#mafia!141

[msriri030]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

cw: mention sex work and slight toxic work place

The club buzzed with electric anticipation, fueled by a swirling rumor that someone important to Don Price was visiting tonight. You had no idea what your boss had done to arrange to host this visit for the Don—and honestly, you didn’t care. All that mattered was that, while you were on the clock, you were the club's star singer. But when the lights dimmed and the applause faded, you became just another pawn—another sex worker your boss dangled before wealthy patrons, provided they played their cards right.

With a sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing it back with a touch of pomade. In the mirror, you checked the fading bruise from last night’s "guest," ensuring the makeup the kind bartender lent you concealed it. Satisfied, you leaned back, drawing a deep breath to steady yourself.

Knock. Knock.

The door swung open, and your boss' voice crashed into the room—gruff, sharp, and impatient. “Don’t screw this up. Got it?”

“Got it,” you replied coolly. As his footsteps retreated, you muttered under your breath, “You bastard.”

Rising from your chair, you adjusted your suit, making sure the lapels were sharp and every detail flawless. A final glance in the mirror—your practiced smile in place—and a sip of water later, you strode toward the stage, your heart thudding in rhythm with the faint murmur of the crowd.

As you approached, the band filled the room with a sultry, polished rhythm that kept the patrons engaged, the melody weaving through the dimly lit club like a spell. You lingered just offstage, nerves buzzing, waiting for your cue. The announcer stepped into the spotlight, microphone in hand, his polished smile betraying just a flicker of unease beneath the surface.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests from all walks of life,” he began, his voice smooth and confident, “please welcome our star performer, Mr. [Your Name]!”

The crowd erupted into applause as you stepped into the spotlight. The familiar warmth of the stage lights greeted you, casting a golden glow over the room. Your eyes scanned the sea of faces until they landed on one that sent a chill down your spine—a man seated next to Don Price. His vermillion suit and open black coat were striking, but it was the skull mask obscuring his face that unnerved you. Though his expression was hidden, his gaze felt piercing, unrelenting. You tore your eyes away and accepted the microphone from the announcer, who leaned in close.

“Good luck, songbird,” he murmured, his voice tinged with both encouragement and warning.

The lights dimmed, the room quieted, and the moment was yours. Drawing a deep breath, you began your performance with one of the club’s favorites—Antes de Ti by Mon Laferte. The band played a soft, smooth melody, their instruments blending seamlessly with your voice as it filled the room. You swayed gently, letting the music guide your movements as you sang:

"Antes de ti

Yo no conocía el amor

Estaba sola y triste como esta canción

Transitaba el lado oscuro de la luna."

Despite the music and the adoring crowd, you could feel his gaze. The skull-masked man’s attention was like a tangible weight, burning into you. A quick glance confirmed that he and Don, in front, were engaged in a quiet conversation, their heads close together. You silently thanked the heavens as the song neared its conclusion. Just one more chorus.

"Antes de ti (Before you)

Yo no conocía el amor( I didn't know love)

Por cada estrella una decepción ( For every star a disappointment) 

No había nada-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah~

(There was nothing-ah-ah~) "

The final note lingered in the air as you extended your hand toward the crowd, lost in the emotion of the moment. But then, your hand accidentally locked with his. The masked man. His gloved fingers briefly brushed yours, and the intensity of the connection sent a jolt through you.

"Antes de ti, mi amor! (Before you, my love!)"

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, oblivious to your inner turmoil. But as you froze on stage, the masked man rose from his seat and began walking toward your boss. Your heart sank.

The announcer, sensing something amiss, stepped forward quickly and dismissed you with a practiced flourish. You retreated backstage, your thoughts racing.

What did I do? Did I offend him?

The uncertainty gnawed at you as you slipped into your dressing room, waiting for the inevitable knock that would summon you to face Your boss' wrath. 

The knock came, sharp and deliberate.

You braced yourself, then opened the door, expecting your boss’s fury. Instead, the man in the vermillion suit stood before you, his tall frame filling the doorway. The mask caught the dim light, casting shadows that seemed to deepen its ominous design. Up close, his presence was overwhelming—an aura of authority, mystery, and something darker emanated from him.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tie to mask the unease creeping up your spine. “Can I help you?” you asked, voice steady.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. The air grew thicker, more charged. His gloved hand rose, brushing over the edge of his mask before he finally spoke, his voice smooth and deliberate, carrying an accent you couldn’t quite place.

“You performed beautifully tonight,” he said, his tone a mixture of admiration and something else—something you couldn’t name. “But I came to discuss something more… more important than music.”

Your instincts screamed at you to tread carefully. “I appreciate the compliment,” you replied, carefully neutral. “But I’m not sure what business we could have.”

He chuckled softly, the sound both disarming and chilling. “You sell yourself short. A voice like yours… and a presence like yours…” His gaze, though hidden, felt like it was peeling back layers, scrutinizing your very soul. “... has value far beyond this club.”

You stiffened, unsure if this was flattery or a veiled threat. “If you’re looking to negotiate something, you’ll need to speak with My boss.”

“Your Boss?” He scoffed lightly, the corners of his mouth barely visible beneath the mask. “Your boss’s not the one I’m interested in.”

Your pulse quickened. This wasn’t about Club’s business. This was about you.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice firm despite the uncertainty gnawing at you.

The man stepped closer, his presence enveloping the small room. “What I want,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, almost intimate murmur, “is to offer you something this Club never could.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in just slightly, enough for you to catch the faint scent of something sharp and expensive. “Freedom,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a forbidden promise.

Your breath caught. Whatever this man’s intentions were, one thing was clear—tonight was going to change everything. He extended a single crimson rose, its petals almost too perfect, as though crafted rather than grown. You hesitated before taking it, the velvety texture brushing your fingers. 

Lifting the rose, you studied it carefully. “You promise me freedom,” you said, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “And I don’t even know your name. What do you want from me in return? We both know nothing is free in this life.”

The man chuckled, the sound low and smooth, as if amused by your boldness. His gloved hand reached out, brushing against yours as he gently adjusted the rose in your grip. “Clever,” he murmured. “You see through the illusions most are blind to.”

Before you could step back, his arms encircled you with a deliberate slowness, not forceful but undeniably commanding. The leather of his gloves was cold against your skin as he pulled you closer, his presence intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he said, his voice now a near whisper, inches from your ear. “Not yet. But I see what others overlook—the fire in you, the defiance you try to bury under obedience. You don’t belong to anyone else.”

His words struck a nerve, stirring something deep within you. You tilted your head to meet his gaze—or rather, the unyielding mask that shielded his face. “And you think you can free me? Just like that?” 

His hand trailed down to your waist, holding it lightly but with undeniable intent. “Freedom comes with a price, it’s true. But it’s not what you think. What I want,” he paused, the room heavy with his words, “is you. Not as a pawn, not as a commodity. You, as you are—your loyalty, your will. In exchange, I’ll give you a life you never dared to dream of.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as his words sank in. The rose in your hand felt heavier now, its beauty tainted by the weight of his proposition. “Why me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek. “Because you’re more than you think you are. And with me, you’ll finally realize it.”

The room felt impossibly small, as though the air itself had thickened under the weight of his presence. Somewhere in the distance, the hum of the club faded into an afterthought, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence. His towering frame loomed close, not menacing but magnetic, drawing you in despite the warning bells ringing faintly in the back of your mind.

He leaned in, his movements deliberate yet unhurried, and the faint scent of leather and something darkly intoxicating mingled with the cheap perfume you’d hastily dabbed on earlier. His voice was low, smooth like velvet over steel, sending a soft tremor through you.

“By the way,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin like a whispered secret, “people call me Ghost.” He paused for a heartbeat, his words hanging in the air before he continued, softer this time. “But you, dollface…” His lips tilted into the barest hint of a smile, one that held both mischief and something deeper, something almost tender. “You can call me Simon.”

The name hit like a soft ripple in the storm, grounding him in a way that made your heart lurch unexpectedly. Ghost spoke of shadows, danger, and the unknown. But Simon? That felt real. Intimate. A name not given to just anyone, but to someone who mattered.

Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze—hidden behind the mask but still piercing—seemed to hold you captive. His gloved hand reached out, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw, light as a whisper, before retreating. You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, unbidden.

“Simon,” you repeated softly, the name rolling off your tongue with an unfamiliar ease, like it belonged to you now, like it carried a piece of him that he was offering. A nervous, fluttering feeling settled in your chest as his head tilted slightly, watching you with what felt like infinite patience.

In that moment, the world outside dissolved, the distant hum of the club fading into nothingness. It wasn’t about the suffocating glamor of the stage, the shadows of his mask, or the bruised dreams you carried in your heart. It was about him—a man who had given you more than just a name. He had given you a sliver of himself, something real, something raw.

The silence between you felt alive, stretching and pulling like a taut string, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged with something unspoken, something you couldn’t name but felt deep in your bones. Your hand, almost without thinking, reached out. Fingers trembling, you lifted his mask.

And there he was.

The face beneath the mask took your breath away—not because it was flawless, but because it was human. His features were strong yet softened by a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. Scars etched across his skin told stories of battles fought and survived, and his eyes—those eyes—bore into yours with an intensity that felt like it could unravel your very soul.

You stared into the deep, stormy pools of his gaze, searching for the truth behind his promises. His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw not a shadowy enigma, but a man—Simon. Just Simon.

He leaned closer, his movements slow, deliberate, as though giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The world stilled, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears as his lips brushed yours in the lightest, gentlest touch.

It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises, of a hope neither of you dared to name yet. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing a tender path along your jaw as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. The warmth of his touch melted the walls you didn’t realize you’d built around your heart.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His voice, low and intimate, broke the silence.

“You deserve more than this, dollface. Let me give you more.”

"Okay, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible but laced with a newfound strength. The simple utterance of his name felt like a key turning in a lock, freeing something long buried within you. His eyes searched yours, and in them, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t expected—hope.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, more was possible. A life beyond the suffocating confines of the club, beyond the bruises hidden beneath layers of makeup, beyond the weight of a world that had always demanded too much of you.

Simon’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with an aching tenderness. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing promise. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch, your heart pounding as the last remnants of doubt began to fade. In the intimacy of the moment, the world outside seemed impossibly far away. There was only the warmth of his presence, the safety of his arms, and the quiet certainty that, whatever lay ahead, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

And as his lips met yours once more, the kiss soft yet brimming with unspoken vows, you felt it—hope blooming in the spaces where despair had once lived.

[duty-calls-for-booty]

PSA to all CoD writers

[bunnys-kisses]

trappin' (price's version)

capt. john price

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, baby trapping & pregnancy, dumb!reader, mafia don!price, rich!price, burly & hairy!price, tattoos, age gap (20s/40s)

bunny says: reblogs & comments are always appreciated! i have a few ideas in my head about maybe a simon version or a konig version! (please leave your suggestions!!!)

this was going to be so painfully easy. when you saw which shelf the older man ordered from, you saw dollar signs in your eyes. so with the front zipper of your dress pulled down a little to show off the 'goods', you went over to him at the bar.

you were flirty and sweet. your hand on his bicep, you didn't realize the toned muscles of his arms. oh, he was more than just a rich older man.

"well, aren't you just a sweet thing." he rubbed the top of your head. he said his name, "john price, love." like you should've known it. so you simply nodded when he told you it, and you gave your own name.

"how about we get out of here?" you asked with a cute smile, "i'm not really the best at bars, sadly." then dropped the smile into a small pout.

he hung over you like a shadow as he cupped your face, "aw, someone scared?"

you nodded, giving him the most innocent look, "can i go home with you tonight, mister price?" you saw his expression soften at the question. hook, line & sinker.

you had poked holes in the condom. happy to hand it over under the guise of you needing to 'protect' yourself. as if it didn't look like a strainer with all the holes in it.

price watched you get undressed slowly. he eyed you with a predator's gaze as he undid his tie and took off the jacket of his suit. price looked and smelled expensive, it would be perfect little paycheck. your thoughts were filled with stacks of sterling pounds, that you didn't even catch that price noticed the holes in the condom and chuckled.

silly girl, he thought. he knew exactly what you were doing. you weren't the first person to try and squeeze money out of him via a little price brat. but price got hard at the idea of such a gorgeous, conniving woman would fail so beautifully.

he did need a wife after all, and the ones the family were trying to pair him with were simply so boring. you, on the other hand, were a little firecracker who knew what she wanted. but as he pressed you into the bed, his lips on the back of your neck as he rubbed his cock up against his ass. he knew that he needed a ring on you fast.

"mmm, that feels good." he said, "see how hard ya made me, love?"

you'd do just fine as mrs. price. don't worry your little head though, you weren't going to get involved with the family business. just make sure that you make price lunch before he heads to the office and tuck the kids into bed before he comes home.

your stomach did somersaults when you felt the pressure of his tattooed hand against your throat. you saw all of his tattoos on his hairy body when he undressed. you had no idea what they represented, while the one of the dagger was a little more obvious (not to you), even the "gentler" ones, like the flag of his hometown on his shoulder or 141 on his collarbone painted a grim story of price's past.

you should've not poked those holes in that condom. silly girl.

he pushed you deep into the pillows of his hotel room. he had you bent at an awkward angle and polluted all of your space. leaving you little room to breathe as he sank his cock into your waiting hole.

price was a bad man, you should've ran when you had the chance. because when he got his cock wet in you, he felt a sense of euphoria that he never had with any other slag he had been with. you were different, it was like the heavens had opened and given him a gift.

a pretty young thing with a need to be bred.

oh yeah, he was keeping you. there were no questions asked. one hand on your throat, the other on your hip as he thrusted into you. he knew, he knew right then that you weren't getting too far after tonight. maybe he'd let you slip out think you got what you wanted, but that was all just to add a little fun to your game.

thinking that you were the top dog in this, but you were just a scrappy little thing. nothing like the pitbull that price was. he didn't manage an entire mafia family without getting a little... tough. and you may go back to your crummy little flat and wait anxiously for the pregnancy test to come back positive.

but come the end of tomorrow, he'd already know everything he needed to know about you. from where you lived and went to school to how many moles were on your back. hell, even if you were ovulating to begin with.

he pressed your head further into the bed and thrusted into you. your ass shook with each heavy stroke of his cock inside of you. and don't worry, if it doesn't take this time. there's always next time, and the time after, and the time after that.

ah, you silly little thing. this wasn't a one night stand. this was price prepping you for being his wife. you thought you were getting away with one kid? one kid in his world is rookie numbers, you'll be having your hands full for a good while.

he continued to rut into you, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you. with each one you became some soft for him, you harsh moans because soft little mewls as each orgasm hit.

"such a good girl. aren't i lucky to have found ya." he got both hands on his hips and he battered your womb with his impressive size. he was big and hairy all over, covered in tattoos and an accent that melted your brain.

you fit him like a glove, it was a sign you two were meant to be together! he was still fucking you with the stamina of someone closer to your age, meanwhile you were laid out under him with your eyes barely open. poor girl's gone and got her brains fucked out for the night.

that was alright, meant that price could dump a few loads into you before you came to again. he'd of course never hurt you, not in that way. but you were the temptress that led him back to his room, he was just reaping his reward.

he panted against your ear, the filth in his words made your pussy clench around his aching cock. all it took was two little cells to mix together and you'd be a proper mama.

don't worry, price hasn't ruined all of his swimmers over the years.

with a few more thrusts, price found heaven. he shot his seed into your pussy. spat it right up against your womb, a promise of what was to come.

"john." you said with a loose tongue.

"didn't finish yet." he lied, "almost there. you just lie there for me, alright? i'll take good care of ya, baby girl."

he didn't even bother to pull out as he got you on your back. he wanted to see that blissed out expression while he put your knees to your ears and your puffy, wet cunt on display.

a proper mating press for the silly little girl who thought she was going to pull the rug out from under mister jonathan price.

-

you rubbed your lower back and huffed. you were only in your fifth month, but the baby was expected to be rather big. you couldn't complain only a fool would climb the mountain that was john price.

one of the most dangerous men in london.

what started out as a ploy to get enough money to pay for university ended with you dropping out to be price's full-time housewife. with the rock, the house and the baby to prove it. this was your second pregnancy in three years, with your daughter happily sitting in her high chair. her father sitting by her, keeping her busy while you cooked.

one of his tattooed fingers pointed to the pictures in the children's book he had open for her. he was determined to make sure that she could read a little bit before she went off to school in another two years.

"see that's a cow, baby girl." he said, "like the ones we see when we go drivin'." he was very attentive for a man who had snuffed the life out of people with his bare hands.

but he'd never hard a hair on you, your daughter or your future son's heads. he could barely be rough with you during sex nowadays!

it was summertime once more, the heat of july rolled through the old house you called him. you had kept the dress that caused this marriage and family, but with the mama chub on your hips you weren't fitting into it again anytime soon.

but price didn't mind, a good mother like you shouldn't be showing off what is his anyway. <3

[oceantornadoo]

something something you’re mafia!price’s younger sister, used to the comings and goings of your brother and his gang. in and out of your house at odd hours, always paying your respects before meeting with the man in charge. until one day where john’s hosting a very important dinner, something about making connections with the scottish. the man to impress meets you and john in the office before dinner, john pushing you gently towards the stranger with a hand to the back.

“sweetheart, this is johnny.” and you’re usually so confident, but something about those eyes and that grown out mohawk and that calloused hand does you in, all your experience with mafia men going straight out of the window. “hi johnny.” you smile at him shyly and he’s done for. knows what he wants when he mentions an arranged marriage at dinner later, something about forging connections that last. you give him that same smile in that same office hours later, shyly opening your silk robe to show him everything underneath. laid out on your brother’s desk, johnny fucking you with tongue while using his hand to finish his own job. and lastly you’re using that smile again walking down the aisle a month later, all doe eyes and sugar when it comes to your new mafia husband!johnny…

[vnards]

Mafia141 p.4

The boys react quickly, like they’re trained to do. You don't.

Ghost is able to tackle you to the ground before bullets start flying through the windows.

The sound of gunfire and glass shatters the peace, a familiar ringing to everyone but you. One moment you're focused on not spilling anything, now, with the mugs shattered on the floor, a heavy weight on top of you, and loud shots piercing in the air, you felt like you couldn't breathe.

The bullets seemed endless, embedding themselves in the walls and booths. Another body covered you, keeping your face pressed to the floor. There was crying. It’s coming from you.

After what felt like minutes, the shooting stopped.

Silence followed.

“Sit rep.”

The body above you finally lets you lift your head. You look around to see the diner in carnage. The plush in the booths were torn and shredded, some of the stuffing still hovering in the air. Everything glass on the counter were shattered. The cold wind came in through the broken windows.

“Good here.” A voice broke through the ringing in your ears.

“Johnny?”

“A'm right here.” He grumbled. There was a string of words that sounded like cursing.

Your heart is still pounding like a mallet as the boys around you began to get up.

You were being moved before you could even realize it. You were being lifted in the air and back on your feet like you weighed nothing before you could get your bearings. Simon’s eyes scanned you over as you were finally able to start moving your tongue again “W-what-“

“Gaz, secure the perimeter.” Movement followed his orders,  one of your “customers” move to Simon's order. Your confusion is hard to hide. “Go get your stuff. We’re leaving.” You look around at the two remaining men left in the diner; Simon, his hand on your back, keeping you steady and Johnny, the Scottish man with a Mohawk and his white dress shirt bleeding across his peck.

“You’re hurt.”

Both men looked to where you pointed, Johnny grumbled under his breath, “Fuckers ruined my new shirt.” He poked at the blood, some coming off his hand as he examined it.

Something about seeing him bleeding shocks you back to life, “T-the first aid kit is in the back. I can-" you move to go retrieve it.

Johnny caresses your shoulder “It’s alright, little bird, it’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine.” The vibrant blue in his eyes holds a boyish joy to them. “But I’ll never say no to you.” He winks.

The sudden flirtatious attitude from Johnny was whiplash compared to the carnage that surrounded you. “Not now, Johnny.” Simon scolded. It didn’t look like Johnny was sorry, “I gotta tell Price the meeting’s a bust.” He slides his phone out, trying how to not pissed the boss of about this. “Make sure she gets her stuff.” He was at least going to grant you that before bringing you into the mess that is tonight.

Johnny salutes, trying to break under the primal fear of the past few minutes that consumes you into being paralyzed in the moment. With Ghost and Gaz gone, it’s up to Johnny to keep you calm enough to not go into shock. His chest puffs up a bit, being given the opportunity to keep you safe and calm, but it’s not the time. “Actually, birdie,” Your eyes finally meet his, “I could use that first aid kit. Could you get it for me?”

A task. Something to help you move forward. You nod soundlessly and gave yourself a moment to calm your shaking hands, your barely controlled breathing.

First aid kit.

You enter the back of the room and head to the office where your stuff is. You’re mind is still a blank with static before you have a chance to realize you’re not alone.

Another weight, this time less gentle, slams you against the frozen storage and pins you there. The wind is knocked out of you as a body twice the size of you, unable to scream or cry in pain. “No one mentioned there would be a reward.” The stranger leered.

You try to speak again, but there’s a third body knocked into you. Your head is slammed against the door and everything hurts. You fall to the floor, no longer pinned against the cold door. Regardless, the world still spins.

You hear a struggle and the few moments of clarity you can get shows that Johnny is grappling with on the floor outside the office, his opponent in a headlock. The other man throws an elbow that connects and his grip falters, allowing him to get the upper hand.

The strange man swings again, this time an elbow to Johnny’s nose knocks off his balance, “You fucker!” He growls.

The larger man is able to tower over Johnny, taunting. You are so paralyzed in fear when you spot the shine of a barrel coming out.

A shot rings out. There’s yelling

When you open your eyes again,  the body that was towering over Soap was toppling over, dead weight. The blood pouring out of the hole in his skull a shocking horror to you. You finally start to scream.

The darker skinned man came forward in your field of view, “You’re okay, princess, you don’t need to be scared.” Too late. You slip out of consciousness.

masterlist

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Of Cupcakes and Skulls | Part 4

(A/N) It's back! I apologize for the break last week, like I mentioned I was at GamesCom in Germany and didn't really get to write anything. I hope you enjoy this even more tho!

Pairing: single dad! Mafia! Simon x baker! Reader

Warning: angst, threats against Reader, comfort, kissies, confessions,

Synopsis: Based on this post by @lunamoonbby

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

You felt cold. So incredibly cold. And it was loud. Yelling and gunshots, glass breaking, and metal clanging. Desperately, you pressed your hands against your ears as you curled into the fetal position, trying to keep the world out. It wasn’t working.

You could still hear all the noises. And that voice.

“Kleine Maus.”

It was a singsong, slowly distorting, the words turning into your name. And he said it again. And again. And again. And again.

A cry tore its way through your throat and out your mouth as you shot up. Your breathing was labored as you quickly looked around the room, confusion filling you when you didn’t recognize your surroundings. Suddenly you felt two strong hands on you - one on your left shoulder and one on your back. Panicked, you whirled around, expecting to see the man that was haunting your dreams, but it wasn’t him.

“Hey, hey. You’re alright. It was just a dream.”

Simon looked concerned as he gently pulled you closer. For a moment, you resisted, before you realized what was going on and immediately moved toward him, curling up in his lap as he wrapped his strong arms around you. Gently, as if not to startle you further, he began rocking you back and forth, fingers drawing gentle circles on your skin. Only when he stopped for a second and reached up to wipe the tears slowly flowing from your eyes, away, did you realize that you were crying. You looked up, meeting his eyes which were filled with concern, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Simon?”

He hummed in acknowledgment, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Di-Did you k-kill them?”

You watched as his eyes hardened and he hesitated, the frown on his face intensifying. He never wanted you to know this side of him. That’s why he never came back, he knew that sooner or later something would happen that would force him to do his job, but you were too sweet for that world, too innocent. Still, you deserved to know.

“Some of them, but König, he…he escaped.”

His eyes flickered to your throat as you swallowed the lump that formed there, threatening to suffocate you. That man was still alive and out there. He could…he could easily kill you. Panic started to fill you as your mind ran through each possible way he would do it. Shoot you. Maybe he would suffocate you, or slit your throat when you least expected it. Your breathing picked up, Simon’s arms around you immediately tightening.

“Hey. It’s okay, I won’t let him hurt you.”

You looked at him, your eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again. His face was a stone facade, impossible to read, but the softness in his eyes was unmistakeable, as they flickered to your lips, before he leaned closer, almost closing the gap.

A pleasurable shiver ran through your body as he whispered your name, his lips ghosting over yours. It almost looked like he was about to kiss you, but at the last second, he angled his head up, instead pressing his lips to your forehead. He held them there for a moment before pulling back and cradling your face in his palm, concern in his eyes. Easily, he picked you up, laying down before placing you beside him, your head on his chest.

“You should rest some more, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You nodded against his skin and closed your eyes, letting the comfort and safety of his embrace lull you to sleep.

���-addy?”

“Ssshh, you have to be quiet Millie, okay? She’s still sleeping.”

There was a pause before you could hear little feet tabbing against the floor, growing closer. And then there was a ruffling of sheets and a quiet chuckle from Simon.

“Quiet now, munchkin. Come here.”

Millie giggled and when you squinted your eyes open, you watched her fall into her father’s arms, cuddling into his embrace while she gazed at him with adoration in her eyes. You watched as he kissed her forehead and pulled her closer, her fingers softly trailing over the tattoos on his chest. A smile spread on your lips as you remembered what all of this was about, and why you had gotten into this mess in the first place. Millie. And she was worth it.

“Good morning, love.”

You glanced up at Simon, who smiled down at you, squeezing you against him.

“Hi.”

Before you could utter more, a squeal of your name cut you off and you watched as Millie scrambled, over her father’s torso and into your arms. As soon as she was close enough, her tiny arms wrapped around your neck and she hid her face in the nape of your neck.

“I missed you.”

You pulled your arm out from underneath Simon and wrapped it around Millie’s back, holding her as close as humanly possible.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Simon watching the two of you, a soft smile on his face as he carefully pulled away and rolled to the other side of the bed, getting up. He continued to watch you for a few moments more before he pulled a shirt over his head and walked back over to the bed, easily picking Millie up and throwing her over his shoulder.

“Let’s give her a few minutes, okay munchkin?”

He turned to you, still smiling, with adoration shining in his eyes.

“We’ll be downstairs, making sure breakfast is getting started. Just join us whenever, okay?”

You nodded and watched the pair leave, Millie giggling as she drew random patterns on her father’s clothed back, while he tried to guess what she was drawing. The bond between the two filled your heart with love and you couldn’t help but miss the feeling of Simon pressed against you. But at the same time you were glad that he gave you a few moments to be alone and process everything that happened the past few hours.

Someone had come into your bakery, threatened you, nearly killed you…and Simon saved you. The events replayed before your eyes and you could again hear the chaos that broke out once Simon had come to the rescue. You didn’t even want to imagine what your bakery looked like and how long it would take to clean everything up. A sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes and leaned back into the pillows, relaxing for a few moments. That was until your phone rang.

You didn’t check the caller ID, expecting it to be Mary to ask what happened to the bakery, but when you picked up, the voice on the other end sent a shiver through you.

“Hallo, kleine Bäckerin. Gut geschlafen?” (Hello, little baker. Slept well?)

You sat up with a start, eyes wide and body tense.

“König. How did you-”

“-get your number? Oh, that was easy. But let’s not talk about that, ja?”

With stiff movements, you got to your feet and rushed out the door, bolting down the stairs as quickly as possible without falling. Simon. You needed Simon.

“Last night ended…unfortunate. You know, at the start, I only wanted to play with you to annoy Ghost, but now…I see what he sees and I want what he has. I want you, Liebling. Don’t you want me too?”

You finally reached the kitchen, Simon turning to you as soon as he heard your footsteps, his smile falling the moment he saw your panicked look, he gently grabbed Millie and pointed to a room, saying something you couldn’t hear over the ringing in your ears. She obediently left the kitchen, as Simon stalked toward you, his eyes dark.

With shaking hands, you pulled the phone from your ear and pressed the ‘speaker’ button.

“Tell me you want me too, Schatz.”

A low growl echoed from Simon’s chest as he grabbed the phone from your hand, glaring at the device.

“Keep your distance, König, or I’ll finish what I started.”

Your ears picked up on the frantic, almost manic laughter echoing from the speakers, even as Simon walked to the other side of the room. With quiet steps, you crossed the room, walking until you stood right behind him.

“You can’t protect her, just like you couldn’t protect your family.”

You watched as every muscle in Simon’s back grew tense, his hand shaking with the firm grip he had on your phone.

“You are not your father. You will not take anyone from me. Come for her and I’ll enjoy ripping you apart before putting a bullet in your head.”

As soon as the final word left Simon’s lips, he threw your phone onto the ground and stepped on it, effectively breaking it. A quiet yelp escaped your lips as you watched him destroy the device, but he immediately turned to you, the darkness in his eyes slowly dissipating as he took in your shocked face. Before you could react, he pulled into his chest, arms tightening as they wrapped around your body, almost smothering you. It was silent, for a few moments, before you quietly spoke up.

“Simon?”

He didn’t respond for a moment, instead tightening his hold on you even more, before mumbling against your neck.

“I won’t let him get you. I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

A soft smile spread on your lips as you returned his hug, wrapping your arms around his waist as you buried your face in his face, speaking just loud enough for him to hear.

“I know. I trust you, Si.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough so he could look at your face. His eyes flickered back and forth between yours before they eventually landed on your lips. He hesitated, but when you moved your own head a little closer, he immediately smashed his lips to yours, his fingers digging into the fat on your hips, as he groaned at the contact. Your hands quickly found their way around his neck, pulling his face closer to yours as your lips moved against each other. You carefully tug at the strands of hair that your fingers can reach, tentatively licking into his mouth as his lips part, letting out a quiet moan. His reaction was immediate as his hands moved to the back of your thighs, easily hoisting you up and sitting you down on the kitchen island, without breaking the kiss.

“Daddy?”

The two of you immediately break apart, both glancing at Millie, who was curiously peeking into the kitchen. Simon, while still keeping a hand on your thigh, took a step back, putting some distance between you as he looked at his daughter.

“M-Munchkin, hey. Is everything okay?”

Millie nodded, walking in until she stood in front of her dad, and looked up at him, before glancing at you. She then glanced back at her father, before she waved him down. And with a crooked smile, he fell into a squat, bending down until Millie could whisper in his ear.

“Is-Is she my mommy now?”

Well, it was meant to be a whisper at least, but it was loud enough for you to hear. You watched as Simon froze for a second, before he relaxed again, whispering back to Millie. He kept it quiet enough that you had no idea what he said and curiosity immediately filled you. Whatever he told her, made Millie giggle, as she took a few steps back and nodded before bouncing back out of the room. After she left, Simon rose back to his full height and returned his attention to you as he found his place between your thighs again, his hands on your hips.

“I guess you heard what she said?”

You hummed as your arms lazily wrapped around his neck, a coy smile on your lips.

“I sure did. What did you tell her?”

Now it was his turn to hum. He hesitated, conflict clear in his eyes as he weighed his options. After a moment, he answered, a cocky grin on his face.

“I told her…that it is your choice, but that I wouldn’t mind.”

The grin fell, as he turned serious, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he swallowed and glanced at the floor.

“Look, I know this is new and we don’t really know each other or anything, but I really…I…”

You reached up, cradling his cheek in your hand as a soft smile spread across your lips.

“Me too, Simon. I…I feel the same way.”

Relieve flooded his eyes as the frown disappeared and the grin returned. He quickly closed the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, before pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. The moment was once again interrupted by the voice of the little girl who wanted you to be her mommy.

“Daddy! We’re goin’ to be late…for school!”

Midway through her yell, she paused and drew a quick breath, before finishing it. You chuckled and glanced toward the door, before looking back at Simon, who just sighed, but there was still a giant smile on his face.

“I’ll go get her ready, okay? You get started on breakfast.”

With one more peck to his lips, you hopped off the kitchen island and walked to the door, ready to search for Millie. You had barely made it two steps when you felt a light slap to your ass, turning around just to see Simon grin at you. König and all his threats were forgotten. At least for now.

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Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @lunamoonbby @distinguishedprincesstrash @xanvasy (I am so sorry I forgot to tag you last part, please forgive me 😭)

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[flowerfreya]

A lowlevel mafia man took my baby!

All fics masterlist

This is really just for fun lol. CW:Kidnapping Reader is in debt to a mafia boss (not Price) and when the low level mafia men come in with Price's baby , the reader makes a decision

“You took who?”, you exclaim.

“James Puck”, the dumbasses say. They look over at you like you’re the one being annoying. They are holding what looks to be a three year old boy, dressed in a mini-suit, like they just took him from church service. He is the calmest baby you have ever seen. He’s just looking around, observing everything, and soon he’s going to figure out that his father is not here. And he’s going to throw a fit. 

“Why?” , you ask. Like who’s dumbass idea was this. Taking a mob boss's son in the middle of the day is not the smartest idea. At.all. 

“What the boss wanted”, they shrug. God you hate it here. 

You got dopped into being across this empire by accident and maybe by desperation. You really needed money,so you signed your life away. At least only for three years. You’ve been doing odd jobs at the house for the past two years, just cleaning up and picking up groceries. You haven’t been paid since you were because according to your “boss”, you’re paying off your debt, you know it’s bullshit but the way your credit was looking you wouldn’t have gotten a loan for the amount you needed. 

The baby starts crying an hour later , dumb and dumbass look flustered. The are holding it like they don’t know what to do with him. 

They look over to you, “you're a woman, you know what to do”, handing you the child, and then walking out.

You automatically feel that his diaper is wet and probably has been for a long time and he’s probably hungry too. Inside the kitchen , you look in the pantry to see if there is anything that he can eat , that hopefully won’t cause any allergic reaction if he has any. 

“Here comes the airplane”, the spoon coming from up high and a brmmmmm making James giggle. 

You’ve been trying to distract James for the past three hours and nothing is working. You’ve tried to hold in sitting on the couch, walking around with him, even giving him some warm milk. Nothing is working. 

From upstairs you hear your boss yell, “shut him up!”. 

You roll your eyes, “Oh, I’ll shut him up alright”. Then you come up with another idea. Maybe you could just return him.

~

Muttering to yourself as you try to sneak out of the compound is a bit of an issue. The kid won’t stop crying and it’s going to alert them if you can’t shut him up. 

You're not really a mothering type. You're probably holding the baby wrong and the diaper is on backwards. 

“What do I need to do for you to be quiet”, you say to the baby. Like it will talk to you when it cries in an answer, you nod to the baby, “I should have known that”. 

You just start moving as quickly as possible thinking …maybe if you move fast enough people will think it's an animal crossing in the night. 

Finally getting past the gate and getting on the main road , you start just walking along the road, hoping that the 141 gang is just driving around looking for the mob boss's baby. Hearing a car coming fast down the road and skrrrting next to you. 

“Oi!!”, you look over and see a man with a skull mask holding a gun and of course it's pointed at you. You mean you're not surprised, since you're the one walking around with James Puck Price. 

“Hi”, you lower yourself so you can see through the window and do a small wave, ”I think I have what your baby”, and then you lift up the baby, so he can see him. 

“Get in the fucking car”, he growls at you. 

“Yeah , of course”, you slide into the back of the car. Looking around, “Do you have a car seat or anything”, pointing to the child, “we do have a baby in here”. 

Looking at you through the rearview mirror, “that is the least of your worries” ,he says.

[honeypipin]

Merry Christmas Bankers!!

(I'm writing too many of these, i got borerd)

It's been getting close to the Christmas season, and whether you celebrate or not, many of your clients were just so insistent on their gifts to you! And well... who are you to say no to them?

The first with presents were mafia!price and and the rest of mafia!141.

You were ready for a deep analysis into their economy and their suspicious profits, but when you came over to their head office for a meeting with the team, you did not expect to be walking out with bags. You were quite shocked to be honest, the plan was not to have 4 handsome British men hand you hot drinks whilst discusing the amazing boost in their sales, not to mention being invited to England or Scotland for Christmas parties. With both mafia!Ghost and mafia!Soap so willing to have you there, even offering to let you sleep over at their houses back home (permanently please) , you were starting to consider it.

After Mafia!Gaz carrying your bags to your car (he won the rock paper scissors), a belly filled with the food and drinks they insisted on giving you, and a job well done in that meeting, it was a good day.

"You'll come over for Christmas, yeah?"

"Well I'm not too sure yet... depends on if I'm busy or not."

"What? You can't be working on the 23rd, can you?"

"I don't know, I might have a client again then, happened last year too."

"How about I be your client?"

"Are you trying to hire me for a Christmas party?"

"Anything to get you there."

He delighted on the smile that spread across your face, what kind of man was he if he couldn't make you happy? Stupid?

"I'll look forward to it."

You waved goodbye and drove off, and all Gaz could think about were the calls he was about to make.

[msriri030]

Saving By Hare Pt2: The Love Doctor

Mafia!König x Doctor! Reader

Cw: mention torture and drugs. afab!reader but try most to be gn.

Horangi was walking down the hall when his attention was caught by Hutch and Roze standing in front of a one-way mirror. Curiosity piqued, he asked, "What are you up to?"

"Watching the boss torture an enemy underling," Roze replied, her eyes glinting with amusement as Hutch chuckled happily at the scene unfolding before them. 

Raising an eyebrow, Horangi stepped closer to the window. He saw König pacing back and forth, visibly anxious, as he spoke to the enemy, who looked increasingly unsettled. Suddenly, König slammed his hand down on the table, causing the enemy to flinch.

"What’s the torture?" Horangi asked, confusion etched on his face. Hutch smirked, adjusting his shades. "The boss is asking for romantic advice from Deadman."

Horangi sighed, watching König slowly lower himself into the chair across from the captive, his hulking frame almost too large for the delicate wooden seat. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, a nervous habit uncharacteristic of the usually imposing man.

The captive, a wiry man with a bloodied nose, looked utterly bewildered. Sweat dripped from his brow as he stammered, “W-why are you asking me? I don’t—I don’t know anything about dating!”

König leaned forward, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he demanded, “Then what do you know about wooing someone? Surely you’ve liked someone before. Speak.”

The man fumbled, glancing toward the one-way mirror in silent desperation, as if pleading for a rescue that would never come.

Roze stifled a laugh, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “I never thought I’d see the day. Our Big bad Boss, König,…asking a guy who can’t even keep his own teeth in his mouth for advice on romance. This is priceless.”

Hutch let out a low chuckle, pushing his sunglasses up. “The boss is down bad. I mean, look at him—he’s got the guy more scared of giving the wrong pickup line than getting shot.”

Inside the room, König pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly frustrated with the captive's nonsensical answers. The poor man was a stuttering mess, rattling off clichés like, ‘Buy them flowers,’ and ‘Compliment their eyes.’

König growled softly, not out of anger, but sheer exasperation. “This is useless.” He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, causing the captive to flinch again. König loomed over him, arms crossed, his massive frame casting a shadow over the trembling man.

“I don’t need basic advice!” König barked, his voice deep and commanding. “I need something… meaningful. Specific. If you were trying to win someone over—someone kind, strong, and… special—what would you do?”

The captive blinked up at him, wide-eyed and utterly lost. “I—I don’t know! Cook for them? Write them a letter? Please, man, I don’t even have a girlfriend!”

Horangi, watching from the other side of the glass, finally sighed and turned to Hutch and Roze. “This is pathetic. Should we step in before he kills the guy with his awkwardness?”

“Nah,” Hutch replied with a grin. “This is better than TV. Besides, it’s not like the guy’s bleeding out or anything.”

Roze tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You think König will actually take advice from someone who’s tied to a chair?”

Before Horangi could respond, König’s voice boomed again, shaking the room with its intensity.

"Write what, exactly?" He leaned in closer to the captive, who was now shaking like a leaf. "Give me something better than 'flowers' or 'letters,' or I will personally—" He caught himself, exhaling sharply and stepping back, muttering under his breath in frustration.

The captive, desperate to avoid whatever fate his imagination was conjuring, blurted out, "S-surprise them! Do something unexpected! Something only you would do! Something that shows y-you’re thinking about them!"

König paused, straightening to his full height. His imposing shadow loomed even larger over the man as he stared down at him with piercing eyes. Slowly, a glimmer of realization crossed König’s face. He said nothing for a long moment, then gave a curt nod, muttering, “Hmm. Yes. That’s… something.”

The captive sagged in his chair, relief washing over him as König turned abruptly and made for the door.

From behind the glass, Roze covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “I swear to God, he’s going to come back tomorrow with a dozen roses and a poem, isn’t he?”

Hutch snorted, shaking his head. “If he writes a poem, I’m retiring. I’ve seen enough for one lifetime.”

Horangi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid… like kidnapping them instead of asking them on a date.”

The door to the interrogation room slammed open as König stepped out, his gaze distant, as if he were already lost in thought. He brushed past the group without a word, his broad shoulders rigid and his stride purposeful.

“Yup,” Roze said with a smirk, watching him disappear down the hall. “He’s definitely writing a poem.”

Hutch clapped Horangi on the back. “Good luck keeping him out of trouble. You’re going to need it.”

Horangi sighed again, glancing toward the interrogation room before reluctantly following after König. “This better not end with me having to talk him out of some overly dramatic romantic gesture…”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Roze and Hutch exchanged a look before bursting into laughter, their amusement echoing through the observation room.

It had been a couple of weeks since you last saw König. The memory of that night lingered in your mind, resurfacing at the most unexpected moments. You found yourself wondering—was his wound healing properly? Had he taken care of himself?

The thought gnawed at you as you went about your day, your hands busy with patients, but your mind elsewhere. You had done everything you could to stabilize him that night, yet the worry persisted. Men like him, with their dangerous lives and stoic fronts, weren’t the type to follow medical advice.

You sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you closed your clinic for the evening to grab some lunch. The streets were quiet, the crisp winter air biting against your cheeks as you locked the door behind you. You paused for a moment, glancing down the empty street, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows.

Was he okay? The question echoed in your mind again, and you shook your head with a small, self-deprecating smile. Why do I even care so much?

But deep down, you knew the answer. There had been something in König’s eyes that night—something that stuck with you. A vulnerability beneath the ice, a fleeting glimpse of someone who, for all his sharp edges and danger, carried a burden far heavier than any physical wound.

And now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just okay in general. You groan in frustration kicking a discarded can. Why?! You just met the man. You sighed. You look at the sky a little bit to ground yourself before continuing along your way.  You entered your favorite dinner, Dash out.

The warm, familiar hum of Dash Out greeted you as you stepped inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, a sharp contrast to the biting chill outside. You waved to the staff behind the counter, giving them a tired but genuine smile.

Sliding into a booth near the window, you let out a long sigh and leaned back against the worn vinyl. This was your safe haven—a place where the stress of the day melted away with every sip of coffee or bite of a greasy burger.

A waitress approached, her name tag reading Lisa, her smile as warm as ever. “The usual?”

You nodded. “Please.”

Lisa scribbled on her notepad, her gaze flickering to your face with a touch of curiosity. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind. Long day?”

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Something like that.”

Lisa gave you a knowing nod before walking off, leaving you to your thoughts. You stared out the window, watching the soft, lazy flakes of snow drift down, the streetlights casting a warm, amber glow over the quiet street. Your reflection stared back at you, and for a moment, you barely recognized the furrowed brow and distant eyes.

Your food arrived swiftly, the plate settling in front of you with a soft clink. A classic burger, fries, and a steaming cup of hot cocoa—comfort food at its finest. Lisa let you know the pie was on the house. You took a bite, hoping the familiar taste would provide some distraction, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

The sound of the diner door opening pulled you from your reverie. You glanced up absently, expecting nothing more than another weary worker grabbing a late meal or perhaps a family seeking warmth from the biting cold outside.

But before you could focus on it, a pair of warm, calloused hands gently covered your eyes, halting your sip mid-air. A playful, familiar Scottish lilt followed. “Guess who it is, lass?”

You couldn’t suppress a smile, a soft laugh escaping as you tilted your head slightly. “Soap,” you said, the word slipping out with amused certainty.

The hands pulled away with a chuckle, and there he was—grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the world’s greatest prank. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned casually against the booth.

Next to him, Ghost stood silently, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the cheerful exchange. He rolled his eyes and scoffed under his breath before turning toward the counter, his gait purposeful as he went to collect the protection money for their boss.

You giggled, glancing back at Soap. “I see you brought Ghost with you on your rounds.”

“Yup, Doc,” Soap said, scratching the back of his neck with mock exasperation. “Didn’t want to, but you know—gangster life’s no walk in the park.” His grin widened, as if the admission didn’t carry the weight it should have.

Before you could respond, Lisa returned, balancing a tray with your pie. She set the plate in front of you with a warm smile. “Enjoy, honey,” she said before bustling off to tend to another table.

“Thanks, Lisa.” You glanced at Soap and tilted the plate slightly in his direction, your voice teasing. “Want some, Soap? Or is gangster life too glamorous for diner fries?”

“Never! That’s like forgetting the roots you came from!” Soap declared dramatically, as if you’d just suggested the unthinkable. “Plus, I love sharing fries with the person who’s saved our arses more times than I can count!”

Without waiting for an invitation, he plopped himself down in the seat across from you, stealing a fry with a triumphant grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. As Soap munched happily, Ghost returned from the counter, his dark gaze flicking between the two of you before settling on Soap with a mix of amusement and quiet disapproval.

You looked up at Ghost with a smile, gesturing toward the plate of fries you were now sharing. “Want some?” you offered lightly.

He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips under his mask as he slid into the booth beside you. “No thanks, Doll,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ll leave the fry-stealing to him.”

Soap, mid-bite, pointed a fry at Ghost. “That’s because you’re no fun, mate.”

Ghost gave him a sidelong glance, muttering, “I’m plenty fun. Just not when it comes to your greasy fingers all over the food.”

The banter made you smile as you picked up another fry, savoring the rare moment of levity amid the chaos their lives seemed to attract. It was hard not to think back to when you first met them. Soap had stormed into your clinic, practically kicking the door down, with Ghost slung over his back and bleeding profusely.

You’d barely had time to process their arrival before Soap started barking orders—half panicked, half determined. Ghost, even in his weakened state, had muttered something about "not scaring the doc." It had been a whirlwind of blood, adrenaline, and sharp commands, but you’d patched Ghost up, and from that moment on, the two had made you an unspoken part of their world.

Since then, they’d drop by every so often—not just for patch-ups, though those were frequent—but also to walk you home after late nights at the clinic or during their rounds collecting protection money for their boss. You knew the line of work they were in was dangerous, but you couldn’t deny the strange sense of security you felt whenever they were around.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Soap said, snapping you out of your thoughts as he stole another fry. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just remembering how we met,” you said with a small smile, glancing between him and Ghost. “And how you two basically barged into my life like a hurricane.”

Soap grinned, unrepentant. “Aye, but a good hurricane, right?”

Ghost shook his head, muttering, “More like a bloody disaster.”

You laughed softly, their easy camaraderie a welcome reprieve from the weight of your own thoughts. Likewise, your presence seemed to brighten their otherwise cold and chaotic world, though they’d never outright admit it. Yet the way they smiled at you in that unspoken, rare softness said enough.

After finishing your meal, the three of you stepped outside into the biting cold. They insisted on walking you back to the clinic—something they’d done countless times before. As the chill seeped into your bones, you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself, but it wasn’t enough to keep the cold at bay.

Ghost noticed, his sharp eyes catching the subtle shiver you tried to hide. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The material was heavy, smelling faintly of leather and a hint of something clean and woodsy.

“Here, Doll,” he murmured, his voice low but kind in its gruffness.

“No, I—It’s okay,” you stammered, feeling a bit flustered by the gesture. “We’re not far from the clinic. You’ll be cold.”

You tried to hand the jacket back, but Soap looped an arm around your shoulders with a grin, stopping you in your tracks.

“And let our favorite doc get sick?” he teased, his tone playful but firm. “Never! Ghost and I have seen enough blood for one lifetime, thank you very much. Now let’s get to the clinic, warm up with some tea, and then we’ll handle the rest of our business.”

You rolled your eyes with a fond smile but didn’t argue. Wrapped in Ghost’s jacket and flanked by the two men, you felt a sense of safety you didn’t often experience. As you walked, the quiet of the night was punctuated by the soft crunch of boots on snow and Soap’s endless chatter about everything and nothing.

For a moment, as the warm glow of the clinic’s lights came into view, you let yourself forget about the dangers that lurked in their world—and your own. The three of you entered the clinic, the familiar scent of antiseptic and faint lavender welcoming you like an old friend. Without hesitation, you all made your way to the break room, a cozy little space you had managed to make feel homier despite the sterile surroundings.

Soap, ever the ball of energy, immediately busied himself grabbing three mugs from the cupboard. “Tea’s on me!” he declared, his enthusiasm almost infectious as he examined the mismatched cups with mock seriousness.

Meanwhile, you filled the kettle, setting it to boil. You handed Ghost his jacket back, and he took it with a quiet nod, draping it over the back of a chair before sitting down. His tall frame seemed oddly at ease in the tiny space, though his ever-watchful gaze remained sharp, flicking from you to Soap and back again.

“Thanks for lending this,” you said softly, glancing at Ghost as you adjusted your sweater.

He gave a slight shrug, his mask concealing any hint of a smile, though his tone held the barest trace of warmth. “Didn’t want you catching cold. You’d be no use to anyone if you’re laid up sick.”

Soap turned around with a playful grin, balancing the mugs in one hand while gesturing dramatically with the other. “See, Doc? That’s as close to a love letter as Ghost will ever get. Cherish it!”

“Don’t push your luck, Soap,” Ghost muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you set the tea bags into the mugs Soap had placed on the counter. Once the water was ready, you poured it carefully, the steam rising and curling in the air. The quiet hum of the kettle, the clink of ceramic, and the shared companionship filled the small room with a sense of peace that felt rare in their chaotic world

 The phone's shrill ring sliced through the comfortable quiet like a blade, cutting Soap off mid-sentence and making Ghost’s gaze sharpen instantly. Pulling the phone from your pocket, you glanced at the screen. The number was vaguely familiar, but as a doctor, you were accustomed to unexpected calls from patients in need.

With a soft sigh, you answered, balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you continued preparing the tea. “Hello, this is Dr. [Last Name]. How can I help you?”

A beat of silence stretched on the other end, broken only by faint, shallow breathing. A chill prickled at the back of your neck. Something about it felt wrong.

“Hello?” you repeated, this time with more authority.

The voice that finally responded was shaky, almost desperate. “Hase? Is this... is this you?”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “König? Yes, it’s me.”

You didn’t notice Soap’s eyes widened or Ghost’s gaze turned cold as they recognized the name. König—the mob boss who controlled half the city and the territory just down the street from your clinic. A heavy silence hung in the air before the voice whispered, almost painfully, “Yes, it’s König, my Hase.”

You felt a warmth flush your cheeks, but you quickly brushed it aside, forcing your expression to remain neutral. “What can I do for you?”

There was a brief silence, the sound of steady breathing on the other end before König’s voice returned—tentative, yet edged with a quiet urgency. “I was wondering… if I could take you to dinner tonight at the Diamond Petals. Or tomorrow, if you’re not working. As a thank you… for everything.”  

The request hung in the air, unexpected. Dinner at such a fancy restaurant? You smiled, a soft giggle escaping. “Yeah… I’d love to have dinner with you. Maybe tomorrow, though—I’ll need to shop for new clothes. I don’t have anything good to wear.”  

“Nien,” he replied smoothly, his tone firm yet gentle. “Anything you wear looks like gold.”  

The words, simple yet laced with affection, sent warmth flooding to your cheeks. Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could recover, he added, “What about I pick you up and take you shopping for clothes?”  

His suggestion caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind racing to process the unexpected offer. Meanwhile, Ghost and Soap, lingering nearby, exchanged knowing glances. The palpable tension in the air was broken only by the sound of their deliberate throat-clearing, an unsubtle reminder of their presence.  

“Sure,” you finally managed, your voice slightly flustered. “I’ll send you the location of my clinic then… see you later.”  

You ended the call, the phone still warm in your hand as you set it down on the counter. Ghost calmly lifted his mask just over his nose, sipping his tea with deliberate slowness. The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, a subtle sign of amusement, while Soap, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned widely.  

“So~ you’ve got yourself a boyfriend now, eh?” Soap teased, leaning against the counter with a cheeky tilt of his head.  

You blushed furiously, waving your hands in protest. “It’s not like that!”  

Soap’s grin widened as Ghost let out a low chuckle. “Aye, Doc. Whatever you say.”  

Meanwhile, König stood in the dimly lit expanse of one of his warehouses, the sharp tang of metal and oil lingering in the air. His broad shoulders were tense, his posture rigid as he turned to the scene behind him. Vega and Roze hovered over their latest victim—a poor drug shipper whose trembling form bore the tattooed mark of the 141 on his neck.  

The man's muffled gasps and splashes filled the room as Vega pressed his head underwater, his grip merciless, while Roze crouched beside them, her dark eyes glinting with cruel amusement. She glanced over her shoulder at König, an arched brow accompanying her mocking tone.  

“So~ what did she say?” Roze asked, her voice dripping with feigned curiosity as she twirled a blade in her hand, its edge catching the faint light.  

König’s gaze flickered to the struggling man for a moment, then back to Roze, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, almost detached.  

“She said yes,” he murmured, the weight of the words carrying an edge that made even Vega glance up from her task.  

Roze grinned, sharp and predatory. “Look at you, big guy. Dinner at the Diamond Petals, huh? Gonna make it all romantic?”  

König’s towering frame shifted slightly as he took a step closer, his boots heavy against the concrete floor. “Focus,” he said, his voice cold enough to make the room feel even icier. “The questions are not for me.”  

Roze’s smirk faltered, and she shrugged, motioning to Vega, who yanked the man’s head back above water with a violent jerk. The shivering victim gasped for air, coughing and sputtering, as König loomed over him, his massive shadow swallowing the man whole.  

“Now,” König said softly, his tone deceptively calm but carrying an undercurrent of menace. “Let’s try this again. Who sent you?”  

After promising Soap and Ghost that you’d text them after your “date,” you closed up your clinic and waved them goodbye. Their knowing smirks lingered in your mind, but you brushed them off, focusing instead on the evening ahead.  

Standing outside in the cool night air, you waited patiently, smoothing down your outfit one more time to make sure everything was perfect.  

Moments later, a sleek, black BMW with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. Your breath caught when König stepped out. Even with his mask on, you could tell he had gone out of his way to prepare for this. His broad frame was wrapped in a perfectly tailored black button-up shirt and slacks, the subtle sheen of his polished shoes catching the light.  

The faint scent of musk and cedar drifted toward you, the unmistakable aroma of freshly applied cologne mingling with the lingering freshness of a recent shower. You couldn’t help but notice the effort he had put in—it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.  

You instinctively sniffed yourself, worried for a fleeting moment about how you smelled. A wave of relief washed over you when you realized you didn’t smell unpleasant—your perfume still lingered, light and floral.  

“Guten Abend,” König greeted, his voice deep and soft as he extended a hand toward you. “You look… breathtaking.”  

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you smiled shyly, taking his hand. “Thank you. You look great too.”  

He held your hand for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles before he released it and gestured toward the car. “Shall we?”  

You nodded, letting him open the car door for you. As you slid into the plush leather seat, your nerves began to settle, replaced by a growing excitement. Whatever tonight had in store, it was already starting to feel like something special.  

As the car cruised smoothly toward the eastern side of the city, you stole a glance at König. His focus was trained on the road ahead, his large hands gripping the steering wheel with a surprising gentleness. The soft hum of the car’s engine filled the silence between you, and you found yourself nervously fiddling with the ends of your sleeves, wracking your brain for something—anything—to say.

Your gaze drifted out the window in quiet defeat, watching as the snow fell in lazy flakes, blanketing the streets in a serene glow.

Little did you know, König was locked in a similar mental battle. Small talk had never been his strength. Socializing, in general, was a struggle, a deep-seated insecurity born from years of bullying and isolation. Even now, he could still hear the mocking laughter of his classmates, and feel the sting of their taunts. The only reason he’d entered the mafia world was because a mobster had seen him, bloodied but unyielding, defending himself against a particularly cruel bully.

König let out a heavy sigh, the sound breaking the quiet tension in the car and catching your attention.

“Sorry, Liebling,” he muttered, his voice low and tinged with self-consciousness. “I am not... how do you say? Good at starting conversations. Sorry.”

His admission was so earnest, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten. You smiled softly, shaking your head.

“Don’t be,” you said, your voice kind. “I’m not that great at it either.”

You hesitated for a moment, then, desperate to keep the conversation going, asked, “What about your wound? Is it healed?”

Your cheeks flushed as soon as the words left your mouth, and you inwardly cringed. Of all things to ask…

König’s head tilted slightly toward you, and even with the mask, you could tell he was surprised—and perhaps a little touched—by your concern.

“It’s much better now,” he said, his tone warming. “Thanks to you.”

You glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile beneath the fabric of his mask. His hand briefly left the steering wheel to tap lightly at his side. “Your stitches—they hold perfectly. You are... very skilled.”

His compliment made your blush deepen, and you ducked your head to hide your smile. “I just did what anyone would do.”

“No,” he replied firmly, his voice softening again. “Not anyone. You cared.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and the comfortable silence between you both felt surprisingly warm. You realized something else now—König had called you Liebling instead of his usual Hase. You couldn’t help but wonder about the change, and the question bubbled up before you could stop it.

“König,” you asked, your curiosity piqued, “What does Hase mean? And... why do you call me that?”

The sudden question seemed to catch König off guard. His face, though still obscured by the mask, darkened in a deep flush. He cleared his throat, a nervous, almost sheepish sound, before turning his attention back to the road as he guided the car into the parking lot of a luxury store.

You watched him closely, waiting for him to speak, the soft hum of the engine accompanying the brief pause.

After a moment, he exhaled, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as he parked the car. He took a slow breath, as if preparing himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was more measured, quieter than usual.

“It means... rabbit or hare,” he replied, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I called you that because... when we first met, your doctor’s coat made you look like a white rabbit in winter.”

The words were simple, but the warmth in his tone made your heart flutter. You blinked, surprised, but then a small smile tugged at your lips. The idea of him thinking of you that way—fragile, maybe, but also somehow strong—was endearing.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your cheeks warming from his unexpected but sweet reasoning. “A white rabbit, huh? That’s... oddly fitting, I think.”

König shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a faint hint of embarrassment in his posture, but there was something soft in his eyes as he glanced over at you. "I think you were my... safe place. Like how a rabbit would always hide in the snow."

His words settled in the car with a quiet, tender weight that was almost too much to process. You didn’t quite know what to say in response, but the gesture—his quiet affection—spoke volumes.

You couldn’t help but rest your head on König’s arm, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “I’m grateful you see me that way,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his presence. Then, with a playful smile, you added, “If I can say something... you remind me of a bear. You make me feel so safe, and yet, you’re so strong, but gentle too.”

König’s breath caught at your words, and a soft chuckle escaped him, a deep rumble that made your heart flutter. He gently tightened his arm around you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A bear, huh?” he said, his voice warm and almost teasing. “I can live with that. As long as I’m your bear.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection, and smiled. The warmth between you felt unspoken, but it lingered in the air, like a silent promise. As the two of you shared a quiet moment, you stepped out of the car, his hand brushing against yours. Together, you walked towards the entrance of the store, the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet almost drowned out by the beating of your heart.  

You entered the store, the soft chime of the door marking your arrival. At first, the clerks seemed uninterested in you, going about their tasks as if you were just another customer. But when they noticed König holding your hand, their demeanor shifted instantly. Their attention focused on you, and suddenly, they began pulling out the most elegant, expensive dresses, each more beautiful than the last. Yet, despite their efforts, nothing felt quite right. You sighed, feeling a little discouraged.

"Why don’t you look around while I talk to the clerk?" König suggested, noticing the frustration in your expression. You nodded, giving him a small smile, and wandered off, leaving him to converse with the store manager.

As you walked through the store, you couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness. Nothing seemed to catch your eye. But then, in the corner of your vision, something shimmered—something that made your heart skip a beat. A black silk off-shoulder gown with a striking collar. The material looked luxurious, the color deep and alluring, and you felt drawn to it immediately.

Without thinking, you walked straight toward it, your fingers grazing the fabric.

A store clerk, noticing your interest, approached with a polite smile. "Would you like to try it on, Miss?"

"Yes, please," you replied, your voice filled with excitement and a touch of hope. You couldn’t wait to see how it would look on you.

When you slipped into the gown, it fit you like a glove. The silk hugged your curves in all the right places, the off-shoulder design showcasing your collarbones beautifully. You turned to face the mirror, admiring the way the gown shimmered under the lights. To complete the look, you added red heels, their bold color a perfect contrast to the black silk, and slipped on a pair of pearl earrings and a matching necklace that the clerk suggested.

As you turned to take in your reflection, you caught a glimpse of König in the mirror. His eyes were locked on you, a look of awe on his face. He stood there, frozen for a moment, his usual confident demeanor replaced with something softer. The intensity in his gaze made your heart race as you smiled shyly at him.

“You look... breathtaking, Hase,” König murmured, his voice low and full of admiration. His words seemed to hang in the air between you, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared, leaving only the two of you. 

You blushed, clasping your hands together. “Thank you, König. I think I’ll take it, but I can’t really let you pay for this. It’s… 2,500! Not to mention everything else–”

“It is a gift for saving my life, Meine Liebe,” König said softly, taking your hand and kissing it gently. His lips lingered for a moment before he pulled back to look at you, his eyes filled with sincerity.

You looked slightly puzzled. “But the dinner—”

“It was a way for me to try to confess my feelings. I’ve fallen in love with you, Meine Liebe. So now, I will properly say it. Will you go out with me, Hase?”

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you froze in shock. Your heart raced as the realization sank in. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, your mind spinning. He had fallen for you? The man you had admired from a distance, the one who had quietly made an impact on your life—he felt the same way?

You couldn’t help but smile, your voice soft but steady. “Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips, but it was everything. It was the answer you both had been waiting for.

König’s face broke into a smile, his eyes shining with warmth and affection. He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. The world around you faded once again, and for the first time, you truly felt like you belonged with someone.

The car ride was quiet, the gentle hum of the engine filling the space as König drove you to your apartment. The soft glow of the streetlights passed by, casting fleeting shadows through the window. Neither of you spoke much, but there was a calm, unspoken understanding between you—comfort in each other's presence.

When the car finally came to a stop in front of your apartment building, König turned off the engine and met your gaze. The silence stretched for a moment, but there was no awkwardness, only a sense of warmth and connection.

"You sure you're okay?" König asked softly, his voice carrying that familiar concern.

You nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Thank you for everything tonight. It was... perfect."

His eyes softened as he gave you a small smile. "I’m glad you think so."

You opened the door and stepped out, pausing as you turned back to face him. “König?”

“Yes–”

Before he could say anything else, you leaned in quickly, pressing a gentle kiss on top of his mask. The contact was brief, but the warmth of it lingered between you, and you felt your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

"Goodnight, König," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

"Goodnight, Liebling," he replied, his voice filled with something tender, as his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. He smiled softly, his expression almost unreadable, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.

As you watched him drive away, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. Tonight had felt like something out of a dream, and as you walked toward the entrance of your building, your thoughts swirled with everything that had happened. You were already looking forward to whatever came next.

Back in the car, König blushed deeply, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He fumbled for his phone and quickly dialed Horangi, his voice nervous.

“Horangi... you won’t believe it... She kissed me...” König muttered, his words coming out in a rush.

Horangi's voice crackled on the other end, a knowing smirk evident in his tone. “Oh, really now? What did I tell you?”

König groaned, his face flushing even deeper. "Shut up... it was... it was on my mask, but still! She kissed me!"

The sound of Horangi laughing loudly was unmistakable, filling the quiet car. “Man, you’re blushing like crazy. Just wait till the others hear about this!”

König sighed, feeling embarrassed but also a little giddy, as his mind replayed the moment over and over.

Extra

Horangi hung up the phone with an amused look, his eyes scanning the group of mobsters who had been eagerly watching him. The tension in the room was palpable as they waited for his verdict. They had been betting on how König’s confession would go—whether it would scare the girl away, make things awkward, or perhaps be the perfect moment for romance.

Horangi glanced around at the eager faces, then with a dramatic pause, he delivered the news.

“She kissed him.”

The room erupted into chaos. Hutch and Roze both slammed their hands on the table, raging over their bet that it would make things awkward. “I knew it! I knew it was going to be awkward!” Roze grumbled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Verge groaned from his corner, cursing under his breath. “Dammit! I bet it would scare her off. How did I get that so wrong?”

The only one who remained calm amidst the chaos was Oni, who was lounging comfortably on the couch, casually counting his winnings. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he observed the mayhem unfolding around him. He was the only one who had placed his bet on the doc not being scared away—and as the others argued, Oni leaned back, savoring his victory.

“Easy money,” he muttered to himself, not bothering to glance up at the group.

Part 1

Part 3

[oceantornadoo]

my masterlist💖

mdni! my ao3

welcome to the feral things that come from my brain :) feel free to request a trope!

i use #tornadothoughts for all my drabbles and fics and #tornado speaks🙊 for random thoughts

do not repost my work without credit :)

all fics are f!reader unless specified

COD FICS:

141 character masterlists

two lieutenants series (simon riley x f!reader)

mad max: the 141 au (john price x f!reader)

outlaw series (simon riley x f!reader)

[vnards]

MafiaAU pt 2

“Here you go!”

Ghost’s fingers stuttered.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Your attention stirred something in him. Your fingers began playing with your apron again. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been watching the door since you’ve sat down.”

Ghost didn’t respond immediately, not used to having conversations with strangers as most thought he was too scary to even look at, “No. Pretty day outside.” He stated simply. He pulled his mask up to take a sip of coffee you had made for him.

You nod, almost eagerly, “I love spring. Sunny days are my favorite.” You look out the window to mourn your longing for outside. Ghost used the moment to soak in every inch of you. “Would you like a piece of pie? Fresh out the oven.” Your offer was so genuine, so polite.

He nods, “Please,” and you scamper back off behind the counter, a renewed pep. Ghost isn’t one for pie, prefers cake, but you asked so nicely. How could he refuse? Ghost’s phone dinged with a message. An all call from Price.

A shame.

You came back with the piece of pie, the light on your face dimmed as you see him place money on the table, “You're leaving?” you nearly sounded disappointed. It tugged on a string in his heart a bit.

“Enjoy it for me, doll.” The offer seemed to settle your sadness for something else.

“Oh, I-I can't. I'm still on the clock.”

“Sit.” The suggestion came out more of a command then anything. But you listened so well. And without question. “Eat my pie for me, darling.” He settle back into his booth, eyes scanning the room behind you for any potential threat. Ghost’s eyes lifted to the waiting at the till, over watching your interaction with him. His eyes held a suspicion he’s seen from other men before. Other men who want to dig his claws in a pretty thing like you.

The weight of the gun hidden against his chest whispers to him. Convincing him of a threat. His fingers being to tap again.

“What's your name?” the lithe in your voice breaking through the whispers. He gives you his full attention.

“Simon.” A name only those close to him use.

You smile and tell him your name. He repeats it, enjoying the feeling of it on his tongue. “I believe everyone has a story,” you eat his pie, just like he requested, “I think I'd like to know your story.”

Ghost’s fingers still. “I’m not a story you’d want to read, doll.”

You look up at him with those eyes of yours, a gentleness he knows he would ruin. The blood on his hands too stained to ever wash off.

He knows what he should do. He should walk away, let you go. Let you not be smeared by his meer presence. But Ghost was always a selfish man. Ghost tried to ignore the lick of fire at the thought of ruining you.

You slide a napkin across the table, a series of numbers written on it, your cheeks . Ghost cant help but smirk behind the mask. “Well, if you ever change your mind…”

The buzzing of his cell phone caught the table’s attention. Ghost grumbled, knowing only one person who would call him. You seem to know it’s a dismissal as well, seeming to slump further in the booth, the air of rejection about you. Ghost almost felt bad, but he hoped a few extra bills would make up for it.

The call continued to ring, Ghost was in no hurry to pick it up. You begin to protest at the extra cash on the table, but Ghost simply didn’t want to hear it. “Stay out of trouble, doll.”

He grabs the napkin as he goes.

next part ->

previous part masterlist

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Of Cupcakes and Skulls | Part 6

(A/N) This is a bit on the shorter side, but I honestly struggled with the description of the bakery. I hope that it's good enough that ya'll can paint a picture in your mind.

Pairing: single dad! Mafia! Simon x baker! Reader

Warning: kissies, fluff, angst, comfort, Simon is fucking smitten

Synopsis: Based on this post by @lunamoonbby

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Simon chuckled quietly as he watched you stare at your shop. Your eyes were wide and your jaw hung open as he gently maneuvered you so he could get out of the car and pull you along with him. And once you were outside, you could see the entire storefront.

You didn’t know what detail to focus on first as you took in the changes that happened overnight. Until now, it had been a generic and rather boring exterior, something you always wanted, but never had the money to change. But now…it was beautiful.

The storefront was freshly painted in a dark green color, with metal accents decorating the usual plaster wall and a canopy overhead. The windows were sparkling in the sun, offering an easy view into the warm interior of the bakery, brimming with new furniture and counters. There were flowers everywhere, outside and inside, decorating and offering a sweet scent as you stepped closer. Additionally to the tables and chairs inside, there were a few scattered outside, in an area that was fenced off by wooden planters, and filled with tiny trees. Heaters hanging on the wall overhead, for the colder months.

You glanced back at Simon, who just smiled and gestured for you to walk inside. So you did.

As soon as you opened the door, a pleasant jingle rang through the air and the smell of the wood furniture filled your nose. You took a few more steps, hearing Simon following you inside, as you looked around. It felt warm and cozy, everything you ever hoped your bakery would feel like.

There were multiple showcases for your bread and pastries, as well as a whole nook for coffee and tea making, with brand-new machinery and cups. Just looking at everything, you knew it must’ve cost thousands of pounds. When you turned to look at Simon again, he was leaning against the wall next to the doorway that led to the kitchen. With a nod of his head, you walked through the revolving doors and entered…heaven.

You had already been happy with the equipment you had before, but now the room was filled with state-of-the-art machinery. Whether the giant mixer or the dishwasher, everything was brand new and extremely expensive. You knew that because you regularly gazed at them on the website, dreaming of the day you could afford them. And now you had them.

Suddenly, two strong, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you against a hard chest. You relaxed against it, your eyes still flickering from one corner to the other, taking everything in.

“The windows are bulletproof, with multiple layers so they should be able to resist almost anything. And the door is a security door, it will lock automatically at a time you set and can only be opened by a combination of a key and code you have to enter into a keypad that’s beside the doorframe. I also went ahead and had the best alarm system installed, as well as cameras in the shop that are wired to the security firm, as well as to my people. If we see anything suspicious, we’ll be here within minutes.”

You turned around in his arms, wrapping yours around his waist, resting your chin on his chest as you peered up at him. He smiled down at you, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of the nose, before he straightened back up and spun you around, slowly walking you to the walk-in fridge. His grip on you tightened as he felt you tense up at the sight.

“We installed a new one.”

He was whispering in your ear, hot breath faning over your cheek.

“It almost functions more like a panic room than like a fridge. It can only be locked from the inside. The controls are also inside, so if something like last night ever happens again, they can’t play around with those. Also…”

He stopped in front of the door and opened it, gently leading you inside, where he pointed to a corner that was void of any shelves.

“This is a latch that leads into an actual panic room. Once inside, it locks down, and nothing except for maybe a nuclear bomb will be able to get in there. It’s outfitted with screens that show what’s going on up here, a landline, and a burner phone, as well as a bed and enough food and water to last three people two weeks. It has everything you could need in case anything happens. And as soon as it locks down, there will be an alert sent to my phone, as well to the phones of all of my employees.”

He spun you around again, gently cradling your face in his hands.

“Like I said, I won’t let anything happen to you. No matter where you are.”

You nodded, a soft smile on your face as he carefully wiped away the few tears that were running down your face. It had been so long since you felt so loved. Still, smiling, you watched as Simon slowly leaned down, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips ghosted over yours.

“Boss?”

Thanks to your proximity, you heard and felt him sigh, clearly annoyed, as he slowly pulled back, before he glanced toward the entrance to the kitchen. There was a tall, blonde man, clad in a dark suit. He glanced at you, before focusing on Simon.

“What is it, Graves?”

Simon’s arms remained around you as he glares at the man who just interrupted you two. The blonde man obviously felt uncomfortable as he kept glancing between the two of you before he finally spoke up.

“A call for you. It’s urgent.”

Simon nodded, pecking your lips before he pulled away and walked to the man, whispering a quick ‘I’m sorry’ as he was leaving. You just smiled as you watched him go, taking the opportunity to look around by yourself. You peeked into all the cabinets and every corner, finding new, amazing, and really expensive utensils. Even the cutlery was new, replaced by a set that had been designed by one of your favorite chefs.

The more you looked around, the more your fingers started to itch, wanting to try everything out. You walked to the wall, where you had installed a hook to hold your apron, and were pleasantly surprised when you saw that it was more or less the only thing that remained of your old bakery. As you were about to pull it on, Simon interrupted, clearing his throat as he leaned against the wall next to the swinging door that led into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at you, amusement swimming in his eyes. But you just shrugged.

“Bake something. I really want to try everything out.”

With a chuckle, he crossed the distance between you two, wrapping you up in his arms again.

“May I ask…with what ingredients?”

That’s when you finally realized that he was right. There was nothing here you could use to make something. Not even flour.

As you stood there, surprised and still, Simon squeezed you tightly, before taking your apron and hanging it on the hook.

“Come, that’s our next stop.”

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Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @lunamoonbby @distinguishedprincesstrash @xanvasy @reader-1290 (thought you might like to be tagged, if not just let me know!)

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[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours] - Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

To your surprise, Kyle, or Gaz – the model-like man introduced himself as – is such a considerate person with a nice sense of humor, at least compared to Soap or Ghost. 

That day you trapped yourself in the predicament with John, he seemed to sense your embarrassment, hence he just handed his boss a backup shirt without making fun of you like his boss, so you have a lot of time for the man. 

Like now, he’s sitting and sharing a plate of biscuits with you, enjoying a tranquil tea time accompanied by the pleasant smell of Earl Grey.

“You don’t have jobs to do today?” You raise your cup and ask, before taking another sip and watch Kyle finish his bite and reply.

 “Ghost’s in charge of dealing with the enemy today.” 

“Ehmm, okay” You refuse to figure out what ‘dealing’ means “What about others?"

"I killed mine yesterday.” 

Okay, you truly don’t mean this, but let’s just end this topic and move on. With a few biscuits down to your stomach, brainwashing yourself to forget what you heard seconds before with the sweetness, and buying you some time to come up with a better subject, you open your mouth again.

“Every time one of you comes here, you just scare all my customers away.”

“Isn’t that better?” 

“I need customers to earn money, Kyle.”

“You have us to pay you.” He points at the badge pasted on your wall. Of course, you’re not the one who put it on, you rather read the military smut out in front of all British than do it, but if you try to take it off, Soap will put a new one back, so in the end you just compromised and let him claim your shop publicly.

“This place isn’t only served for you guys.”

“It isn’t?” 

Is it possible to refute when Kyle flashes you a smile that you almost get blind and start wondering if he can replace himself as your lights and save you the electricity bill? Maybe counting this as one of Kyle’s humor will be better than explaining. All required is to ignore the evil glints in his majestic brown eyes while he questions you.

But even though Kyle said he doesn’t have work today, he doesn’t stay long after he finishes his tea.

“Gotta head back to help the boss.” He grins as he turns the knob and waves you goodbye.

What’s weird is that   after Kyle leaves your shop, customers start flooding back. Many of them are familiars of the shop, as you’re sure they’re 141’s lackeys too.

You remember them see you as one of the henchmen… Although they're not as afraid as when they first visit the shop because of your hospitable attitude, you can still sense the attentiveness in their demeanor.

No matter what, you’re going to figure out what’s  actually  happening.

“Hey, you.” You walk to one of the minions' sides. “Mind to tell me about why you guys always disappear when Gaz or Ghost or others come here?”

“We…” The guy’s eyes avert, shooting his friend a glance for help “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” Raising your eyebrow, you lower your voice to make it  menacing 

“It  really  is, ma’am, nothing to bother with the Sirs.”

“Show me, they must have sent some messages to inform you guys, right? Let me take a look, or I will…” You will what?  Actually,  you have no idea what you can do to these guys that can lift you  up  and throw you into a trash bin like a shot “Wait a second.”

Quickly running back to your kitchen, you come back with your most intimidating weapon – 

“Or I will hit you with my pan!” You wiggle your arm as a threat.

“…” 

They don’t look scared of the pan for a tiny bit. Wait, you should take your kitchen knife instead, who the fuck will pick a pan? You idiot.

yet to your satisfaction, they still fish out their phone and let you have it, and you don’t waste any time as you open the texting app.

‘Announcement: Boss will arrive at the tea shop in 10 minutes, clear the shop immediately.’

So they  really  are scaring your customers off. Give the phone back to the poor guy with pity in your eyes, you bring him a few more biscuits.

You’re strolling through the aisles in the shop. You’re out of flour and sugar, and every Wednesday the groceries are on sale. You never miss these chances to build up savings.

What a nice shopping trip. Quiet, leisure, just enjoying your own time, picking up different brands of cereal and calculating which is cheaper like a competent broken adult. Things never go wrong when you’re alone.

“Hey lass!”

Well, you’re kidding, things go south too quickly. The voice’s too familiar. It must be a hallucination.

“Lass? Bonnie?”

 Don’t look back, keep walking. It’s not the detergent man with a stupid chicken crest yelling at you.

“HEY!” A hand pats you on your shoulder and makes you jump. Sighing internally and prey there won’t be any trouble caused by the man, you turn around and face him.

“Oh, Soap, Hi.” Shit, looks like you just can’t have a break from these men. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Even though the nan outside tells me te shut the fok up?”

“Yes.” you shamelessly admit, pro tip to confront people without shame “Why are you here by the way, Soap?”

“Oh, we’re in need of some things, so Ghost pulled off during our way home.”

You take a glimpse at his basket. A rope, a roll of duct tape, and a knife. 

They must be going on a picnic. Yes, don’t overthink. The rope is for securing the tent, the duct tape is for concealing the holes on it. Knife? they surely will need it when cutting apples.

The image of Ghost slaughtering… peeling apple you mean, with Soap and Gaz playing red light green light and John napping in the tent is so vivid in your mind that you need to restrain the laugh with a clear of your throat before you grunt in affirmation and restart your steps.

With Soap depriving you of your last respite, you choose to grab what you need and head to the counter. All you want is to get home, have a nice shower, and lie on the bed reading the new fic you found last night.

“Do ye need help?” He watches you shove the products in your bag, but 5 huge cartons of milk are too heavy for your weak limbs, you can feel your arms trembling under your attempt.

“It’s okay, my car’s near the door. I can carry this myself.” Again, cheekiness works every time. You don’t care about strangers staring at you struggling with the bag and exit the supermarket in a crab way, as long as it can bring you back into peace faster, and you almost tear up when you see your car, the white of it is like the lighthouse in the atramentous night.

Hey, but you don’t remember your car has a goddamn huge dent at its boot.

“Oh yeah, forgot to tell ye. Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours, and he’s contemplating whether he should kidnap the driver when they come back and make them shut up, or just kill them.” Soap looks at you stopping in despair as he recognizes what you’re looking at. “So it’s your car aye?”

You don’t answer him, you just watch Ghost materialize from the Shadow beside your car and give you a nod.

Fuck your life.

a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!

Car -1, Peaceful night -1

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143 @goodbyegh0st @reaperxxxxzz @kaoyamamegami @imyprice @cod-z @poppingaround @live-for-fluff @masterstr0ke @mall0ww

[ethereal-night-fairy]

@groguspicklejar this is the embodiment of your mafia!price!! I'll be re-reading the whole series again!!

business

[glossysoap]

i need a ‘mafia/stalker/just generally obsessed with reader au’ but one where the 141 want to make a list of everyone who’s wronged you and you actually respond with names 😭 whether you say it in a joking manner or not, they don’t care.

they’re jotting all the names down.

[jj-the-hobbit171]

Imagine that when the tf141 gets betrayed by Graves and captured, word makes it to Mafia!reader… and all hell breaks loose in the home of the next Don.

Vases shattered on walls, tables flipped over in a flurry of anger, and the messenger, dead on the floor.

Readers composed stance had been long abounded, and replaced with a rage and an animal. They look up from the pool of blood on the ground, growling at the goon the just enters the room. Even the air stood still.

“Where?”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This wasn’t how Johnny thought he would die, lined up with his teammates and partners in life, with guns pressed at the back of their heads, forced to kneel for a merch as he talked on and on. Soap closed his eyes, tending waiting for the bullet…. It never came.

An array of gunshots rang around them,mixing with the cries of fallen men, before the door blocking it all bursted open.

“Phillip, Phillip”, reader said calmly, as they walked up to graves.

“Why do you do this?” They question, before sighing, “everyone in you circle knows not to touch what belongs to la vena d'oro”….

They giggle, before full blown laughing, then suddenly stopping,to look at their lovers bound on the floor, their eyes soften,before callings few of their men to help them up and get them to safety.

Price awoke to being carried into a car when a shot rang out of the base….