heartless of you.”

Delta repeats the huff.

“Downright shameful,” Sinclair says, then looks to Eleanor as she giggles. “You gonna be headin’ out soon?”

Eleanor grins excitedly at him.

Couple days ago, she comes to he and Delta in the evening, while Delta’s watching television on the floor and Sinclair’s reading the newspaper, and requests their attention in that tone that let them know that she - as a teenaged girl - was about to ask for something. Delta’s attention was on her in a second, and Sinclair looked at her over the tops of his glasses, otherwise not moving from the pose he’d been in when she interrupted his reading.

She’d nervously shuffled on the spot, then said, “My friends from school have invited me to a Halloween party. May I go?”

The two of them had looked at each other, then fired off a few questions, like where the party is (across town, at a friend’s house) and who will be there (only people from school). She’s spent time around her chums outside of school hours before, though never late into the evening, and parties are a different deal altogether. Lots of things can happen at parties with teenagers - especially to someone who’s never been to one before - so they (mostly Delta) had been wary.

But…she’d looked so hopeful, and part of the whole reason of coming to the surface was so Eleanor could be free to be a normal teenager, so…they’d said yes, and she’d been so excited, she’d physically jumped for joy and then gave them both hugs, exclaiming a flurry of thank yous before requesting to use the phone to call her friends and tell them she’s coming to the party.

“I think so,” Eleanor tells him, her hug on her helmet growing tighter as she gets more and more eager to go.

“An’ you’re sure you don’t want me ta drive you over there?” Sinclair asks. “It’s quite a walk, across town.”

“No, it’s alright. I’d prefer to walk - then I get to see how everybody else is celebrating.” She looks towards Delta. “And besides, you ought to stay here, in case any more trick-or-treaters come by, then you’ll have to translate for Father again.”

Delta gives a dismissive wave of the hand and mimes that he could write things down instead.

Eleanor’s smile twists at the end, growing awkward.

“There is no pen in this house that you could hold successfully, Father,” she says, to which he gives an admitting grunt, shoulders drooping slightly. “I’ll be fine, though. I promise.”

She takes a deep breath, nerves joining her excitement in a cocktail that makes her tummy flip. It’s the same way she’d felt when going to school for the first time, and Sinclair had had to give her a pep talk in the car.

“Alright,” she says with a determined nod, “here I go.”

Eleanor starts to go toward the double doors - only for Delta to slide into place in front of them to block her path, folding his arms.

From the knot his arms make, his index finger extends and wags at her, while he lets out a rhythmic set of noises that sound like the traditional “Ah, ah, ahh.”

Eyes wide, Eleanor’s excitement turns into confusion, face falling, then looks at Sinclair as he steps up beside Delta to block the doors as well, arms also folded and expression looking more stern than it had a second ago.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, “but I reckon the big fella wants ta hear the rules we set, just one last time ‘fore you go.”

Delta grunts in confirmation.

“Wouldn’t mind hearin’ ‘em for myself, if I’m ta be honest,” Sinclair adds.

Relenting and understanding, Eleanor smiles to herself and holds her helmet by her waist as she threads her fingers together underneath it, in lieu of humbly putting her hands together like a schoolchild.

“I have to be home by ten o’clock - at the latest - and not a second more. Otherwise, you’ll come looking for me - and you’ll embarrass me in front of my friends, for added measure. You would prefer that I stay at the site of the party, but if I do happen to leave the area for any reason, I’m to tell you once I get home. If I do go somewhere else and you find out about it, I will be grounded for anywhere from two weeks to a month, depending on other factors of the situation. As I’m not legally allowed to drink alcohol, I’m not to have any at the party. If I feel that I need to call you to come and collect me, I should. I’m also to be careful not to use any of my Plasmids or other ADAM-related abilities. Oh - and if anybody asks, I’ve come dressed as a haunted diving suit, and you paid for my costume.”

Sinclair - who’s been holding up his hands this whole time, lifting fingers to count off every rule Eleanor mentions - pointedly wiggles the next finger on his second hand to indicate a missing rule.

“And…?” he says.

Eleanor suppresses a laugh, barely managing to not grin as she says amusedly, “And absolutely no -” she gives a little snort, covers her nose and mouth with one hand, then drops it to finish her sentence “- ‘canoodling’ with any boys. Or girls, for that matter.”

Delta gives a very huffy little grunt of confirmation; clearly, to him, that’s the most serious rule of the lot.

“And what do we do if someone we don’t like keeps botherin’ us after we’ve told ‘em ta scram?” Sinclair asks.

Eleanor’s smile drops as she becomes more serious.

“I’m to deliver a kick between their legs and make it clear that they were disturbing me and not the other way around, just in case they try to lie about it to others.”

“That’s right.” Sinclair nods. “Now, there’s one last rule you forgot ta mention.”

Mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ shape, Eleanor looks confused, looking away as she ponders it, then her expression scrunches up as she looks back at him, silently asking what she could have possibly forgotten when she’s certain she’s said everything.

Sinclair’s stern expression gives way to a smile as he and Delta step aside and gesture to the doors in nearly perfect unison.

“Go an’ enjoy yourself,” he says.

Eleanor immediately brightens up, grinning wide, and rushes over to throw her arms around him.

He lets out a little “Oof!” since she’d practically barreled into him, making him take a step back and, still unused to physical affection that isn’t coming from Delta, Sinclair stiffens up immediately and winces. But then he slowly puts his hands on her back to loosely hug her in return, smiling awkwardly.

Grinning still, Eleanor pulls back and then runs to Delta, who is much more receptive to a hug from her; she practically leaps at him to hug his torso the best she can, and he’s all too happy to catch her and hug her close, crooning gently.

“I’ll see you later, Father,” Eleanor says warmly.

Delta strokes a hand over her hair, warbling softly to her, before he lets her go and watches as she excitedly hurries to the doors, practically bouncing, and gives them one last grin before taking another deep breath.

“Now,” she says, “here I go.”

And she opens the leftmost door and disappears through it, out into the Halloween air.

Delta goes to the window, pressing his hands to the glass, to watch her skip down the path and exit through the front gates. He keeps watching until he can’t see her anymore, stands there a little longer in case she comes back, then he sighs softly and comes away.

“She gone now?” Sinclair asks.

Shoulders drooped sadly, Delta grunts a yes.

“D’aww,” Sinclair cocks his head, looking up at Delta with a sympathetic smile, “chin up, now, kid. She’ll only be gone for a few hours, then she’ll come rushin’ back home ta tell us all about it. She’s not leavin’ the nest forever just yet.”

The thought of that happening makes Delta’s heart hurt worse than it did when separated from Eleanor down in Rapture, but he supposes Sinclair’s right. Just a few hours - Eleanor can handle herself for that long. She fought an army of Splicers alongside him down in Persephone, she can handle interacting with kids her own age at a party.

(Hopefully…He’s prepared to go racing across town if she decides she needs him.)

“I know it’s worry-makin’, her bein’ out in the dark like that, but you oughta get used to the idea, chief,” Sinclair adds. “She’s a teenager now, an’ this is what teenagers do. She ain’t gonna wanna spend every wakin’ moment with old men like us (presumably, in your case) anymore.”

Delta lets out a gasp, then his shoulders droop even more and he lets out a low, depressed moan.

“Oh - Oh, now, that ain’t what I meant, sugar.”

Sinclair goes over to put his hands on Delta’s chest, looking up at him with his brow furrowed.

“Now, that girl adores you, an’ you know that. But you understand, kid, that it’s good for her ta be spendin’ time around folks her own age, don’tcha? I dunno ‘bout you, but,” he gives a puff of a laugh, “I can’t relate to what young people are goin’ on about these days. Besides, you don’t wanna find yourself becomin’ another Doc Lamb an’ restrictin’ her on her comings and goings, now do ya?”

Delta lets out another puff of a gasp, straightening up a little.

He hadn’t considered that. Of course, he’d never hold Eleanor prisoner like that - his worries are his worries, and he won’t allow them to affect his parenting - but he also doesn’t want her to be under the impression that she has to stay home for his sake. He can relate, after all, to her desire to see the outside and not be cooped up in here, lovely and spacious as the house is. He is happy she’s made friends and wants to spend time with them, he is, it’s just…well, he’d missed so much time with her when he’d been dead. Makes him want to spend as much time with her as possible.

But Augustus is right - she has her own life, and it is a good thing that she’s spending time with people who aren’t decades her senior. He gets to spend time with her when she’s home, anyway, and none of her friends can say they get to spend that much time with her, in retrospect.

“Plus,” Sinclair says, reaching for Delta’s hand to hold it, “the time she spends outta the house is time you an’ I get by our lonesome, and I should hope that doesn’t sound like such a bad plan, now, does it?”

Delta straightens, briefly worried he’d implied he wouldn’t like that, then his shoulders lift happily as he pulls his hand from Sinclair’s grasp and uses it to cup the side of his face, rumbling softly enough that it could be mistaken for a purr.

Sinclair smiles up at him and places his hand over Delta’s, nuzzling his glove as he says, “Precisely, pumpkin pie. Y’see? It’s a win-win situation, when ya tilt it on its head.”

His smile becomes a smirk.

“Though, while we’re on the topic of romancin’...there might soon be somethin’ else you should quickly get used to, chief.”

Delta tilts at the waist, curious.

“You know it an’ I know it,” Sinclair points towards the doors to gesture to Eleanor, “that there may come a time when Eleanor starts mentionin’ some boy she wants us ta get acquainted with (or some other young lady cause - heh - we ain’t ones ta judge), and you’re gonna hafta act as though you don’t wanna toss that poor thing through an upstairs window.”

Delta lets out a little gasp, then immediately growls, his free hand curling into a fist.

“Ha ha!” Sinclair barks. “Well, now, I was just messin’ with ya, but - you’re really gonna prove yourself as one of those fathers, are ya? Shall I…fetch one of your old shotgun shells so’s you can scratch her sweetheart’s name into it and you can show it to ‘em as a warnin’?”

No, no, he won’t do anything like that. He…understands that Eleanor will start to get…interested in people her age, like how he and Augustus are interested in each other, and he’s…fine with it. He is. It’s normal, it’s a regular part of life, he’s fine with it.

And he won’t deny the person entrance to their home, should Eleanor wish to introduce them to he and Augustus - he’ll just take them aside and ask for every detail of their life that he dubs important (like their hobbies and if they have a criminal record and if they’ve ever wanted a criminal record, and what their intentions are toward his daughter, stuff like that) and then watch them like a hawk for the entire time they’re on the property, in case of any canoodling.

And if they dare to try canoodling with his daughter whilst they’re in his home - why, then he’ll throw them out the (downstairs) window!

(Or, in the very least, make them think he’s going to, since Eleanor would never forgive him if he harmed her…person of interest like that.)

Delta lets out a low huff, displeased, and Sinclair titters.

“Not sure if I’m lookin’ forward to that day or not, now,” he says as he rubs his chin and averts his gaze thoughtfully, then cocks his head and gives Delta a smile. “But how ‘bout for now, sugar, we put the focus on our own whirlwind of a courtship right here, ‘stead of focusin’ on hypotheticals?”

He gives Delta a wink, and Delta perks back up, warbling so delightedly that one might picture cartoon hearts floating about his head.

“You’re speakin’ my thoughts exactly, pumpkin,” Sinclair replies, then starts to tug Delta’s hand toward the living room. “Now, c’mon, let’s see if we can find some flicks on the picturebox or somethin’. Might be that that show you like is on - what was it called, now? The Addams Family?”

Delta grunts to let Sinclair know he’s correct.

“That’s the one. If it ain’t, then we might hafta settle for somethin’ a little scarier, par the course for the holiday. And if that’s the case, then you better make sure you hold me tight, honey,” he cups his own cheek, face creasing up in fake worry, and adds a little more drama to his tone, “cause I might get scared an’ need someone ta bat away the danger. Reckon you could do that for me?”

Delta chuckles, then bypasses Sinclair to sit in his usual spot on the floor, between the couch and the television. He spreads his legs and pats the spot between them to offer it to Augustus.

“Seems like you’re capable,” Sinclair says, then takes Delta’s offer and sits down on the floor between his legs.

Tilting forwards, Delta wraps both arms around him to hold him close, making sure not to lean on him too much lest he hurt Sinclair’s back, then lets out a contented sigh.

“Snug as a bug,” Sinclair says in agreement. “I couldn’t be safer if I tried my hardest.”

He looks over his shoulder to give Delta a smile.

“Happy Halloween, chief - I’m glad this holiday’s worked out so well for ya.”

Delta gives a delighted note of whalesong, sending vibrations through Sinclair’s back, and then reaches over and picks up the remote from where it lays near his thigh. He holds it out to Augustus, who takes it with a thanks.

“Now,” he says, then points the remote at the TV, “let’s see what’s on tonight.”

#My writing #BioShock #BioShock 2 #biofluff 2023 #biofluff #Subject Delta #Augustus Sinclair #Eleanor Lamb #Deltaclair #Topclair

41 notes · View notes

hannibalzero · 2 months

Text

charthur omegaverse wip

(Southern nights au)

🦌🦬🦌🦬🦌

Not sure about this wip yet, let me know lovelies

it had all started with such a innocent question.

Jack had came to Arthur’s tent, stomping over in boots to big for him. as mad as a old wet hen if Arthur could call it anything.

Jack kicked off John’s boots, climbed into Arthur’s cot snuggling close hiding his face in Arthur’s chest.

Arthur’s old cot groaned at the extra weight, the lapping waves of flat iron lake along with a mocking bird song. showing a rare moment of peace for the outlaw.

Kissed Jack’s head, wasn’t everyday that someone wanted Arthur Morgan to love on them. besides his spoiled ass horses naturally.

he was about to take a nap himself but that could wait a bit. Arthur didn’t mind one bit.

Jack needed him.

Fat cheek resting on Arthur’s chest. Those blue eyes looking up to Arthur own with a frustrated look on Jack’s face.

“whats gotten ya all fired up? been’a long time since ya cuddled up ta me.”Arthur murmured rubbing a big hand up and down Jack’s back. with a rare gentleness that Arthur was able to share.

the worn cotton shirt in a faded cream color that Jack wore was as soft as butter under Arthur’s fingers. Everything about Jack was soft still, Arthur couldn’t help but to savor these moments.

Jack wouldn’t be a small soft pup for much longer.

The little boy gripped Arthur’s faded blue shirt in frustration.

“it ain’t fair, uncle Arthur.” He whined softly burying his face back into Arthur’s chest sniffling loudly as he fought back tears.

“What ain’t fair?” Tilting his head and moving Jack closer. “must be somethin’ mighty big if ya crawled into the cot with me.”

Arthur encouraged Jack to look up at him, with a careful tap at his chin. he wouldn’t hurt Jack, he wouldn’t hurt anyone he loved. Arthur was nothing like his own daddy.

lip wobbling, tears in his eyes that Arthur was wiping away with careful touches. “ain’t no kids around, ain’t no siblings ether.” he whined hiding his face back into Arthur’s chest. wiping his nose in Arthur’s shirt the way all children do.

made a face at his shirt being used as a handkerchief but Arthur supposed he had been covered in far worse things. “aw, Jack. it can’t be helped in this life. its why we work so hard ta get us out of it. being a gunslinger and all that. want ya ta have friends.” Arthur soothed best he could keeping his voice soft. “what got ya thinking on this?” he asked, his forehead lined with worry.

Jack pilled off his thumb, the little fella still sucked his thumb when soothing. Popping off his thumb giving a brave sniff..

Arthur held up his handkerchief and smiled at bit as Jack honked loudly into the poor checkered rag. “there ya go, come on now…tell me what ya need me ta know.”

the little fella smiled a bit now calming down thanks to Arthur’s efforts.

Man, Jack would be one hell of a outlaw. Pup was a brave wolf already.

Setting his jaw, making firm eye contact with Arthur, Jack started his story in a serious voice. His hands still balled up in Arthur’s shirt.

“I went with Uncle Sean and Uncle Lenny inta town. We’a found ten dollars from Micha.” Jack started with a huff.

“hate ta interrupt ya there pup, why did ya, Sean and Lenny steal from Micha?” Arthur couldn’t hide the playful smile that spread across his face.

Anything bad happening to Micha? was a wonderful day.

Like when Micha’s horse Baylock got tired of Micha’s bullying him and knocked Micha into the ‘latrine’ ditch. it was beautiful.

Arthur almost cried from the beauty of that moment.

Jack looked away, eyebrows knitting together. “Cuse Micha said he was gonna take’me fishin’ and give me candy. but he was messin with me. Told Uncle Sean and Lenny. we ran’a job on Micha!” his voice dripped with pride. He couldn’t help it, Arthur busted out laughing ruffling Jack’s head. loud and strong, it had been a while since he had laughed so hard.

“Pup! ya little outlaw!” Arthur settled himself with a little snicker. “oh my word, made ma week.” he took another breath. “Micha earned it, now back ta your story. Lenny, Sean and ya went ta Roades right? ta the store?”

#charthur #rdr2 #omegaverse #wip #aka Jack asks Arthur for siblings lol #😂#not sure about this yet #let me know 🐰❤️🐰#arthur morgan #charles smith #jack marston

22 notes · View notes

darklydeliciousdesires · 5 months

Text

Immortal Beloved - Chapter Four.

Oh, look at that. It's surprise update time! I have noticed a few new readers making their way through the previous chapters, a warm welcome to you all :) Thank you to my regulars for your reads, reblogs lovely reviews, you make my heart happy <3 It would make me endlessly happy if I could hear back from a few of you who've remained silent so far, too. Remember, it takes less time to leave a comment and hit reblog than it does to actually read the chapter you just enjoyed :)

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,704

Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

Deluge. Downpour. White blankets swathed the surroundings in every single direction as John carefully negotiated his Austin Twenty over the rapidly freezing roads, shuddering as he did. The temperature had dropped to a bitter minus five, but he wasn’t about to let a little thing like sub-zero temperatures and weather that bordered upon a blizzard stop him from reaching Little Aston. Besides, it had only taken such a severe turn once he was over halfway there.

At seeing the stone wall bearing the engraving ‘Georgian House’, he sighed with relief. Turning in, he was about to jump out and open up the gate when he saw a figure come trudging down the drive, a well-dressed man opening the high, iron structure and waving him through.

“Carry on straight up, Mr Shelby. Ma’am is awaiting you.”

“Bloody hell,” John muttered with a smirk as he continued up the drive, “her butler looks older than she is.” The drive was not long at all, John pulling the car alongside a beautiful, black Rolls Royce outside of what looked to be an old coach house, picking up the bottle of whiskey he’d brought with him. Tommy had advised him there, telling him it wasn’t polite to turn up to the home of a woman who appeared to be in such high standing empty handed.

“Allow me, sir.”

Pushing a hand past where he reached to rap the large, brass knocker upon the door, the butler let them into the house, pausing upon the other side of the heavy door. “May I take your coat and cap, sir?”

“Ta. Oh, mind ya fingers on the peak.”

The butler looked between the young man and the razorblade adorned cap a little distastefully, raising an eyebrow. “Sir.”

He aimed for non-judgmental, but it didn’t land at all, John’s smirk widening as he turned at the sound of a door creaking open, the only person within the walls of Georgian House whose opinion he gave a damn about walking towards him.

Taking her in, he gulped, seeing how incredibly beautiful she looked. Her hair tumbled in a cascade of curls, her peacock printed silk robe flowing with all the elegance she carried herself with. It was belted low, low enough to reveal that she wore no brassiere beneath. His heartbeat amped a few notches.

“I almost ventured out to see if you had become stuck along the way!” Reaching for him, she pressed a kiss to his lips, humming happily.

“Er, yeah. Sorry an’ all for being late. Fucking coming down in buckets out there, it is.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it truly is no bother. I anticipated as much. Oh, and you brought whiskey, how splendid. Now, cook has prepared dinner for us, but it shall keep. Let’s head to the sitting room and warm you up. You are colder than I am!”

He let her take his hand, John’s eyes everywhere as they walked to the right across the checkerboard tiled welcome hall of the homestead. Fine art hung upon the baroque embossed, black wallpaper, the ceilings white, a gigantic chandelier twinkling above them. He shuddered to think how many zeros its price carried.

The sitting room was equally as opulent, the hardwood beneath his boots almost black in colour, rich tones of claret and burgundy decorating the space, pops of brightness offered by the cream settee, mounted in gilt framework. He almost didn’t dare sit down, save making the place look somehow untidy. There was even a polar bear rug upon the floor, complete with head.

He nodded in the direction of the skinned beast, its teeth bared. “Imagine having to take that down when it was alive. Blimey.”

“There’s no imagining,” Bryn spoke, taking the whiskey from him and moving to the small bar area, pouring out two measures into cut crystal glasses. “I did take it down. Perhaps one of my finest hunting trophies. I feel there is a sense of pride to hunt for your own furnishings.”

Moving to sit beside him, she proffered the glass forth, resting her hand to his thigh. The feel of him beside her, his scent, oh. She had missed him. “I must add, though, it was not a merciless slaughter. The beast was stalking some human friends of mine who live on the northern island of Svalbard in Norway. I waited until nightfall for doing a little stalking of my own once it had returned to their cabin, intent on feeding upon them. We vampires are very proficient with the removal of predators who make a pest of themselves.”

He looked impressed, but his following question had nothing to do with the method to which Bryn had procured herself such a rug. “Was them people doing for you what Alfie’s men do when you’re in London, or like how you want us to do for you here? I’ve got news about that, by the way.”

“Not exactly,” she began, leaning back against the comfortable assortment of cushions padding out the settee. “My friends in Norway offer a different type of exchange, blood for protection. I do not feed upon Alfie’s men. The Jews consider this an unholy alliance, so my relationship with them is merely that of daylight protection for monetary recompense. Since vampires have existed, there have been families of humans to know about us, secret keepers as they are known.

“We feed upon them for the exchange of protection. Gypsies commonly do this, of course your blood being so very beautiful in palette to us. You know of that already, though. Your family were not the only ones to give us up to the Rasmussen’s, though. This is another reason why we are becoming so few in number these days. Because out of feeding preference, many of us aligned ourselves to gypsies, since their betrayal of our kind our food source has become scarce.”

“And that’s affected you too, right?” he asked, Bryn shaking her head.

“Not for me personally, no. The people who work on my staff are from a long line of secret keepers whom I aligned myself with centuries ago. My butler, Albert is the grandfather of the family, my cook, Bettie is his wife, and my housekeeper, Elsie is one of their granddaughters.

“Their grandson, Luke, he also works for me, but on the side of my business. He just telephoned to say he has taken lodgings at a hotel within the city centre as the roads are becoming perilous. He is currently assisting me in helping curate a number of new exhibitions at Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. This is the reason why I came to Birmingham in the first place.” Sipping her whiskey, it then dawned on her. “Gods above, here I am, prattling away! You said you had news?”

He shrugged lightly. “No bother. I like hearing all about your life. So, I told our Tommy and me aunt Pol, tried to with Arthur an’ all but he buggered off and wouldn't listen. Tommy says he wants to meet you, I suppose to get an opinion on you before he decides either way. Is that alright?”

“Absolutely, we shall head back there tomorrow evening, if you intend on spending the night?” Oh, he intended on it, and his face showed it. That cheeky grin. “The smile is telling me yes very clearly.”

He leaned in close, kissing her cheek. “As it should. Besides, I doubt I’d be able to get the car out again unless that snow stops.” They kissed one another with longing, John resting a hand to her leg, running it up her thigh slowly. No stockings. A little higher as she virtually purred against his tongue, his fingers reaching her hip. No knickers.

And she wasn’t slapping his cheek and accusing him of being a letch. Or telling him he had to wait.

Before he could find himself too lost within the hazy mist of eroticism, a small noise of someone clearing their throat sounded over the noises of their kissing. “Ma’am, do forgive me for interrupting you and your gentleman friend, but the dinner shall not keep much longer, lest the lamb chops dry up.”

While Bryn thanked Bettie and stood up, all John could do was sit there lost in a daze of his own arousal. No brassiere, no stockings, no knickers.

Did they have to eat dinner?

Upon taking the first mouthful of the succulent lamb, though, cooked with tomatoes and mint, paired with baby potatoes and green beans, he very much wanted to fill his stomach. “Blimey, this is fancy.” Nodding to her meagre portion, he raised an eyebrow. “Not much of an appetite?”

“I only eat for the pleasure of the flavours, remember.” Of course. He immediately felt like a clod for forgetting that. A short silence, followed, John wrestling with the correct way to ask her the question he had wondered over.

“Right, so if you’re dead, then how do ya digest the food?”

She laughed softly through her nose, reaching for her wine. John Shelby; he just had to know how everything worked. “Truth is, I have absolutely no idea. Something about the magic of what I am, I suppose. My body just absorbs it somehow, like it does with the blood, for I haven’t had the need to use a lavatory since I was human.”

“Well, that’s good I suppose. You’d hate the one at our house,” he began, shovelling a potato into his mouth. “Outside loo, bloody froze me balls off going for a shit this morning.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he winced. It perhaps was not the politest of dinner conversation. When Bryn virtually barked out a laugh, he relaxed, though.

“Oh, John. You know nothing of taking a shit in the cold! Wait until you’ve hovered your bare bottom over a latrine in minus twenty, as I had to in winters as a human.”

“Minus twenty?” he exclaimed, Bryn widening her eyes.

“Yes, it is bitter in Norway.”

“Tell me more about it,” he asked, spearing a piece of tomato with his fork. “I bet it was so different to anything I know, when you lived as a human.”

As he enjoyed every mouthful of his food, a very generously infused fruit and rum cake to follow, John learned all about the Viking age from Bryn’s perspective. Her life had been a hard toil, farming the land and raiding in the summer months with Bjorn, her then-husband, the man she had loved and sadly lost to battle.

“Losing him was terrible, but our son, Sigurd, he thrived. He travelled far and wide to trade, made me so very proud as a mother, even though I could only ever watch him live as an adult from the shadows. He was fifteen when I was made vampire, with a wife of his own and a child on the way. It saddens me that I was not able to truly be there to witness it.”

“Why not?” he asked, thanking her when she topped up his wine. He wasn’t a wine drinker at all, but the red she decanted from the crystal bottle was very palatable, he had to admit.

Lacing her fingers together, she leaned forward a fraction, a sad sigh falling from her pretty, pink lips. “Baby vampires must go with their creator, they are much too volatile in nature to remain with their human family, mores the pity. It is for their safety, and so we may learn how to be what we are, also. My creator was a vampire named Olaf, an ancient being I had the pleasure of being raised by. He was wonderful, but alas is no longer with us.”

“Wasn’t the fucking Rasmussen’s, was it?”

“No,” she said, reaching for her wine. “The decision was his. He was old and tired, nearly two thousand, nine hundred when he decided to kiss his vampire children goodbye and meet the dawn sun. We of course felt sadness, but it was his choice and we respected it.”

“And your siblings?”

“Two remain out of fifteen. There is my brother, Siddiq, who I cannot bear. He resides in a small village not far from his birthplace of Morocco, settling there about two hundred years ago after much travelling around and inflicting himself upon others with his narrow-minded views and oafish behaviour. Then there is my sister, Annabelle, and I love her dearly. She resides in New Zealand, where she and her husband run a nightclub in Christchurch, the perfect venture for a couple of vampires. We write one another often. The other ten met their final death through conflict, and the other three chose to meet the sun also.”

“Have you got any offspring?”

“Two,” she confirmed, smiling a little sadly as she thought of her children. “Alexander and Joy. I do not allow them to reside within England. Too dangerous, it is, for them to place themselves close to me, especially considering it is Rasmussen turf. I have flitted around from place to place for a long time, in order to remain a step ahead of them. My children do the same. The only thing that brings me here right now is my work.”

John listened intently but found himself stuck upon one detail. It was greatly surprising to him, how these creatures were blessed with a life eternal, yet chose willingly to leave it behind. He then supposed that living lifetimes longer than anybody should, some would likely tire of it, having to say goodbye to humans they’d become close with, over and over again as the decades and eventually centuries passed them by.

“You are wondering if I have ever considered such a decision,” she stated, John’s eyebrows rising a fraction. He doubted he’d get used to that, the way she could seemingly read exactly what was on his mind purely by facial expressions alone.

“It crossed my mind,” he confessed, pulling a cigar from his pocket, raising his eyebrows questioningly. She vanished, returning after a second with an ashtray she placed before him. Lighting up, the intoxicating scent of tobacco filled the air, John continuing, “I can’t even imagine it, being on this earth for so fucking long. How’d you do it, live so many lives and never get tired of it all?”

“I sometimes wonder at my tenacity, but you must understand that being vampire made me a very different creature for a long, long time. Once we are made what we are, our humanity is mostly gone. We are no longer human. We are predators, shadow walkers, as your kin called us, bound to the darkness we must forever live within.

“When our bodies die, so do our human values and morals. It takes many hundreds or years to gain a little of it back. As I am now, I am much more human in nature than I was at two, three, four hundred years old. Older vampires, while we possess a power that is virtually limitless, are much gentler than our younger counterparts.

“This is how we cope with living these many lives you mention. Our driving force much different to that of a human. Feed, fuck, survive, repeat. Then, you see, there is the certainty over all you shall bear witness to, everything you shall see in your extended time.”

Taking a pull on the cigar in his hand, he leaned forward in his seat. “Tell me, about the things you’ve seen.”

Oh, where to begin? Bryn’s mind truly was like an encyclopaedia, so many lives, so many sights emblazoned vividly upon a memory that would never forget even the scantest detail of the life and death she had lived. “Oh, gods above, John. I barely know where to begin. I have watched empires rise and fall, been at the side of kings as they have conquered, watched regimes topple and oppressors burn.” His curiosity did not diminish. “You wish for specifics, if I am correct?”

“You are,” he confirmed, watching as she emptied the contents of the wine decanter into their glasses.

Clutching her glass, she stood from the table. “Then let us retire to the sitting room, and I shall tell you some of my more memorable stories.” They left the room, crossing the hallway, Bryn pushing the heavy door open and sweeping her hand, all of the candles within the opulent space lighting, the fire suddenly springing into life. “More of my vampiric magic. I seem to harness fire and energy, hence why my predatory energy made all of the streetlights upon Watery Lane shatter when I was hunting your adversaries.”

He had wondered.

Sitting with her, he felt as if he needed to shake himself into reality. This woman, this earth bound, but magically created, femme fatale creature of the night was testing the very realms of his imagination, of what he considered reality. How was this happening to him? How was John Shelby from Small Heath sitting on a settee next to a vampire, a woman of boundless life and power, about to tell him of the sights she had seen in her thousand plus years?

How?

“As his lover, I sat upon the council of Mehmed the Conqueror during his second reign of the Ottoman empire, advising his proposed attack upon Constantinople. I revealed to you my status as shieldmaiden, but what I did not tell you was that before my turning vampire, I was considered by the standards at the time as a warlord. I led an army of Vikings to conquer upon many a raid after Bjorn’s passing, taking on the position of a Jarl. Mehmed trusted my intuition and experience, as well as my ruthless nature as a four-hundred-year-old vampire.”

His eyes bulged. He hadn’t heard of the man she referred to, most of her explanation being lost upon him, but it sounded very important. “So, you vampires do reveal yourselves to humans, then? I mean, situations like the one between you and me, the secret keepers and gypsies aside?”

“If an alliance proves beneficial to us, then yes, we do.” Reaching for his cigar, she took a little puff upon it, savouring the rich flavour of the smoke before placing it in the ashtray, moving herself to sit astride him. “I think I tire of talking for now.”

Her mouth met his in a slow tease, tongue rolling against his as her hands braced to his chest. He kissed her back with slow heat, fingertips teasing the edge of her robe. “I’m glad you do, cos’ I’ve been wondering how many more tattoos I get to find on this beautiful body.”

Her lips curled into a wide grin of pleasure. “Allow me to reveal myself, so you may count them.” Sliding from his lap onto her feet, she hooked her fingers beneath the clasp belting the flowing silk around her form, unclipping it and letting the robe fall to the floor. Her nakedness was even more exquisite than he could have ever imagined, those tattoos decorating beneath her breasts, across her hips, the designs snaking over the sides of her thighs.

“One,” he spoke, placing a kiss to her sternum. “Two.” Another kiss pressed upon the opposing side of her body, his arms encircling her waist, hands stroking the small of her back. “Three.” His lips met her hip, tongue tracing along the long ago etched black lines, those kisses scattering over from one side of her body to the other. “Four.” The aroused scent drifting from her womanhood evoked a crush of teeth upon the soft skin covering her hip, Bryn letting her head tip back as she grasped his shoulders, purring with delight.

Bracketing her hips, he turned her around, his pupils inking to see the rounded swell of her bum right before him, each orb also decorated with the swirls of two ancient, Nordic dragon tails that ended there, beginning up at her shoulders. Pressing his tongue to the groove of her lower back, he ran a long, slow lick up her spine, his hand sweeping away the curtain of dark curls as he rose to his feet slowly, mouth pressing to her neck while his hands kneaded her breasts, his want spiralling beyond any means of control.

She let herself get lost in him, leaning against his chest as her hand reached back, nails trailing over the shortly shaven hair at the back of his head, her insides beginning to glimmer. “Take me to bed. Now.”

While Bryn might have been the one of illimitable strength, she allowed herself to be lifted, John picking her up and carrying her from the room, up the grand staircase, and following her instruction, into her bedroom. There, she found herself thrown onto her bed, a flick of her hand illuminating all the candles as well as the fireplace within the room, set upon thereafter by a man who did nothing to hide his carnal hunger for her.

Pushing him back to his feet, she had to stop herself from shredding his finely tailored suit with her nails in haste to reveal his nakedness, stripping him of his clothes in a flurry of action, her pupils dilating as she took in the pale splendour of his body.

He was divinity in human form. Flawless skin only marked by the speckling of freckles, lithe muscles, and, well…

“Gods above, I think this is the most perfect cock I’ve seen in centuries,” she purred, her hand curling to grasp it, that and the lick she placed upon the crease of his hip evoking a shudder to run right through him.

“Yeah,” he breathed, lifting her chin, his thumb stroking the bow of her lip. “Just you wait until it’s inside ya.”

The feel of his warmth against her as she pulled him down between her legs sent a thrill of anticipation through her, fingers coming through his hair as their tongues entwined. Their hands pawed one another, all that pent up sexual longing amping, bliss charging over neurones as they indulged in the delight of one another.

It was only the very beginning of a night where fever and passions would soar beyond comprehension.

#john shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #john shelby x ofc #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #peaky fucking blinders #immortal beloved #john and bryn

39 notes · View notes