#mafia nightmare | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aylish91 · 1 year

Note

Mafia! Nightmare x Reader?

After being cursed to never sit down, and a long wait, we finally get to see a bit of the man himself! Hope you enjoy!

~ ~ ~

When Challengers Fall

“W h a t...”

The phone creaked dangerously within a black skeletal hand, body unnaturally still in its seat at the desk. Even Killer stilled from the sudden change in his boss. Though he thought he’d seen it all, something much more sinister began brooding within the Don. It had him on edge. Whatever this was, it wasn’t like the rage or anger that normally occurred in this line of work. This, was something else completely.

It caused sweat to bead on his skull with dread.

Kingpin Lord Don Nightmare had more than earned the moniker after becoming the undisputed head of the mafia currently in and around Ebbot City. Though he was far from allies with the other factions, his reach was far and hold strong.

A true king of the Underground. Unyielding and unmovable.

Something, was very wrong.

In eerie calmness, the phone was placed back onto the receiver. Then with a slow breath and a steepling of fingers, the dark lord opened his one good socket to a blazing and sharp eyelight.

“Contact Error. I wish to make a d e a l.”

~ ~ ~

You had to grit your teeth against the stings and aches as you were half dragged through multiple rooms and hallways into a more secluded part of the building. Multiple men followed behind while more ran ahead to unlock any door that got in your way. Dark hair did little to hide the furious brown eyes of your tormentor as you went, the fresh cut across his cheek and ear making you uncomfortable.

You were still bound when he came for you, chaos already spreading throughout the building. You hoped it was help. Prayed it was salvation and not a rise before a fall. The only thing going for you at the moment was the fact you hadn’t been outright killed as soon as he showed up.

But things could always change.

An explosion somewhere behind you had a few men cursing, plumes of smoke billowing down multiple hallways. Manic glitched laughter could be heard over muffled panicked screams. It made your group move faster. With only a few more turns to make it to a recessed keypad that opened a hidden elevator, the laughter growing unsettlingly close as everyone attempted to fit inside the small space. It wasn’t much longer that you arrived at an underground garage.

The grip on your upper arm tightened.

It was quiet, a single light the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. You were surprised to see several bodies littering what little you could see of the area, some disappearing within the shadows.

Slowly, the first few exited, guns drawn and ready.

“I’m curious. Did you really think I would roll over so easily?”

The familiar voice had your hope rising in your chest, unshed tears threatening to fall as you thrashed against your restraints and called out. During your struggle, you ended up between the open doors, forced to your knees by your hair with a gun to your head. Tensions were high as your captor cursed you and gave your head a firm shake.

“I’m getting tired of these games, Nightmare! All you had to do was give me what I wanted! Now I’m tempted to put a nice pretty hole in your little sunshine’s head. Your parlor tricks don’t affect me!”

Nightmare’s reverberating growl echoed through the garage as the darkness around the light shifted. “Damn fool. You have failed to account for a great many things, Reed. I didn’t get this far by giving orders from the safety of closed doors, nor listening to whelps like you!”

Everything moved at once.

Nightmare formed from the void, fur-trimmed overcoat elegantly slipping from his shoulders as black sharpened tentacles sprang from his back. His once gentle and saccharine smile was now sharp and contorted, almost crazed as he bore his teeth in anger. His eyelight was the brightest you’d ever seen. Dust had appeared from the right, a volley of sharpened bones already formed with his raised gun, Axe charging from the left.

Just as bullets, magic, and tentacles converged, the light shattered.

The doors closed.

Only a couple of other men remained inside with you, frantically trying to get the buttons to work. Reed pushed you over to slam a fist against the doors in his rage. Turning back to you, a sick expression of glee formed on his face as he raised his gun, only stopping when the elevator shook with a bang.

“Surprise!”

The upper panel flew open as blue strings snaked in, Killer effortlessly sliding down while simultaneously kicking one man in the face and then stabbing the other in the chest. He was fast, making short work of the two stragglers before turning his attention to Reed. Dodging a round, he pushed forward to use his shoulder to slam him into the far wall, effectively disarming the man. You maneuvered yourself as best you could out of the way while Killer leveled a gun back at Reed's chest.

With a smug grin and a snap of his fingers, the doors to the elevator opened, grin ticking higher at the sight of his freshly stained boss patiently waiting just outside. “Unfortunate really. I won’t be able to finish the job. Seems the Boss wants a word.”

Reed wasn’t even able to retort before black tendrils wrapped around his neck and body, dragging him out and squeezing. Admiring the struggling figure dangling above the floor, he waved a hand at the others.

“Watch over them. I have business to attend to. I think it's time to show the others what awaits them If they DARE touch what’s M I N E.”

…

Tainted but safe arms took you home and away from that hell.

...

You weren’t allowed to watch or read the news for a month. You figured you didn’t need to know about it anyway.

Grandmaster Post Mafia Master

#writing requests #my writing #mafia nightmare #nightmare sans #mafiatale #mobtale #nightmare #nightmare sans x reader #nightmare x reader #mafia! nightmare x reader #x reader #killer sans #dust sans #horrortale sans #bad sans gang #undertale #undertale au #error sans? is that you up there?

501 notes · View notes

delta-pavonis · 3 months

Note

Ooh, from the wip game: former mafia hob :D

I know I have posted bits and pieces of this in various places on Tumblr and Discord, but below is probably the largest segment of the WIP I have ever posted at once. And this is maybe about a quarter of it? It features an OC that I made up and then it turned out I was prescient because in my head Sandro looks pretty much exactly like Ethan from Maneskin. Also, to no one's surprise, this gets NSFW at the end. (WHAT?!? SMUT?!?!?! FROM MEEEE?!?!?!)

"And this guy, this Burgess, just had him locked in a giant glass sphere in his basement!"

"A human? Wouldn't he need air?"

Hob was in an ex-pat bar on the south end of Okinawa, doing a very good job of continuing to live completely off the grid just as he had for the past eight years.

The old man started up again and Hob strained to hear him across the length of the bar. "He just looked like a human. I worked there sixteen years and he didn't age a minute, hell he barely moved. I heard Burgess bragging once about how it was the God of Dreams that he caught! All I know for sure is what I heard directly, which is that Burgess kept asking him for things – magic, money, immortality – and the pale fucker just kept glaring at him. Never spoke a word. Just stared daggers with those unearthly blue eyes. I am telling you, if looks could kill, that old bastard would be dead thirty times over. Whenever that fairy King or whatever the fuck that shaved panther of a human-looking thing is gets out…" The guy whistled, leaning back from the bar and shaking his head. "The entire Burgess family tree is going to burn."

This man had Hob’s full attention now. He grabbed his drink and moved around to sit on the barstool next to him.

"I am sorry, where did you say you are from?" Hob asked, trying for casual, sizing up the ex-military guy. He had a muddled accent, but with a heavy dose of south London. His salt-and-pepper hair had been kept buzzed even though he had clearly been out of the service for a long time.

"What's it to you?" The man was immediately bristly, crossed his arms over his chest. He was defensive and closed off and Hob was going to need to work to get more information. Hob sighed. Or take the easy way out… just pay him for the information.

The Okinawan summer was too hot for this. Hob would give it one shot, try to explain, but if that didn't work it was Plan E for Easy. "I have an interest in the supernatural. And you certainly seem to have seen something. Could I ask you a few more questions?" The old-timer just stared at him, completely deadpan, unblinking. It made Hob take a sip of his whisky with its melted ice and then press the glass to his temple. "I can pay you for your time."

He perked up immediately after that.

> > > > > | | < < < < <

Two days later – and after an exchange of enough money to set that old-timer’s family up for generational wealth – Hob was settling into his Business Class seat on the long haul from Tokyo Haneda to Rome Fiumicino. He tapped out an email telling Gio his flight to Palermo was going to get in at 08:20 and would he be so kind as to send around a car? He needed to stop and see il Barone first (because his knee was bad enough as it was without getting kneecapped for failing to pay his respects) and then straight to the grotta. And make sure the shovel is in the car? Grazii.

It was his Stranger. It had to be. The description was uncanny. And the quick sketch Hob had drawn on a bar napkin had resulted in a rather emphatic positive identification.

And even if it wasn’t his Stranger, there was something being kept in that basement that probably needed rescue. There were paltry few things in the world, as Hob had learned over the centuries, that deserved to have their freedom completely taken from them.

Almost 22 hours after sending that email to Gio, Hob stepped out into the salty Mediterranean air of Palermo and sighed. His white linen three-piece suit with light blue shirt fit the aesthetic of the region as much as the weather. The smells, the breeze, the sounds – yeah, okay, Hob had missed it. But this was no time to linger. Focus, Hob! First, he had to give his regards to Salvatore and then he could go dig up his stash from his time in the Family Business. He put on his hat and dark sunglasses and walked out into the sunlight.

In the aftermath of 1889 Hob had, unsurprisingly, a lot of anger and frustration to work out. He ended up falling back on a reliable skill set he hadn't tapped in awhile: violence.

It was bare knuckle boxing first, which earned him enough money to leave for the States without disturbing his securities in the UK. He continued with underground boxing for a bit, because he was fucking good at it, until he got noticed.

Hob got picked up by Giuseppe “the Clutch Hand” Morello and Ignazio “the Wolf” Lupo and the rest was history.

First they took him in as a base-level associate, just another meatheaded guy who could fuck people up for them. And he made it to the Castellammarese War, which was as good a time as any to fake his own death.

But, by pure happenstance and a whole lot of luck, Salvatore D’Aquila caught him in the act, pig's blood everywhere, mutilated body that clearly wasn't Hob at his feet and well. That had required a bit of explaining. Explaining lead to talking, talking lead to negotiating, and suddenly Hob was heading upstate to train with the best.

And so it was, with some excellent mentorship on handling firearms and his innate knack for getting himself out of trouble, Hob became one of the most feared associates in Cosa Nostra.

In fact, he became The Associate.

See, he was never going to be a made man; he didn't have the proof of a Sicilian, or even Italian, heritage that he needed to be a ranking Family member. But any capo worth his salt wasn't going to turn away this level of skill and finesse.

And in return they had kept his secret. Mostly because they knew they had given him the means to kill them all if it was otherwise.

Well, it wasn’t like the entire Family knew. Just Salvatore and his immediate blood relations. Who he needed to stop and say hello to first, then to business.

Once the meeting was done, he headed to the coast.

When Hob left the Family Business he had literally put all of his gear into an air-tight oak box and buried it. One of the things Hob had learned over the centuries was that, more often than not, symbolism mattered. So it wasn't a surprise to find that when Hob opened the wooden box with a crowbar it was like seeing good friends come back from the dead. His shotgun. His sabre. His pistols.

He buried these along with his career in Cosa Nostra in 1998. It should have been earlier, but the six or so years after 1989 were a bit of an alcohol and cocaine tinted haze and it took him another three years after getting sober to work on his exit strategy. But once he was out he had abandoned it all and never looked back.

In fact, it was only in the past few months that Hob had let himself pick up a gun again to do some target shooting. Suddenly he was very glad of that coincidence.

After filling his duffle Hob stared down into the empty casket of his former life. He had never, ever expected to be in this position again, most certainly not less than a decade after abandoning it.

Crouched amongst the sand and the rocks of the beachfront cave, he ran a hand through his sweaty hair and sighed. "The things I do for you, Stranger." He closed the lid.

"Ti Umbra?" Sandro had been watching Hob silently up until now. Even as a little kid, Alessandro had called the thing that haunted Hob his Shadow. He was an eerily perceptive child, often ostracized from his peers because of it – which of course meant that when Hob had arrived in Sicily in the early 1980s they had become easy friends. Now in his early 30s, Sandro was mostly a driver, but knew his way around a weapon, as any son of a Don should. Hob had hoped he would leave, go to college, get out, but Hob never did convince him to. He was a good kid, he didn't deserve this kind of life.

"Si." Hob put his hands on his knees and levered himself up. "I think that he needs my help." A sigh as he kept staring at the box. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me, Bettino." The nickname had come from the diminutive of the diminutive of Roberto, which Sandro’s family knew Hob as. It was an endearment used only between them. "Only He could bring you back to this, to the Family." Hob felt the other man's hand on his shoulder and laid his own over it. The feel of those fingers was achingly familiar. "Let me come with you. You should not go on the rampage you are about to embark on alone, my friend."

Hob picked up Sandro's hand, placed a kiss on the knuckles. "Not a chance. I won't put you in such danger. And I won't let you see me like that." Alessandro hadn’t even been born yet when the Associate was working hardest, in the heydays of Murder, Inc., and all that entailed, when Hob rarely had a night when he wasn’t washing the gunpowder from his hands.

Sandro laughed. "I have seen you every other way, why not this one?" His arms went around Hob's shoulders from behind and he moved his lips to the shell of Hob's ear before dropping into Sicilian. "One more go at it? For old time's sake? Last chance to use me as His stand-in." He laughed even more at Hob's sharp inhale. "You think I didn't know? Oh, Bettino." He nuzzled into the hair at Hob’s nape. "That's how I was able to pretend you really loved me."

"Sandro!" Hob pushed away and whirled around, looking over his former lover’s dark hair and olive-bronze skin, high cheekbones and pouting pink lips, wiry build and black-brown eyes. Not wanting to misspeak, he answered back in English. "I did – and still do – really love you, you know that."

"Yes, but not as you love Him." Sandro shook his head as he moved in to press their foreheads together, arms back around Hob's shoulders. "You would not come back to the Family for me. You would not go to war for me. And that is okay. I know my place. I made my peace with that years ago, when you left." He leaned in to speak against Hob's lips. "But I would ask if you would have me one last time."

Hob let Sandro pull him to the ground amongst the rocks inside the small cave. Hob's shirt and vest were already discarded, his sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. He unbuttoned Sandro's shirt and pulled it down so it caught in his elbows, draped down his back low enough for Hob to run his lips over the huge tattoo of Santa Rusulia – Patron Saint of Palermo, invoked for protection in times of plague – wearing a crown of roses and standing amidst a copse of lilies outside a cave not so different from the one they are currently in, looking out to the sun setting over the sea, that covered his entire back. Hob drew that image, originally charcoal on paper, while they were sitting on the beach watching the sun set on Sandro's 19th birthday in the early ‘90s. He didn't know that Sandro had even saved the picture until a shootout a year later had Hob ripping off the young man’s shirt to stop the bleeding and found the image permanently inked into his skin.

Sandro knew more about Hob than anyone living. They had spent four years as lovers in the mid-'90s. Hob had gotten sober for Sandro. He had left Cosa Nostra for Sandro, had begged for Sandro to come with him. But he was too scared of his father, Salvatore “the Baron,” to leave. He was worried about the fate of his mother, his sisters. Hob couldn’t begrudge him that. It still stung.

Hob shucked Sandro's pants down his thighs and moved his hand around to his ass, thinking that he would tease him dry before trying to find something slick back in the car. Instead, Hob's fingers found warm, flat silicone. He slumped forward with a moan and his forehead hit between Sandro's shoulder blades. "Oh fuck, Sandro. You have been full with this the entire time?"

"Ready for you, Bettino." He sighed, soft and sweet as candy. He let out a high-pitched cry as Hob slowly pulled the plug out and Christ it was huge Hob would be able to just…

There was a thmpt as the silicone object hit the dense sand a few feet away, flung aside as Hob frantically tried to get his slacks down as quickly as possible. As soon as his cock was free Sandro's hands were reaching back to grab it, lubricant that the horny little weasel must have been carrying in his bloody pocket smeared all over his fingers, readying Hob to just…

Sandro sat back and Hob slid into him to the hilt, all in one stroke, easy as breathing, smooth and perfect.

They stayed that way for a long moment, readjusting to each other. The first movement was Hob's hands stroking from Sandro's thighs up to his chest then pressing them together. When they started rocking Sandro let his head fall back with a sob.

"Did you keep your hair long for me, too?" Hob wrapped the waist-length ponytail around his fist and tugged. It made Sandro moan just as sweetly as it had all those years ago. "That's it, sing for me, bell'uccellino." He snapped his hips up and Sandro wailed; he always was such a vocal lover, his pretty bird.

#yes another mafia AU #in this one Hob is still canon immortal and Dream is still King of Dreams and Nightmares #fishbowl rescue fic #Dreamling #Pavonis writes

104 notes · View notes