#mafia!gaz

[cordeliawhohung]

Siren

mafia!Gaz x fem!Reader | no major warnings, mentions of alcohol |

mafia!141

this was out of kyle's area of expertise. good thing you were there to pick up his mess.

When Kyle was a child, his father would point out his mother to him on the TV. She was an easy woman to recognize with her perfectly pressed suit and kind eyes and smile. When she gave speeches, she spoke with such eloquence that even in his young age Kyle understood that she was a woman who held insurmountable power. Yet, despite her influence as the most popular and well liked politician in all of England, she couldn’t shine bright enough to blind the nation from the stain that was her son; a bastard child born out of infidelity. It’s why he only ever saw his mother through a screen as a child. 

He wondered what she would think if she caught sight of him in that strip club. 

Not that he was there for pleasure of course. If he wanted loud music and annoyingly drunk patrons he would have gone to John Price’s club; at least he would have gotten free alcohol there. And there would have been less tits in his face, not that he was one to complain, but that wasn’t the reason he was there. 

It wasn’t often that Price assigned Kyle to “field missions.” Usually, whenever a favor was needed from him, he was asked to have a polite conversation with a politician or two, or perhaps influence his mother’s ability in the political field to make things easier on Price and his business. But this? Track down a rival mafia member to steal some USB theoretically hiding somewhere on his person? Impossible. But of course Riley would have drawn too much attention, being as much of an eyesore as he was, and Soap was busy wreaking havoc elsewhere, why not send poor little Kyle Garrick? 

Bastards owed him a pint. 

Through the flashing lights and a sea of bodies, Kyle caught sight of his target meandering through the crowd on the far side of the room. He stood a head shorter than he expected, and it appeared as if he attempted to compensate for it by having two large and brutish bodyguards trail behind him. How he was supposed to get past blokes as big as them and steal that USB was beyond him, and he wasn’t sure he would have the time to figure it out. 

Maybe he should have called it quits and gone home. Tell Price he would have to send someone else after the creep, that the mission was too far out of his expertise. He was certain there were some other baby faced members of the family who would do significantly better than he could. Besides, it wasn’t like Kyle actually worked for the man, he was just doing him a favor. 

Then again, failure was never really an option. 

With a deep breath, Kyle worked up the courage to finally push himself off of the wall he had leaned against for the past half hour. Whatever half-cocked plan brewed in his head needed to be executed quickly, because he knew his target wouldn’t linger for much longer. But the poor man could hardly walk forward two steps before a hand on his chest gently halted his movements.

A pretty thing in platform heels sauntered in front of Kyle and blocked him from his pursuit. She fluttered her eyes at him with lashes so long they must have been fake, and there was something about her hair that seemed too shiny, like she wore a wig. Her outfit left nothing to the imagination, which was pretty standard for a stripper, and she certainly used that to her advantage as she pressed her chest against his side. 

“Hey handsome. You look lonely,” she greeted him. Her voice was honeyed, too sickly sweet to have any sort of good intention. 

“Just passing through,” Kyle said as he attempted to shake her off. 

Like a siren with her eyes set on a ship, she wasn’t too keen on letting him go. Her hand slipped from his chest and down to his waistband where her fingers caught on his belt loops. Much too intimate, for his liking. Each second he wasted with her was another second the target was able to utilize to get away, and Kyle certainly didn’t have the upper hand. 

“No one ever just passes through here,” she said with a chuckle. “Besides, it’s not often we get cute things like you here. Gets a little tiring performing for disgusting old men all the time. But you? I could give you a special show in the back.” 

There was something about her scent that left Kyle’s mind spinning and he felt an uncomfortable heat rise up his neck and into his face. Maybe she really was a siren, some sea witch attempting to lure him to his death with saccharine promises. With gritted teeth, Kyle reached for her wrist and pulled her hand off of him, and despite his rather rough treatment with her, the woman didn’t seem fazed at all. 

“Not interested, love,” he said, his words more biting than he intended them to be. 

She gave him a knowing smile as she pulled her hand out of his loosened grip before shrugging. “Have it your way.”

She vanished into the crowd of the club just as quickly as she had appeared, and it was only then that Kyle realized she wasn’t the only thing that was out of sight. His target, that man with the USB, was long gone. Desperate, he weaved through the crowd where his dark eyes scanned for any sight of the man, but his efforts were fruitless. All it took was a pretty girl with an oddly addicting scent to throw him off of his game.

Price was going to be pissed.

Riley waited for him in the same place where he was dropped off with a cigarette hanging lazily out of his mouth. The parking lot was dark due to several broken and poorly lit lights, giving a less than inviting aura to the area. Had Kyle not known the man previously, he would have never dared to venture too close to the lot with the way Riley brooded in the darkest corner. 

“Well?” Riley questioned as he exhaled a long puff of smoke. 

“No good,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Couldn’t get close enough with his bodyguards breathing down his damn neck.”

Nodding, Riley flicked a bit of ash off the tip of his cigarette. “Spectacular,” he said, voice heavily laced with sarcasm. 

“I dunno what you guys expected from me!” Kyle defended. “I don’t have the fucking training for this. If you wanted the job done properly, you should’ve gotten someone else.” 

The two men bickered back and forth for what felt like an eternity, pointing fingers and throwing sarcastic comments at one another. He didn’t want to do the job in the first place, and really only agreed to it because Price had a way of convincing him otherwise. It wasn’t until Kyle heard the familiar click-clack of heels on the parking lot pavement that both men fell silent. Riley’s eyes focused somewhere in the distance, and the expression on his face morphed into something utterly unimpressed as he tossed the butt of his cigarette on the ground. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered.

Emerging from the darkness, you approached the two men hiding in the lot with as much poise and confidence as you had approached Kyle with earlier in the club. Your smile was just as sickly sweet as it had been, and your chuckle echoed dully in the empty space as you pulled your pea coat around your body to save your exposed skin from the night air. 

“Evening, gentlemen,” you greeted. 

Kyle’s head snapped to the side at the sound of your voice and he nearly groaned in frustration at the sight of you. All of his efforts and awkward time spent in that club had gone to waste because of your meddling, and it wasn’t until that moment that he realized you had done it on purpose. You had been a distraction, an obstacle to prevent him from completing his task, and now you came to gloat. 

“What do you want, Junior?” Riley questioned, jaw tense. 

“A proper set of clothes, for starters,” you scoffed. “Perhaps a shot or two, or excedrin to get rid of this raging headache from that piss poor music.” 

“That’s not what I asked you,” he countered. 

You stopped walking once you had fully approached the boys and you tilted your head at Riley with a deep sigh. Not even the night air could cover up the intoxicating scent of your perfume, and it seemed all too attracted to Kyle’s nostrils, and he felt himself growing dizzy again. 

“Never good at taking jokes, are you?” you asked facetiously. 

Riley’s silence made you sigh and roll your eyes at his stubbornness, and seemingly bored, you turned your attention to Kyle. It only took a single swift step before you were at his side with your hands once again on his waistband. Confused, Kyle grabbed your wrist and yanked you off of him, an effort that only made you chuckle. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, heated.

“Relax, love,” you said, throwing back the pet name he had used for you previously. “Just retrieving something out of your pocket. It’s hard to carry things around in this outfit. Doesn’t exactly have the best pockets. Figured I’d borrow yours.” 

Before he could stop you, you reached into his pocket with your other hand and pulled out a small USB. In an attempt to prove your innocence, you dangled the item in front of his face with a grin, but in reality he was too busy trying to fight off that odd heat in his body at the smell of you. 

“Pheromone perfume, Garrick,” you said simply as you gestured to your neck. “I find it’s significantly easier to do my work if the men in my way are too dazed to do anything stupid.” 

You backed away from him with a simple sigh before you tossed the USB towards Riley, who caught it one handed against his chest. He glared at you in what you could only assume was his strange way of thanking you, and it took everything in you not to roll your eyes again. 

“How did you know my name?” Kyle asked breathlessly. 

You returned your arms snugly around your waist with a chuckle. “I’d be stupid to not do my homework on someone of your status. Big fan of your mum, by the way. Her speeches almost make me believe she gives a damn about this country.” 

Speechless didn’t quite explain the sheer surprise Kyle felt in that moment. It was as if he had met a stalker, like you knew him better than he knew himself. The worst thing about it was that he had not even the slightest clue as to who you were. Which, he supposed, was exactly the way you liked it.

“Anyway,” you segwayed while you took a step away from the men, “if Price wishes to tip me for doing your work for you, he knows where to send it to. You boys have a good night.” 

Without so much as another word you spun on your obnoxious heels and strolled back towards the darkness of the street, leaving Riley and Kyle there helpless. Mind still spinning, Kyle rubbed at his face with a groan before turning his attention back to his intimidating friend. 

“Who the hell was that?” he asked. 

“Everyone calls her Junior. Shepherd’s kid,” Riley said with a sigh as he looked down at the USB. 

“You’re kidding?” Kyle countered. 

“Wish I was. She’s a proper pain in the ass,” he mumbled. “Probably got a good copy of the data off of this before she even snuck it into your pocket. Doin’ daddy’s dirty work for him. Christ.” 

Kyle looked back toward the street where you had vanished off to as if the sight of you would make his mind recall your existence any easier. You were an enigma, some truly otherworldly being that managed to make him look like a dunce. 

“What’s her name?” he asked, looking back at Riley. 

“Fuck if I know,” he grumbled as he shoved the USB in his pocket. “I’m not exactly havin’ tea with her, Garrick.” 

Kyle scoffed at the man’s bluntness but otherwise didn’t say anything else. His mind was too busy replaying the events of that night to come up with a proper answer, anyway. You were good at your job, he’d admit that much at least. Your cover, the way you pretended to come onto him in order to sneak the USB out of the club, all of it. Perhaps he shouldn’t have expected anything less of Shepherd’s daughter. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the bastard had trained you since birth. 

None of that mattered, though. You knew of his mother, his true family, and you had admitted it so nonchalantly. That knowledge caused an uncomfortable pit to form in his stomach, one that made him curious as to how you happened across that information. 

Riley was right about one thing at least, you really were a proper pain in the ass. 

[vnards]

Mafia!141...

Ghost sat in the back corner of the diner. It gave him the best overlook of the room he needed to scout the place out. The diner wasn’t anything fancy. Small mom and pops shop that still held on the ‘50s service style and appearance. But that wasn’t the real reason why Ghost is here.

The diner was on the edge of the city, a previously agreed upon location that the authorities don’t look at often when shady deals need to be made. The perfect place for a meeting.

The meeting wasn’t for a few more days, but Ghost had orders. And Ghost always follows orders.

It was moderately busy for lunch time on a random Tuesday, half the booths filled with couples or groups being served and workers buzzing about, a well-run machine. There wasn’t really anything for Ghost to note.

Except you.

A younger waitress, post-college age, fidgeting with the uniform’s apron when you’re not taking orders or delivering food. Mingling with the customers in your section, cracking smiles and laughs. Possibly to get a better tip. You moved like a current.

If Ghost wasn’t playing close attention, he would’ve mistaken you as a manager or even hostess. But from the way the cooks and other waiters had silently corrected you when you made a misstep occasionally, he could tell you were still learning. Pretty thing.

“How are you doing over here, sugar?” You came to check on him again, so diligent and attentive. So eager to speak to the boogeyman.

It’s been a while since someone approached Ghost with as much enthusiasm as you do. Maybe since Johnny. If you were scared, you hid it from him so well.  Ghost was dressed down, trying to blend in as much as his large frame would allow, with only a black face mask on and hoodie up, his cropped blond hair hidden under. “Could I get another refill, doll?”

A color grew on your cheeks, but you still gave a good effort to hide it from him, “Sure thing,” You picked up his beverage and headed back towards the kitchen. Ghost was unable to avoid watching you.

How you moved. How you smiled. How you laughed.

It made him want to know how you smell. How you taste. A hunger began to simmer in Ghost’s chest.

Ghost scolded himself for thinking about a waitress in a random diner. He should be paying attention to everything but you. He scanned the diner once more, taking note of how many exits were there, how many people were working at one time, how many parents and their kids ate here. Ghost was already visualizing the meeting and how it would go, even a backup plan if things went south.

Ghost’s fingers tapped on the table, the gears turning like a well-oiled machine. Like he’s done this a thousand times before. Because he has done this a thousand times before.

“Here you go!”

Ghost’s fingers stuttered...

More to come~

next part

Masterlist

[oceantornadoo]

my masterlist💖

mdni!

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

simon riley (smut):

the man next door (each post is a diff universe)

fluffy simon riley:

mafia au!simon riley (arranged marriage)

johnny mactavish

kyle garrick

enemies to lovers drabble

john price

tired of everyone but you

pad shopping

ghoap x reader

gazs perspective (drabble)

jealousy, jealousy

gender neutral fics (simon riley)

two lieutenants series (simon riley x f!reader)

ts lyrics and the 141

renegade (simon riley x reader)

ttpd headcanons (any 141 member)

[flipphone01st]

This probably isn't an original thought, but imagine for a second if you so please. Mafia 141. Price is the boss ofc, he owns a big big big club and a bunch of other things and he's filthy rich. Johnny and gaz are bartenders at the club and ghost is a bouncer. they are all also involved with Price's Mafia stuff they just do the previously mentioned stuff as like a side thing, you know? Now enter reader...poor poor reader. They or a relative get in trouble with price, having to pay a big debt or something but of course they can't pay for some reason, so instead, price makes them work at the club, no pay. Could be another bartender or a performer (like singing not the other thing you freaks 눈⁠‸⁠눈⁠). But now listen closely. At first the boys are like "look at this fuckin loser." About the reader and then after a little while they're like "...look at this fuckin loser." BUT AFFECTIONATELY! While the reader is just trying to get this shit over with. Thoughts????

[sadist1224]

Everyday life in the Mafia!AU

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part4

I just want a little bit of everyday life when I don't have to worry about kidnappings, bandits and showdowns.

When you come to the bar a few hours before your shift, and Mafia!Gaz "accidentally" comes to say hello to you and ask how you are doing.

Mafia!Soap, who drops by your place literally in a few minutes, just to take you to the nearest coffee shop, to drink coffee, because then you will be immersed in work again and you will not be up to them.

Mafia!Soap and Mafia!Gaz who buy you a big latte with salted caramel syrup, insisting that they pay for it.

Mafia!Soap and the Mafia!Gaz who chatter about everything incessantly, joke and have fun, which makes you feel warm and calm. This is exactly what you need before your shift at the bar.

Mafia!Soap who shamelessly flirts with you after every joke, but you still manage to keep a steady expression on your face. You just like the way he doesn't give up trying to win you over. But you also feel that your wall will crack soon.

And you still don't want to get involved in mafia business, but that's how Mafia!Gaz invites you to some kind of party, just so you can unwind and be with them. And those pleading puppy dog eyes Mafia!Soup, who is already figuring out where you could get a dress and how long it would be.

You jokingly say it's more like a date, and you're amused by how cheeks are Mafia!Gaz darkens with embarrassment, and Mafia!Soap the eyes open wide, as if they were caught red-handed.

You promise them you'll think about it, but only after work, because, well, why not, really?

[celenawrites]

The House of the Rising Sun - I

Summary -

Running to the enemy territory, asking for help was foolish.

It was even more foolish of you to think that their help will not cost you anything.

Note -

This is a first draft with minimum/no edits.

Updates will be slow due to a multitude of reasons.

No Y/N.

Reader is female, for the most part.

Chapter Summary -

You make a deal.

word count - 4.8 k

warnings - slow-ish build up, violent descriptions, threats, sexism, cursing, etc.

AO3 version

God, you were stupid. 

You had been told so your entire life - by your parents for believing you will be the master of your own fate, writing your life the way you want it to be; by your peers for wishing something different because they couldn’t comprehend why you wanted to run away from such a lavish, fulfilling life; and by your ‘beloved’ for even thinking that you’d be anything more than a fever dream rendition of ‘50s  Stepford wife that he would occasionally bring out to galas and parties in tight dresses that showed off your bosom a bit too much, hoping to curry favors with like-minded bastards who leered at you with heady eyes and hands itching to cop a feel of you. 

You feel the shame that comes with making the wrong choice - you can feel your ears burn and your eyes sting with tears, can feel your tongue turn to lead and your mouth dry up as if it’s filled with cotton. You inhale deeply, and you feel your throat bob painfully as you greedily gulp in any amount of air you can get in the clammy warehouse. 

It’s either this or getting locked in a cage forever. 

You didn’t even think of making a getaway the moment those men decided to bind your hands tightly and covered your head with a sack, cutting off your connection from the outside world entirely as they abducted you, hoping to get high praise from their boss for such a pretty catch. You feel your spine creep up with goosebumps as their disgusting hands touch you and manhandle you, forcing you to lie down in what you assume to be the trunk of the car. The sack over your head does a good job at hindering your sight, making it impossible to note the car or its license plate.

You stay stuck, occasionally moving and bumping around in the claustrophobic space and you can only pray to God that you make it out of this ordeal alive. 

For what feels like hours, you let your body sway with the movement of the vehicle and feel the extra tyres dig into your ribs at every bump or pothole, helpless to do anything at all. Eventually, the car comes to a stop and you are grateful that the constant moving and the smell of petrol didn’t make you spill your guts out in the back of the car, the sack over your head promising nothing but a pitiful death by choking on your own vomit. 

The trunk is opened and you are pulled upright, and all you are thankful for is that you are out of that closed box of a space and you can finally breathe. You feel disgust at the sweat that coats you, but sigh out in relief as the soft breeze caresses your skin as it cools your body. You do not resist as you are forced to walk, hearing nothing but a few uncomprehensive murmur behind you as your ears buzz and your mind screams at you to RUN RUN RUN RUN RU-

You shove that line of thought somewhere back in your mind, somewhere unreachable because you know, you fucking know that if you even slightly move in a way that seems threatening, these guys will not hesitate to empty their guns into your body. 

They just need an excuse for it anyway. 

You have decided to not give them that. 

You feel the creaky metal doors slam shut behind you, the noise reverberating in your ears; your lack of sight heightening your other senses, making you undergo a sensory nightmare of sorts as you try your best to survive in the unknown territory. 

You come to a stop, and feel someone guide you with their hand over the small of your back - the touch nauseating you, flashes of unpleasant memories making you shiver in fear and rage, and it is almost enough for you to strangle the guy; if not for your bound hands and the threat of death imminent in the air. 

One of the goons takes it upon himself to grab your arm, hard enough to dig it into your skin - a promise full of bruises and malice. Then he guides you roughly a few steps forward, before pushing you down on a chair. He unties your hand, and you barely get a second of soothing your reddened wrists before he’s tying you to the arms of the wooden chair with ropes that dig into you. He does the same with your legs, and it’s not long until your body is bound to the chair you’re sitting on. The ropes are thick, and you resignedly accept your defeat when it’s due - knowing that you clearly don’t have the strength to break out of your binds. You can only hope that these people at least have the decency to hear you out before they discard your body down the river. 

You feel the gun press against your temple, the gunny sack over your head doing nothing to cushion the pressure on your head. You can only hope that the safety is on, or the guy with the gun is not too trigger happy. You don’t want to paint your brains out on the grimy floor anyway. 

It’s just a precautionary measure, you console yourself. 

You won’t get shot. Not yet. 

You are disoriented by your surroundings when your sack is pulled over your head, exposing you to the people around you. The few white lights dangling over you blind you, and the ropes are already chafing against your sweaty skin, and the white bodycon dress sticks to you, already dirtied by the grime and the dust you have encountered along the way. 

I must be a sight for sore eyes, you think sarcastically, blinking away the pain to take in the men standing before you. 

You have heard of them. Of course, you have. You do not stay a part of your family without knowing about the infamous 141. The elite of the elite in the dark, dirty business your family partakes in. People rarely see them, some even wish on shooting stars to get a meeting of a lifetime with the members of 141 - some of the finest, richest men in England’s mafia. Almost all of the sea routes belong to them, allowing them to easily smuggle in arms, drugs and more into the Queen’s dear country. Allies of 141 benefit from their profits, and are even offered protection. Relation to 141 meant only one thing for people - pure, absolute power over everything. 

Your father had once hoped to be a part of this organization. He had endlessly tried to impress them, wishing nothing more than a lick of the power they held in their scarred, steady hands - all of the lies, deceit and illusions failing him, as he ultimately couldn’t carve a place for himself in the group. This failure of his made him jaded, angry at the world and the rest of your family for this unfair transgression committed against him. Finally, he planned to use you as a pawn to expand his power, forging an alliance in marriage with an ally that has always served as a thorn in the side to the chagrin of 141. 

Enemy of my enemy…

You partly blame them for your sorry state, half-heartedly wishing that they would’ve entertained your mercurial father for just a little longer so you could elope with your friends and leave the country, never to return. However, the thought of that madman having the power to influence all of England always left a bad taste in your mouth. 

The men in front of you are the most powerful men in all of England. Possibly one of the most powerful men in the continent of Europe even. The four men are dressed to the nines, a stark contrast to the filthy warehouse you’re stuck in, and you cannot help but look up at them with aching eyes, staring at them in awe and reverence. 

The man with the skull mask draws your attention first, leaning against a table you missed to take note of earlier. He’s dressed in all black - a black coat over a white shirt that hugs his wide shoulders tightly, and you cannot miss the brown holster against his hip, his hands in the pockets of his black pants. You cannot deny that you’re intrigued about him and all that he hides behind that mask of his.  His eyes, looking like two brown dots from where you sit, size you up  - highly alert and ready to swiftly get rid of you, if it comes down to it. 

Your eyes shift a little to the right and you find yourself staring at a majestic man. He’s dressed in a three-piece, along with a well-groomed beard, and his dark hair is combed back, not a strand out of place. He’s old enough to be your daddy, but by God, he looks like someone who could ruin you. The men behind you bow down in reverence and you can only assume that he’s the ringleader of this circus show - a dangerous circus show where you’re most likely to lose your life. 

The man standing to his right seems to look closer to your age - dark, tall, slim with a pretty face and full lips. His curly hair seems to have a mind of its own, letting a coil or two loose on his face, which he quickly tucks behind his ears swiftly. What draws you in the most are his eyes - dark and mischievous, carrying a brightness in them that you can only recall in childhood photos and you almost feel envious as your own has dulled down over the years. 

And the man beside you speaks, “You alright?” and your concentration shifts to him. Your eyes widen a bit, surprised to not notice him before - with his accent and mohawk and kind eyes that crinkle a bit when he looks at you, his visage directly blessed by a Hellenistic deity whose name you have long forgotten. 

You drop your gaze to look at your lap, embarrassment creeping up on you like invasive ivies - you probably look out of place, with your white dress and the way you gaped at them probably gave them something to laugh about after they’re done getting rid of your body today. You do not reply just yet, your hammering heart making it hard to focus on them and the barrage of questions. 

You have been ill-prepared. 

You ran away on a whim, with nothing but the bare necessities packed up. You had not expected to make it this far, straight in the heart of  your mortal enemies’ lair. You had focused so much on leaving without a trace, that you had forgotten to cook up a half-baked story that could satiate the natural curiosity of the 141. 

They have been something out of a fairytale for you, a fable used to scare people into subservience. And yet, these godly men stand before you, grace your unworthy eyes to admire their visage until you’re ultimately slaughtered like a lamb for wandering too deep into their territory. 

You wait and in turn make the men around you wait for an answer - something, anything really; and with each second passing by, you cannot help but give into the panic that’s taking control of your frail body.  Your lungs burn, and no matter how deeply you breathe, you just cannot seem to soothe the ache within you. 

Maybe I’m having a heart attack, you think earnestly. If I die right this instant, I will not have to deal with my family. Or my betrothed. Or with 141. 

However, fate has often been cruel to you. 

The man with the mohawk notices your shortened breath, instantly alarmed at your worsening state. 

“Oi, Ghost. Pass me the bottle”, he asks, and through bleary eyes you notice him catch a flying plastic bottle in his hands. With gentle fingers, he grabs your chin and tilts your head up until your eyes meet his. His fingers rub gentle circles into your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He gently urges you, “Open ya mouth for me, hen. Drink up”.

Suddenly parched and unable to handle the multiple eyes on you, you silently comply as you tilt your head back and open your mouth. He gently presses the bottle to your lips, allowing you to take slow, sure sips from it. Some of it trickles down, wetting the neck of your dress but you can hardly care as you gently lean back as his fingers slowly play with your hair, sending pleasant tingles down your spine - almost enough to make you whimper in relief. 

After a while, when he deems it enough, he retracts the bottle from you and caps it, putting it down near the foot of the chair. You compose yourself, silently berating yourself for letting these men see you at such a low point - so weak and vulnerable. 

But no more of that. 

The small reprieve offered by the man standing nearby gave you enough time to compose yourself - enough time to cook up a story that will save you from showing all your cards on the table. You can only hope that by the time you’re finished with this ordeal and have gathered enough resources, you can finally make your getaway far away from here. 

God knows you’d kill for a vacation right about now. 

Your eyes meet his again, and he smiles down on you kindly, deciding this is a good time as any to finally introduce himself to you. 

“I’m Soap. Lassie, dae ye hev any idea aboot where ye’re?”

Weird name, but you nod your head nonetheless. You don’t know where exactly you have landed up, but you do know that you’re in their territory, with no allies to support you or protect you. 

The very thought of it terrifies you. 

“So, ye dae ken who 141 is?”, he asks again, and you nod your head in confirmation as you finally recognize his accent as somewhere from up north in Scotland. 

“Why are you here then?” a deep voice with a Manchester accent asks you, and your eyes flutter across the room until they land on the masked man again. The distance along with his mask makes it near impossible to gauge what he’s thinking, how he’s looking at you - but you can wager a solid guess. 

He’s probably looking at you with distrust, like you’re a skittering deer caught in headlights - about to run off to god knows where if given the chance. He’s thinking about how shady you are, how you need to be vetted before they even entertain you and your potential sob story or how he itches to shoot you in the head with the gun he has kept in his holster. 

Frankly enough, you don’t give two fucks about his thoughts. 

“You’re 141, and I have valuable information. Information that can help you gain access to parts of England you constantly fight over with other gangs”, you speak up, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear you. You are surprised that your voice doesn’t crack, your eyes don’t shy away from the heated look the skeleton-wearing man throws your way. 

The leader straightens up, asking you what you have been dying to hear ever since you stepped foot in London. 

Finally.  

“And what do you want from us for that?”

“Protection.”

It isn’t long till you are untied from the chair by Soap, finally rubbing your raw hands - cringing at how your wrists ache and your feet are no better, but you leave them be. You thank him for untying you, finally ‘free’ to walk on your own as you are escorted by him and by his masked companion to a black Mercedes-Benz 200. Soap is kind enough to open the door for you, letting you sit at the back of the car. He closes the door and goes around the vehicle, finally taking his seat as the driver. You look out the window, wondering where the other man would sit - beside Soap or beside you. 

Your query is answered when you hear the car door opposite to you slam shut, watching him warily as the hulk of a man climbs inside and adjusts himself, sitting carefully to not bump his head onto the roof of the Benz. The car hums to life as Soap finally inserts the key into the ignition, dabbling with the manual shaft and finally driving - enroute to a new, unknown destination. 

The skull-face (a nickname your brain supplied you with) looks at you pointedly, and you finally look back at him after what felt like a millennia of him burning holes into your skull. 

“What?” you snide, clearly with no energy or tact to be bashful around the man who is totally capable of breaking your bones with his bare hand. 

He nods, and it draws your attention to the little blindfold he’s held in his hands. 

You groan out, not ready to return to the shadows just yet. 

“Not again”, you almost whine out, turning around so your back faces him and you wait for his deft hands to cover your world with darkness again. 

“Gotta have to, love”, you hear Soap say as his steady hands steer the wheel around and work the manual shift to change gears, “Protocol says so. It’s just for newcomers, ain’t it, Ghost?”. 

The man behind you grumbles but refuses to grace his partner with a response. 

So he’s called Ghost. 

You grumble slightly before crossing your arms like a petulant child, but not before making a sarcastic quip. 

“If you’re going to get kinky with that blindfold on me, at least take me out to dinner first”. 

You let out a sigh as you feel the dark piece of cloth tighten around your eyes, and you can hear Soap guffaw out loud. 

“That’s a good one, lassie!”, he laughs, and you feel the car turn slightly as he drives on the road, feeling a few bumps along the way. 

Ghost scoffs a little at your little snide - it’s lighthearted and breathy, and it seems like you may have just won the lottery by winning his approval. 

It’s small but it’s a start. 

“And if you’re worried about dinner”, Ghost speaks, and you jump slightly at the sudden sound he makes.  

“If you survive the night, you might be able to get some after all”. 

After what seems like a drive of thirty minutes, the car finally comes to a stop and you’re glad for that. 

The silence had been comfortable, it gave you time to think and process all that has happened so far.  But you’re also eager to get the blindfold off your face and finally see where these men have ‘escorted’ you to. 

Feeling your anxiety, Ghost graciously takes off the piece of cloth over your eyes, and you blink dumbly, trying to get your bearings about you. He gets out of the car, before walking around it and opening your door for you. 

What a gentleman. 

You climb out of the vehicle, finally looking at what was in front of you. 

Despite being a mafia heiress and witnessing luxury of all levels, you look at the mansion in front of you with a reverence unmatched - unable to believe that this is where one of 141 possibly lives here, or operates from. 

The grandeur of this place is indescribable. The mansion is Victorian, and is surrounded by acres of grassland, laid with concrete routes that you’re currently walking on. There is a fountain across the main door of the mansion, and in the center of the water pool stands Aphrodite, her marble figure adding a touch of classicism to it. She looks serene, despite her residence being among the tumultuous water of a fountain. There are roses growing around the marble piece, surrounding the deity with color - almost as if these flowers have been planted as an offering to her. 

It is a lovely sight. You wish you could look at her forever. 

And yet you move onwards, leaving behind the goddess of love behind you, sneaking a final glance at her as the wooden door closes behind you. 

There’s an ache that settles in the middle of your chest as you follow the two men inside, mourning your past and yet awaiting the future ahead of you. 

The study room is majestic. 

Walls are covered with shelves filled with thick books. You can recognize some of the classics kept there, mainly Russian literature that talked of death and human suffering. There is a red loveseat to your left, with a small coffee table with a glass top. And to your right, you can find a small cabinet, locked and untouched, as it collects dust in the large room. 

You see the leader of 141, Jonathan M. Price, sitting in his leather chair, reading a file laid out on the oak table. He looks like he belongs here - regal and untouchable. And you almost feel out of place in your dirtied dress, and you’re certain that the sack over your head has messed up your hair now. 

The fact that he looks attractive as fuck, sitting and reading with his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his strong arms,  does not help you. At all. 

You wait until he finally looks up and notices you standing between his men. He gives them a look, and they both leave you. You feel Soap gently pat your shoulder as he closes the door behind him, following his companion out. 

“So, why should I not throw you out for the police to find you?”

That’s the first thing he says to you, his eyes scrutinizing you as he gets up from his seat, walking until he’s at most half a dozen steps away from you. One of his hands picked up the glass of scotch on the table, sipping it with narrowed eyes. 

You gulp a little at the unspoken threat - at the hidden promise of delivering your body in pieces at the threshold of your childhood home, at the implication that if the next words that come out of your mouth doesn’t satisfy him, you won’t walk out of this room alive. 

“I know how to help you. I promise. The information I have is valuable”, you speak, feeling your chest swell with pride when you don’t stutter your words, when you don’t cower in fear in front of the dangerous mafia leader, when you don’t get on your knees and beg him to spare you. 

“And the price is what, protection? Do you think I’m daft?” he raises his voice, and now you cannot help but flinch a little. 

“Take a gamble, sir. It won’t hurt to try someone new for change”, you bargain with him, hoping that he’ll take the bait. You’d both win if he did. 

There’s silence in the air, and you take this as permission to present your case before your metaphorical judge, hoping to persuade him from not condemning you to death and striking his gavel down. 

“Just once. Give me a chance this one time. I won’t let you down, sir”, you almost beg, and you see his eyes waver - just a little bit, and that is enough for you to keep going. 

“I’ll tell you something that’ll help you out, and if I’m right, you give me a fair chance. Keep me here, safe and protected. And if I fool you….”, you feel your stomach drop as you finish:

“You are allowed to do whatever you wish with me”.

You wait now. 

He doesn’t speak for a few moments, and your agitation doesn’t help your restlessness. Your leg bounces in its place as you look at Mr. Price, unsure of what is going on inside that dangerous, beautiful brain of his. And when you finally open your mouth to say something, anything really - he beats you to it. 

“What’s your name, girl?”

Your brain struggles with the sudden interest in what you’re called, and you wait a beat too long to answer him with an alias(“Marie”, you call yourself and all Price does is look at you like he doesn’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth). That makes you look suspicious. Fuck. 

But you have been suspicious all up to now, you might as well keep up for now. 

Moreover, they’d get off your back when you prove yourself right. 

Or you’d buy yourself just enough time to run away again. 

You’ve been getting better at that now. 

After you tell him all that you can, making sure to keep the more sensitive information under wraps for now - for everyone’s sake really, you look at him as Price nods, gently rubbing his forehead and now he looks almost forlorn, the stress of running an illegal empire taking a toll on his body and soul. He looks older now, frailer somehow - and in this moment, you almost feel sorry for him. 

“Fine, I’ll entertain you for now”, he breathes out, and you almost find yourself crying from joy. 

You almost contemplate getting on your knees and bowing down to him to show your gratitude, but you do no such thing. Instead, you offer him a small smile and you don’t fail to notice how he drinks it all up like heady ambrosia. 

But his next words force you to stay on your guard:

“But if you do anything suspicious, make sure I don’t notice. ‘Cuz I’m not as forgiving as I look”. 

Price quickly dismisses you, now tired and in no mood to entertain his new guest, as he calls upon one of the men from the warehouse to show you ‘your room’. 

Kyle(That’s the name of the young, pretty man) silently escorts you to a room on the third floor of the house, and despite following your escort with sharp eyes as you take a note of everything that interests you or stands out, you still find it hard to memorize the layout of this place. 

He stands before a teak wood bifold door, and he opens the door for you to walk inside. Before he leaves you to your devices, he kindly informs you, “Dinner will be at 8. It won’t be hard to find the dining hall”. 

And then he’s gone. 

He has been apprehensive about your provisional arrangements; you had seen the look he sent to his leader when Price asked him to show you the room you’d be staying in. 

You know he doesn’t like it any more than you do, but you’re touched at the hospitality he’s extending towards you - a temporary white flag for the unstable truce you have established between yourself and 141. 

You take in the room with a white bed and white sheets, with sparse decoration and a cleanliness you can never find in someone’s room. 

So this is a guest room. 

You find your bag to be there, and you wonder if Price or Kyle asked someone to leave your belongings here. The bag looks untouched for the most part, and the tightness in your chest lightens a bit at that. 

You think about taking a bath and changing into the spare clothes you packed in the duffel bag in a hurry. You think about going out and exploring the place, thinking of all the secrets you can soak up into your being. 

But you’re so tired. 

The clock hanging on the wall tells you it’s a little past 6, and you have some time before dinner will be served. You think of your bruised body, and your sore wrists and the headache that’s blooming across your temples, about how hard it is to keep your eyes open and look around you. 

You look at the soft bed, and think how it won’t be too bad to rest for just a little. 

In the bed, under the soft covers, you think of everyone you left behind. Your power-hungry father, who is probably going off the walls, swearing to kill you with his own hands when he sees you next. Your ignorant little brother, who’s been sent to America to study business at Harvard. Your betrothed who has quite possibly become the butt of the joke overnight. 

You are scared of how he’s feeling, about what he must be planning for you, should you ever make the mistake of returning back to him. 

(You’d rather the 141 kill you and dump your body under the bridge, brutalized and scarred beyond recognition.)

And your poor mother, who will now deal with the repercussions of your actions. 

For her, you cry. 

fin.

NOTE -

*Reader doesn't use her real name, she uses an alias but it will be temporary and rare. (probably)

Also it was tougher for me to describe the places and furniture more than writing the overall plot, etc.

And I'm posting this late at night, so any errors are the responsibility of future Cel.

[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.

[imachaoticghost]

Prologue

Mafia! Modern Warfare II AU

Summary: An introduction to the whole world of Mafia! MW

Masterlist

Pairings : Valeria x wife! younger! half mexican! Reader

TW: Canon typical violence, may be OOC, canon divergence, AU, MAFIA, alcohol, use of reader, suggestive content, I can't write accents to save my life, smoking, mention of drugs.

A/N : My pen slipped (and I made the divider). Translations are at the end.

The music was deafening, blaring on her and making her head hurt in a constant pulsation of uncomfortable pain. Not enough to actually hurt, yet. She sighed, calling a waitress to pick up the drink she had just made, placing it on the counter. She ran a hand through her hair with another sigh, not noticing Soap, hanging around a few feet closer than before.

"You 'right there lass?" He shouted over the music with a tint of concern in his cheery tone.

"Yeah, yeah, 'm fine." she laughed "just got a headache creepin' on me" she shouted back.

"You can take a break y'know?" He joked, still seeming concerned.

"I know, I know. I'm fine tho, really" She reassured, smiling. As much as she did want to take her break she was waiting on an important contact. The bartender nodded, going back to his own section.

A man walked in the club. His dark clothing contrasted with the rich men and women, but they were all way too busy to even care. He sat at her bar and she walked closer with a polite smile. "What can I get for ya?" She asked, putting up a texan accent.

"I'm looking for Sam." He stated, as if he didn't want anyone to bother him.

"You're sitting right in front of 'er" She grinned and the man stared her down with a mocking expression.

"you're telling me you're the intel dealer" He sounded even more mocking than he looked. She chuckled and put her elbows on the counter, leaning her weight on it, crossing her hand and exposing just enough cleavage.

"Yessir, in flesh and bones"

"There's no way a sweetheart like you is the biggest informant out here. I mean, the most you would have is little girl gossip" He mocked.

She shrugged "Your loss honey" She mocked back, moving onto the next drink.

"Wait," He called "I need that deal"

She turned back to him. "Alright, here are my conditions. One, an eye for an eye. What you so much need, I want back, just the same. Second, no one gets to know who I am." The glint in here eye scared him, a mix of mischief, of interest and of a devilish fire. "So, do we have a deal?" Her grin was just as warning as her look, but it quickly faded when an older man in a suit called her, turning innocent. "One second" Her voice sounded so sweet she almost seemed harmless. Almost.

"Anything I can help you with Price?" she shifted her accent back to her usual neutral one, moving her hair to uncover her dyed hair.

"I just wanted to check on you, wouldn't want to overwork my staff." He joked. "Soap said you didn't look very well, you had him worried there."

"Really? Oh, no, I'm fine. I just have a slight headache" She smiled sheepishly.

"You should really take a break" Suggested Price.

"As soon as I finish with my order I will" She assured. He nodded and let her walk back to her bar, eyes lingering on her in worry before turning away. She took a breath, taking back her texan accent and covering again her dyed hair, taking a confident stroll towards her client.

"So, do we have a deal or not? I don't have all day."

"Fine" Grumbled the man.

"What d'ya need? If what ya give me is enough I might just as well give it to ya" She grinned again, the devilish glint back in her eyes.

She blew out a puff of smoke as she waited for the phone to send her to voicemail. It felt nice to not have to fake an accent and let her voice rest, settling in her normal tone. "Hola Amor. La Araña is planning on moving a drug shipment tomorrow night in between Las Almas territory and 141 territory. Around 2 or 3 am. Hard drug. Have fun and good luck." She hung up right after.

She heard the emergency exit door open and she quickly threw her cigarette on the floor, putting it out and straightening up. "Oh, hey, I didn't know you were here" Noted Kyle when he noticed her.

She chuckled softly. "I needed some fresh air" The other man hummed and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"D'you mind?" She shook her head and he started smoking, settling them both in a comfortable silence.

"I didn't know you smoked" she teased and he snickered.

"Almost all of us do. Simon not so often, due to the mask and all, but he still smokes when he manages to catch a break. Chills us out, you know?"

"You seem to know each other quite well" she teased again, noting the information in the back of her brain. He nodded, saying how they were friends since a long time.

Her expression almost showed her concern when she read the messages. "Kyle? Do you mind if I make a call?" She asked sheepishly.

"Not at all darling" he smiled. She refrained from wincing at the pet name. She dialed her wife's number and prayed to whatever being would hear her.

"Que paso Hermosa?" She heard V's voice and let out a breath in relief.

"Hola mamà" She let her wife know she was being heard by someone exterior. "Te deje un mensaje mas temprano sobre un paquete que tenias que recoger mañana. Una araña blanca creo. No vayas porfa, los azules van a estar allí y no quisiera que te los cruces."

"You're at work right? I'm guessing one of those little rats are standing besides you. So the drugs La Araña is moving are being intercepted by cops." The girl let out a hum in confirmation. "Y como sabes eso chiquita?" The voice Valeria used made her weak at the knees.

"Ale me aviso, ese tonto no sabe lo que anda haciendo"

"Good girl" The line went dead without even a good bye.

"Adios a ti tambien" muttered the young woman.

"She hung up on you" Teased Kyle.

"Yeah, that's my mother's attitude" Joked the girl.

She sighed, dropping her bag on the floor and her keys on the table. Suddenly the door snapped closed and a pair of hands wrapped around her. One on her stomach and the other over her mouth. She gasped, going to pull the hand away from her mouth until she felt the cold hands slide under her dress shirt and over her neck.

"You should be more careful Karma, you never know who's waiting for you behind your door" Whispered her wife huskily. The young woman melted in the older's arms, finding herself unable to answer with the way the cold hands rested and moved against her skin. Valeria chuckled mockingly before pulling on the girl's jaw to kiss her deeply.

"You did a good job today love. I think you deserve a little reward"

"Que paso Hermosa" - "What's up Beautiful"

"Te deje un mensaje mas temprano sobre un paquete que tenias que recoger mañana. Una araña blanca creo. No vayas porfa, los azules van a estar allí y no quisiera que te los cruces." - "I left a message earlier about a package you had to go get tomorrow. A white spider I believe. Please don't go, the blues are going to be there and I wouldn't want you to cross them."

"Y como sabes eso chiquita?" - "And how do you know that chiquita"

"Ale me aviso, ese tonto no sabe lo que anda haciendo" - "Ale told me, that fool didn't know what he was doing"

A/N : I swear my pen slipped. I might write the rest of the scene, depending on how my friends that read my blog react to this one. If you like it, tell me or I might not do a part two or the headcannons I'm planning.

[cordeliawhohung]

Headache

mafia!Gaz x fem!Reader | no major warnings: minor descriptions of wounds and blood, both you and gaz have a lot of sass |

mafia!141 consider this a part 2 to Siren

maybe one day you'll learn how to keep your mouth shut

Things were never quite silent in Kyle’s apartment, but they weren’t exactly loud, either. Well, apartment was a bit of a misleading term considering he had an entire penthouse in one of the most expensive buildings in the city all to himself. Still, it didn’t change the fact that he always kept quiet music playing through the speakers in the living room or turned on a white noise machine in order to sleep. Kyle had never had a quiet life as a kid, and finding himself as an adult surrounded by nothing but silence was more than enough to drive him mad. 

However, the only thing more irritating than silence was the grating sound of someone trying to buzz up into his apartment. It was as if they took the world’s most annoying sound and turned it into a doorbell, and it was so blaring he could hear it all the way from the bathroom in which he attempted to shower. He had just finished his workout and he wanted to wash the sweat and stink off of himself, but it didn’t seem like he would get the opportunity. Whoever it was trying to get in was certainly adamant, because the buzzer sounded at least four different times before he was able to reach the door. 

“Hello?” Kyle greeted as he jammed his finger against the intercom button. If this was Soap, he was going to be pissed. 

“Mr. Garrick.” 

It was your voice, he was sure of it. Even through the crackling speaker of the intercom and your heavy panting it was easy to make out that confident snark that exuded from every word you spoke. The way you soaked his name in it had him huffing in annoyance already. 

“How did you find me?��� he questioned as he rubbed his face with his free hand. 

“Let me in and I’ll tell you,” you teased.

“Not happening,” he retorted. 

Your groan came through all too clearly on the intercom and Kyle had an easy time imagining the way you most likely rolled your eyes. So far, his only interaction with you had been that night a few weeks ago when he failed to get that USB off of that politician in the strip club. After all that blew over, he had a hard time getting you out of his mind. You knew about his mother, and more importantly that he was her bastard child, and that knowledge seemed to haunt his thoughts night and day. You appearing on his doorstep didn’t help to quell his worries, either. 

“Come on, Garrick,” you urged. “I just need a place to crash for the night, I’ll be out of your hair by morning. You wouldn’t leave a girl out on the streets all by herself, would you?” 

“Do you not have your own friends you could bother with this?” Kyle asked. 

“Awe, are we not friends?” you patronized. “Besides, none of them live in what I can only assume is Fort fucking Knox with this security system.” Your voice paused, and something in your tone changed when you next spoke. “I’ll be gone by morning. Promise.” 

And he wanted to say no. To turn you away and leave you to your own devices. You were plenty capable of taking care of yourself, you had proved as much all those nights ago when you stole the data from under his nose. But there was something pleading in your tone, almost tired, even. He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t. Kyle wasn’t known for having a cold heart. 

Without so much as a single word, Kyle pressed the button that would unlock the lobby door for you and wandered off into the living room to sit and wait for you. Surely it was a mistake to let you in. Riley didn’t seem to trust you nearly as far as he could throw you, and while the man didn’t trust many people, there was something different with the way he acted about you. It was like you were some feral creature, or a ticking time bomb. Perhaps you were something to be handled with care. Or just to be kept very far away from. 

A few minutes later a knock sounded at his door, announcing your arrival, and Kyle couldn’t help but groan as he pushed himself up from the couch. His sweat from his workout had caused an odd, damp feeling to coat his body, one that he wasn’t all too fond of. Still, he did his best to ignore it as he opened the door to greet you. 

It was strange seeing you without the makeup, wig, and skimpy outfit, as it was the only outfit he had seen you wear before. The woman who stood in front of him was completely unrecognizable, and you nearly looked… shattered. Your clothes were bulky and much too big for your body, and there was an obvious and odd tatter that tore the bottom of your jeans. A fair layer of sweat coated your forehead, and it looked as if you had escaped a prison rather than gone for a nice night stroll. 

“The hell happened to you?” Kyle asked as he took a step back to give you space to enter. 

“You don’t talk to women very often, do you?” you retorted, half annoyed. 

“Most women I talk to don’t look like they were just dragged through the bin.” 

The door closed shut behind you with a click and Kyle was quick to engage the lock while you strolled into his apartment. Quiet music continued to hum through the surround sound speakers, and your eyes seemed transfixed on the dim lighting and his impeccable interior decorating. A small black backpack rested on your shoulders, and you adjusted the straps as you took your time meandering throughout his living room. Despite your apparent desperate need for a place to stay, you didn’t seem all too intent on divulging why you showed up at his door of all places. 

“Seriously,” Kyle continued, “what happened?” 

As if annoyed with his question, you turned to face him fully while you gave him a careful look up and down. It had been a long while since Kyle had last felt like a specimen, as if someone tore apart every single piece of his appearance with just their look alone, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it coming from you or not. Luckily, you decided to be kinder than he had been and you kept quiet about his disheveled appearance. 

“Had a little run in with Makarov’s men. Nothing I couldn’t handle, but I just need a place to lay low for a bit. Persistent bastards,” you explained simply.

Makarov. Kyle tried not to concern himself too much with the inner workings of the mafia world. The only reason he was involved with that mess in the first place was because John Price wasn’t a bad friend to have, and his mothers job and status made it easy to bend the rules a little in which he would receive good payment in return. But Makarov was a name that even he grew to fear. A ruthless man, his schemes often seemed to be more terroristic in nature rather than selfish like most other syndicates. 

The fact that you took on his men alone and came out unscathed was a miracle. 

“Oh,” Kyle said as if the answer was obvious. “So you just brought them straight to my front door then?” 

“Don’t be rude,” you said with a glare. “I’m not stupid enough to have someone follow me. I know when I’m being tailed. Trust me, you and your penthouse Fort Knox are fine.” 

Frustrated, Kyle ran a hand over his hair before he gave you the most unamused expression he could muster which only had you rolling your eyes, an action you seemed to do quite often. It was as if his confusion and concern was below you, like you expected him to just blindly go along with whatever you said. 

“Anyway,” you continued as you turned your attention to his apartment once more, “can I borrow your shower? You know, since it looks like I’ve been dragged through the bin and all.” 

As much as Kyle wanted to say no because he had planned on showering, he didn’t want to be a bad host. And really, you looked like you needed it more anyway, especially after running into Makarov. So he showed you to his stupidly large bathroom, complete with a garden tub and tiled shower. The vanity was large enough that three people could fit comfortably side by side, and the mirror casted a beautiful glow along the marble flooring with its backlit LED lights. 

“Fancy,” you commented as Kyle handed you a fresh towel. 

“Do you need a fresh change of clothes?” he asked while he ignored the way you gawked at the room. 

Smirking, you looked at him with a raised brow as you tugged on the straps of your backpack. “Cute, but I’ve got it covered.” 

“Alright, just… don’t take all the hot water. I’ve gotta shower, too,” he said as he stepped out of the room. 

“Yeah, I can tell.” 

Once the door closed behind him, everything started to hurt, and you could no longer keep up that snarky facade. Your backpack slipped off your shoulders and landed on the floor with a dull thud, and you wasted no more time stripping your bulky sweater off. Blood soaked through the side of your shirt, causing the tattered mess to cling to your skin with its coagulated stickiness, and you were unable to hold back your grimace. The large rip in the side clearly showed the gash that plagued your waist, and while the blood flow had managed to slow, a steady trickle still continued to seep into your shirt. 

You could already hear Shepherd’s voice calling you a failure. Not only did you fail to steal the laptop he ordered you to grab, you had gotten yourself injured in the process like an amateur. There wasn’t any room for failure in his business. Least of all from his daughter. You wouldn’t be able to show your face for a while, not without punishment. 

Everything you did to clean yourself up was meticulous. You couldn’t afford to seek proper care, and you certainly didn’t want Kyle Garrick of all people figuring out what exactly you had gotten yourself into. So your bloodied shirt was shoved into your bag as you pulled out your first aid kit. Cleaning the wound was near agonizing, and having to twist your body to the side just to reach it didn’t really help, but you wouldn’t be able to superglue it with scabs crusting over your skin. Any materials that you used to patch yourself up were also thrown back into your bag for disposal at a later time. 

Leave no trace. 

Never let them see you bleed. 

That night you slept out on Kyle’s couch, much to his protesting. Despite the fact that you were probably the least pleasant person he had to deal with, second only to his mother, he still insisted on being kind and trying to take care of you and offered you his room instead. While the notion was noble, it honestly made you a little sick, so you burrowed into the couch with a borrowed pillow and blanket and slept the best you had for a long while. 

When morning came, a hand on your shoulder shook you awake and your arm reached out with a jolt. As your body and mind began to wake up, you quickly realized it was Kyle who attempted to wake you, and your hand gripped the collar of his shirt like you were ready to fight. He looked down at you with a raised brow as he slowly removed his hand from your shoulder. 

“Gonna kill the man who made you breakfast?” he asked in an attempt to tease you. 

Sighing, you relinquished your grip on his shirt and rubbed at your face. “Depends on if it’s a good breakfast or not.” 

Once you had the chance to wake up a little more, you followed Kyle into the kitchen where you were painfully reminded of everything that had happened to you the previous night. Your wound had the time to grow sore, and even the simple act of standing or sitting was near agonizing, yet you kept quiet as you sat down on the opposite side of the island from him. Everything about his apartment was impressive, from the full unit kitchen with a gas stove, to the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the city. Even you had to admit you were a little jealous. 

Kyle had cooked up a few light and fluffy pancakes, complete with fresh cut fruit and other sides for you to add to your heart's content. Really, it was quite good, and you were able to momentarily forget about your unfortunate predicament. Though, the fact that you were in Kyle Garrick’s apartment was still something on your mind, and his too apparently, as he hadn’t let your omission from last night go fully unpunished. 

“So, you never did explain how you found me.” 

There it was. You knew this conversation was going to happen sooner or later. Your vast knowledge often unsettled and even intimidated people, and it seemed like Kyle was no exception. Of course you could have done the smart thing and stayed quiet. Opening that can of worms would only get him to ask more questions, ones he wouldn’t like the answers to, and yet you owed him at least a bit of an explanation. 

“Your mother’s financial assets go to different places every month, but there are a few that are always split the same way. First goes to the mortgage on her rather extravagant mansion in some bullshit gated community. Next is a direct route to a bank account, which I can only assume is yours. Ten thousand a month is a rather generous allowance, honestly. Especially since none of it has to go towards rent or bills, because the other place her monthly payments goes towards is the rent on this penthouse.” You paused to shove a rather large bite of food into your mouth before you looked up at him with a smile. “And before you ask, I found this out due to a data breach in her bank. Stuff happens all the time, really. Can’t trust anything electronic these days.” 

Kyle wasn’t sure if he should laugh or yell at you. Not only had you gotten every single detail right, but you were much too smug about it. While your banter always seemed lighthearted and friendly, there was something more insidious about it; or maybe he just felt threatened by you. Difficult to tell, but he knew being wary of Shepherd’s daughter wasn’t a bad idea. 

“Alright, that still doesn’t explain how you knew who my mother is,” he said, the irritation already beginning to show in his voice. “You mentioned it the first time we met like you were holding it over my head. Care to explain that?” 

Humming, you swallowed the food in your mouth before you leaned against the counter. “Not sure if you want me to explain that one.” 

“Cut the bullshit,” Kyle snapped. “Does it make you feel strong? Holding personal information above people’s heads like this?”

“No,” you corrected with a slight bite in your tone, “it makes me feel safe.” 

With a short pause, you set your fork down on your plate before you crossed your arms in your seat and stared up at Kyle. Without a chair for him to sit in on the other side of the island, he stood much taller than you, almost intimidatingly so, yet you didn’t falter. 

“I’m very confident in my ability to kick someone’s ass, but the real weapon lies in knowing shit. It gives you the upper hand, keeps you from getting hurt,” you explained. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he retorted. “You flaunt it around like some all knowing being and then laugh in my face when I try to ask questions.” 

“Oh, is it knowledge that you want?” you challenged. “Because I could tell you anything you wanna know. Like how your friend Soap would have certainly gotten himself killed if he didn’t join up with Price because the people he worked for previously never intended to let him get any information and live because they don’t like loose ends. I also happen to know that the girl Riley keeps hanging around is a hot fucking mess, and he’s gonna find himself in a world of hurt if he keeps trying to pursue her. It’s always the quiet ones who have the most baggage, after all. Or that Mrs. Price’s dad wasn’t killed in a fucking accident like the papers would have you believe.” 

Eventually the adrenaline in your body built up too much for you to stay sitting. There was just something so infuriating about Kyle Garrick. Maybe it was the way he looked at you while you spoke, jaw tense and eyes refusing to tear from you. Maybe it was just that despite how terrible of a person you were being, he still showed you more kindness than you deserved. 

“Your dad is sick. Very sick, and has been for a long while,” you continued. 

“Don’t you fucking talk about him,” Kyle snapped as he took a step closer to you, and yet you ignored him. 

“Despite his illness, he works as a janitor five days a week for one of the elementary schools here in the city, but can only afford to go part time, so he doesn’t have a lot of disposable income. You love him. With your rent paid for, and more money than you know what to do with, you give a lot of your income to him instead so he doesn’t lose his home. You visit with him every Sunday for dinner, probably to also watch football. He’s the only reason you even work for Price. You’ll take any extra income you can get if it means expediting his treatment and keeping him comfortable and alive because he’s the only person in your life who ever actually gave a damn about you.” 

The silence that followed was the most uncomfortable one that you ever had to endure. You had read Kyle like a book, and all he could do was stare at you with some twisted look of understanding and betrayal. Finally, his eyes tore away from your face for the first time in what felt like ages, but you didn’t like where he looked next. 

“Is that blood?” he asked as if the conversation the two of you had was completely forgotten. 

And it was. That deep red color seeped out of your poorly patched wound and soaked into the fresh cotton of your shirt. Superglue was able to hold it together throughout the night, and yet the moment your heart rate went up from that petty display of power, you paid dearly for it. You weren’t sure what hurt more. The unhealed gash on your side, or the fact that Kyle still showed you such softness despite everything you had said to him. 

“I should go,” you excused yourself as you turned to march off towards the living room. “Shepherd will start to worry if I’m gone too long, and it should be safe for me to travel now that it’s light out.” 

Without hesitation, Kyle followed close behind you as you made a beeline for your backpack. It didn’t take you long to fish your bulky sweater out, and you tried not to think about all the bloody items that you had shoved in with it the previous night. Really, even if you showed your face around him that morning, you still weren’t safe. You failed, and yet facing Shepherd seemed more favorable to you than spending another moment with Kyle. 

“Hey, wait a minute,” he tried to reason, “if you’re hurt I know someone who can help. Soap’s girl patches up people all the time.”

“She’s an ER nurse who works day shift,” you said as you shoved the sweater over your body with a restrained grunt. “She’s got people in real need to worry about.” 

It all happened too fast. You had spent a night under his roof and Kyle didn’t even realize the pain you were in, and that felt wrong. Yet, you were leaving. And some terrible part of him didn’t want you to, so when you turned to march towards the door with your bag slung over your shoulder, he grabbed your wrist in some last attempt to get you to stay. Instead, he got nothing out of you but a pained squeak, and the moment you turned to face him with wide eyes, he let go of your wrist with the word sorry written all over his face. 

He was pretty. He really was. It was annoying. 

“I lied,” you suddenly admitted. “There was no way I could have known that you give a lot of your money to your dad. I don’t have access to your banking records, and never really had the need to. I only mentioned it because it fit you. It just seemed like something you would do.” You paused to swallow as you reached a hand up to your side. You could already feel the way the blood caused your shirt to stick to your skin, yet you forced yourself to endure. “You’re a kind person, Garrick. It’s a shame you ever got caught up in this kind of life.” 

There was nothing either of you could say as you turned your back to him. Nothing would change the fact that you were the bleeding enigma walking out of his penthouse, and all Kyle could do was stand there and watch as the door closed behind you. Maybe some other time he would be able to coax your history out of you. For the time being, you were still just Shepherd’s daughter, the woman whose name he didn’t even know, and yet the woman who turned to him when you needed it most. Maybe one day you would let someone care for your wounds. 

That day just wasn’t it. 

[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.

previous part masterlist

[lildoodlenoodle]

Rainbow - Las Almas Can Corrupt Anyone

[flipphone01st]

PLEASE write the mafia 141 idea you posted🥺I'm in love with the idea so much already!!!

Mafia 141/Bartender reader- Part one

Johnny🧼

Mostly Johnny/reader in this fic, because ive decided to split this up into different parts that will focus on different characters Like part 2 could focus of Gaz/reader.

Warning: not proof read, bad joke, swearing, alcohol and smoking, Johnny is a lil shit, and pushy, poorly written accents, (if I forgot anything that could have a warning let me know )

this is literally my first time actually writing a full fic so it's probably mediocre, FEEDBACK AND CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS GREATLY APPRECIATED. Other then that I hope you enjoy :)

Stupid uncle, stupid debt, stupid bar. You hated this, but you suppose its your own fault. If only you had just closed the door when your uncle showed up at your door begging for help because he had gained massive debt to one of the most infamous crime bosses in the city... Johnathan Price...if only you had just said no and didn't drive your ass down to Price's club and demand to speak with him, didn't try and bargain for your uncle...maybe then you wouldn't be forced to work for the bastard...

Two hours...thats how much longer you'd have to spend standing behind this bar. You swear to god, if other drunk yells at you you'll shove a jigger down their throat, and your 'coworkers', if you could even call them that, weren't making your life easier. If anything they were hellbent on making it worse. "Yer lookin' a bit peely wally." Johnny chuckles while cleaning a margarita glass, it was just him today, said Kyle was off doing something for Price, you didn't want to ask what.

You glance up at him, eyes narrowing in confusion and slight annoyance "..huh?"

"Means you look like shite." He clarifies.

You sigh and stand up, nudging an empty box away with your foot "thanks... asshole." You grumble. He chuckles and raises his hands in mock surrender, "Awe come on, I'm just funnin' with ya. You look fine, a wee bit red in the face, but that's it." He grins, you didn't hate him, he could actually be quite hilarious sometimes... sometimes...You roll your eyes. He laughs and takes out a cigarette, lighting it up. "Ya want one?" He offers.

"no...I thought price didn't like us smoking around the drinks.."

"Aye, he doesn't." He shrugs, taking a drag of his cigarette. "but what ol Pricey doesn't know won't kill em."

"mm.." your nose scrunches in disgust at the smell. you take a small step away, not wanting the smoke to settle on your clothes. He blows smoke out the side of his mouth, away from you "yer no fun ya know that?" You scoff, "pft..I can be fun.", while crossing your arms, and leaning back against the bar with your lips shaped into a slightly grumpy pout. "Oh?" He chuckles again, leaning back against the bar himself "can ya? Let's see, tell me a joke."

you think long and hard "uuuuuuuuuuuh..ok I got one. What do you call a fake noodle?" Johnny squints his eyes "...what?"

"....an impasta..."

"..."

"..." You're both silent, completely silent.... just staring at each other...

"..." Johnny sighs "that joke was dogshite."

Your shoulders slump forward in defeat "I know." He chuckles, "Well at least yer aware." before taking another drag of his cigarette. before looking at you with the most smug grin you've ever seen "but that also just proved my point...yer no fun, pipsqueak."

"Pipsqueak?" You raise an eyebrow as your eyes narrow

"Yeah, you heard me. Yer a wee'un." He teased, god you wanted to whip that stupid grin off his equally stupid face. "you're not even that much taller than me."

"I'm seven inches taller than you." He points out.

"...nuh uh.."

"Fuck ya mean, nuh uh?" His eyebrows furrowed as he tries not to laugh, on the other hand, your brows furrow in annoyance. "I mean, nuh uh."

Johnny chuckles, and places his hand on top of your head. He then leans down, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours "dena it alllll ya want..." His eyes were locked with yours, the faint smell of cigarette smoke almost making you recoil in disgust. he leans even closer, you try and lean back but you're stopped by the bar. "...yer still a pipsqueak!" then ruffles your hair aggressively.

You slap his hand away, glaring at him while fixing your hair. "Jerk! Don't do that again." you grumble, and to make matters even worse, you feel your cheeks heat up a bit. "Awe, someone's all hot and flustered now." He smirks, giving you a small jab with his elbow "c'mon now, I was just joking around, relax."

You groan softly and roll your eyes, pushing him away and walking to the other side of the bar, trying to find anything that you could use to ignore him. Johnny grins, quickly putting out his cigarette and following after you "see! that's exactly what I'm talking about. Such a grump...don't tell me yer so boring that ya don't even like a bit of harmless flirting?"

"go away, Johnny." You don't look up from the drink you were pouring for a costumer "Aww, c'mon. I'm just tryna lift yer spirits." He wraps his arm around your shoulder "you like me don't ya?" He grins, not expecting a positive answer.

Your eyes widen and you move out from under his arm "no." Was your immediate response, your voice stern. Johnny grins wider and moves to stand right in front of you, leaning right up and practically invading your personal space. "Don't lie to me now. I bet ya daydream about me, don't ya? About all of us? Me and the lads, hm?"

Your face goes red "what?" He grins, almost deviously "you think I haven't noticed the way ya seem to float off into lala land while staring at me or Kyle work? When Simon's gotta rough up some jackass? Or even when price is literally just in the room with ya? Don't try to dena it, pipsqueak...just can't keep us all out of yer fantasies eh?" His hands slide their way onto your hips, he didn't seem to care about the bar patrons laughing and ooing, some even getting annoyed that the two bartenders were flirting with each other instead of enabling their alcohol addiction.

Your brain felt like it was short circuiting, it had become uncomfortably warm. If you were a truther..you'd admit that despite hating these four men...they were kinda hot. But you're a god damn liar and you'll be one till the day you die! "i-i!..no..no way!.. you're crazy! There's no way in hell id ever like any of you like...that.."

"Mm...sure... I'm definitely crazy." He leans even closer, his voice a whisper as he presses his body into you, the two of you basically chest to chest "...crazy about you." He leans down to try and steal a kiss, you're eyes widen comically large but thankfully before you could even react the gruff voice of Simon makes Johnny freeze just before his lips could graze yours "That's enough, you two 'er supposed to be workin, not swapping spit." He glares at Johnny, you didn't notice it but there was a slight hint of jealousy in his dark eyes... you didn't notice, but Johnny sure as hell did.

Johnny quickly backs up from you, and then looks at Simon with a smug grin on his face "Jeez... Yer no fun either, Si. We were just messin' around." Simon stares him down, not breaking eye contact with Johnny for a good two minutes, until finally letting out a deep sigh "just keep it outside of work..." then glances at you, "Price said you're free to go for today.."

You nod "uh..thank you." You awkwardly stutter, still trying to process what just happened and understand how it made you feel... were you embarrassed? Very. Were you necessarily uncomfortable?... strangely enough...no, you weren't uncomfortable. Simon nods then walks off into his little office behind the bar, Johnny watches him go, then his gaze wanders back over to you "Sooo, ya gonna head off then?"

"yeah.." you answer, somewhat shyly. Johnny nods, a quick look of disappointment on his face before he masks it with a smile "alright, then...have a good night, pipsqueak." He shrugs playfully, and begins walking off to serve a poor bastard that had been trying to order a drink for the past five minutes. ".. you too, Johnny.." you mutter while walking out from behind the bar to towards the break room to get your stuff and finally leave....what a weird ass day...

END OF PART ONE. Please let me know what you thought

[sadist1224]

A little Mafia!Price 18+

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part4 Everyday life

It's a little dirty towards the end!

Mafia!Price is the underground king of this city. Invisible, but alert and intimidating.

Mafia!Price, who takes care of his home, even if his ways are immoral and illegal. He had long ago realized that the road to hell was paved with good intentions, and his city, sinking and rotting from corruption, lies and violence, could only be saved by an iron and merciless grip.

Mafia!Price, who built his empire on the ruins of former mafia gangs.

Mafia!Price, who is covered in blood not to the elbows, but to the top of his head, to bring balance to his house.

Mafia!Price, who, despite all his strength, power and authority, has weaknesses. His named family are his boys, who went through all the bloody hell after him and never complained.

Mafia!Price, who is devoted to all of them, as well as they are to him.

Mafia!Price, who loves his boys, all of them, without exception, in a variety of ways.

Mafia!Price, who didn't even think about expanding his family until fate brought them together with you.

Mafia!Price, who watched with disbelief and curiosity as his Gas and Soap swirled around you, trying to get your attention. Oh, it's been so long since he's seen his boys in love.

Mafia!Price, who was surprised to find out that even a Ghost is attracted to you for some reason.

Mafia!Price, whom even the most influential and proud married women of the city will beg to warm his bed while their husbands work for him and for him, but ironically, the only woman he wants to see in his bed, between his boys, under them and on them is an ordinary barmaid who is not afraid to say everything she thinks to a man in person, even if he is the head of one of the most influential gangs in the city.

Mafia!Price, who has a private office with a gorgeous sturdy oak desk. And you will obviously find yourself in this room more than once. And for more than one reason.

Mafia!Price, who does not like to be distracted from work, especially from paperwork, as his stern, handsome face always says. But he doesn't really mind at all if it's you. Only you can break into his office with impunity without knocking, opening the door almost from your feet to definitely attract his attention.

Mafia!Price, who purposely does not take his head off the papers to annoy you, although in fact all his attention is focused on you, your disgruntled face and disheveled appearance.

Mafia!Price, who likes the way the edges of your shirt are slightly peeking out from under your belt, and your bangs are uneven, but so beautiful.

And while you're telling him in an angry manner that one of his small fry was seen again in the neutral zone extorting money from civilians!..

Mafia!Price, in his thoughts, is already pinning you to the table, wrapping his big hands around your hips, imagining what kind of underwear you're wearing today and how he will tear it off with his hands or teeth. He would then definitely buy you a new black lace, with thin ribbons wrapping around your waist and hips, even better if you chose it together.

Mafia!Price, who has already imagined a dozen ways to occupy your mouth instead of this useless conversation. He can shut you up with a rough kiss, pulling your hair back, opening your neck for love bites and hickeys. Or vice versa, to lure you with gentle kisses along the jaw, pressing you by the waist so close to his body that you feel warm and calm.

Mafia!Price, who gets goosebumps from your confused face and the sight of reddened lips.

Mafia!Price, who is thinking about how long it will take Gaz, Sope and Ghost to get to his office, and how much he will have time to do with you while they are walking.

Mafia!Price you're still here, still telling him off for not fulfilling the contract. And he doesn't like the way you present it. He's a man of his word, it's part of his reputation.

He just will never tell you that your "unexpected" appearances dilute his routine, and how much he likes it.

Mafia!Price, who pretends to sigh wearily and nervously, breaking out of his thoughts to give up on you and, reluctantly, drive you away from here. Oh no, you don't have to know how much you influence him.

Hell, he doesn't even know whether to nail these idiots for not following orders or throw in a bonus for another meeting with you. But he will have to deal with it if he wants his fantasies to come true.

[celenawrites]

The House of the Rising Sun (141 x F!Reader)

Pairing - Task Force 141 x F!Reader

Content Warning - Graphic Depictions of Violence, Misogyny, Torture, etc. (to be updated)

Summary -

Running to the enemy territory, asking for help was foolish. It was even more foolish of you to think that their help will not cost you anything.

Chapter 1

You make a deal.

Chapter 2

TBA - August 2023

Chapter 3

TBA

Chapter 4

TBA

Chapter 5

TBA

Chapter 6

TBA

Chapter 7

TBA

Chapter 8

TBA

Chapter 9

TBA

Chapter 10

TBA

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

[shyravenns]

Im not sure if youre doing the bingo.. but id love to hear your opinion on Alex Keller!!

Alex is such an interesting character to me because I mainly associate him with Farah and Gaz, and everything I know about him stems from a weird mixture of fanon content and the brief clips I’ve seen of him. What I DO know is that he’s a very much a snack, and that he feels like the kind of person who falls in love rather easily and when he does he loves you with every portion of his being.

I’m still kinda new to this fandom, and I don’t really know every character in detail so a lot of this is based off assumptions and vibes.

Also, his mustache is very cute and I bet he brushes that thing every morning.