#mafia!simon

[cordeliawhohung]

thinking about mafia!Simon wanting to help shy!Reader feel more comfortable and confident when it comes to being intimate so he buys you some high end lingerie ): if anything, all it does is make you more flustered because somehow it's worse than being bare naked.

still, he spent so much money on you (this stuff is expensive!) so you sneak off into the bathroom to try it on. wearing it makes you feel like an idiot. it took you nearly fifteen minutes to figure out how to get it on, and even then you still weren't sure if you were wearing it correctly or not. you stare at yourself in the mirror as you try and adjust the straps along your body before you eventually work up the courage to show Simon.

you had taken so long he was on his phone by the time you entered the bedroom, but the very moment he sees you he nearly tosses his phone to the side. you stand in the doorway with your arms crossed over your chest as if trying to hide yourself from him, and he can't help but grin. he stands up from the edge of the bed and his hands are quick to find your hips.

"hey there, gorgeous," he mumbles while pulling you closer.

"i feel like i look dumb," you whine while trying to avoid eye contact.

"dumb?" he repeats. his hands slowly slide along your hips to your lower back before dipping down and cupping your ass. he gives you a firm squeeze, which pulls a small squeak from your lips. "i know you just put it on, but sweetheart, i'm ready to tear the damn thing off of ya."

[konigslilbug]

I keep having brain rot of 1920’s mafia!simon and shy!reader, sprinkle in a lil non/dubcon and I EXPLODE (✧ω✧)

[oceantornadoo]

thinking about your husband aka mafia au!simon riley telling you he’ll be gone for a couple days, some trip for the Family in chicago, doesn’t give any details, leaving you fretting over a man you’ve kissed twice. and honestly you should enjoy the days of silence in the apartment, but instead you’re anxiously twisting your hands and wearing his shirts, worrying. your cousins don’t know anything about the trip so it’s all on you to panic when a couple days turns into a week, then two. and finally, finally, it’s midnight and you’re stress baking when you hear a key turn in the doorway.

your husband walks through, bloodstains adorning his skull mask as his shoulders slump forward. and suddenly you’re running and jumping on him as he catches your legs around his waist, pulling you both into an embrace full of too many emotions to count. the i missed you’s and i’m sorry’s tinged with your underlying fear that he’d left you for another woman who would willingly consummate the marriage.

he walks you both over to the sofa as he drops his bag on the floor. simon revels in the scent of you, the sight of you in his shirt, better than any dreams he used to keep him company while he was away. you seem to be trying to burrow under his skin and he’ll let you, enraptured with the effect you have on him. he rubs your back in peaceful circles, willing you to calm down and walk off the edge of those tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “i’m sorry”, you pull back suddenly, wiping your eyes and looking ashamed, “i don’t know what got into me, you’re probably tired and-” “don’t worry about it, lovie. i missed you too.” he’s never called you that, never spoke to you with such affection before. you realize that by jumping on him, you shifted his mask over his lips. your hand shoots out to pull it down but he traps it with a larger hand of his own, willing you to let him show himself to you. you trace his lips with your fingers, noting the small scars. he kisses your thumb, so fast you might’ve missed it if you weren’t clocking his each and every movement. slowly, like walking through molasses, you tilt your head forward, lips touching his in a featherlight touch.

you’re kissing him. simon honestly thinks he hit his head and created a delusion, because his wife is straddling him and kissing him. not wanting to scare you, he lets you take charge, his hands sliding from your back to your waist. he pulls up your shirt ever so slightly, thumbs rubbing circles into the meat of your torso as he tries to show you how much he wants this. you gain more confidence, slowly grinding on his hardening cock. he lets out a low growl, causing you to stop. “don’t stop. please don’t stop.” he whispers, desperate to not let this dream end. “i thought you died.” you whispered back, needing him to understand how worried you’ve been. “i’d never leave you like that.” he says, placating your every worry. you smile against his lips and he pulls you back, needing you on him in every way.

his hands grip your hips and move them forward, encouraging you to grind. one of his hands moves to your throat and suddenly you’re whimpering, struggling to keep going through the tightness in your core to the aching of your nipples. “gonna let you come just like this, lovie. fucking yourself on my lap, crying for me.” the seam of his jeans feels so good against your clit, hitting it at just the right angle to set you off. he grips your throat tighter, a reminder that you stopped kissing him, and you eagerly give him more, soft kisses turning sloppy.

you’re grinding faster and faster, unable to control your movements as you rut against him like a bitch in heat. all you need is to come, and the friction between your legs is about to do it. simon angles his hand on your hip downwards, thumb pressing on your clit over your pajamas. you whine, right on the edge, absolutely needing nothing more than to let go. simon fucks into you, never minding the clothes, and whispers “be a good little wife and come for me.” that’s it, your walls spasming over nothing as you come, collapsing into simon’s arms as he continues to rub your clit, prolonging your orgasm. you’re panting, delirious and tired with the emotional and physical energy of the night, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep.

“sleep with me tonight?” simon asks cautiously, not wanting to spook you. you nod against his shoulder and he takes you both to bed, stripping off his clothes to jump in with you. you stiffen beside him but he isn’t having any of that, pulling you in to be the little spoon. “night, wife.” he murmurs into your hair, placing a small kiss on your head. “night, husband.” you reply, hand covering his as you both drift off into a peaceful sleep.

[robertdenir0sgf]

i need a hot masked man to choke me with his big bicep

[jj-the-hobbit171]

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

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

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

“Where?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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

[obsessivelullabies]

being mafia tf141’s assistant - simon ‘ghost’ riley.

[ part one. ]

when you first met ghost, he had no interest in you. he only cared if you were cleaning and cooking for them, which was your job. he’d admit, you did do your job pretty well (and looked pretty good doing it), but still, you were another pawn to him.

it took a mix of gaz and soap constantly gushing about you and your kindness towards him for him to reconsider how it felt.

one night, you brought dinner to his office as always. simon had had a rough night. usually, his business didn’t particularly affect him, but tonight, things seemed to sink in. he lit a cigarette, pulling his mask up slightly to smoke it.

as he eyed you up and down, a new feeling washed over him. a sense of adoration. you sweetly gave him his plate and began to scatter off, not wanting to disturb him. you were slightly afraid of him.

“did i say you could leave?” his voice suddenly spoke. you shuffled awkwardly back to his desk.

ghost gestured for you to sit on the leather couch in his office. his eyes remained on your face for a few moments.

“what’s so special about you?” ghost grumbled. he wondered why he felt so fuzzy around you. he admired your pretty face, yet he felt there was more.

“what do you mean?” you mumbled.

ghost put out his cigarette, “tell me about you. i’m interested.” his voice was monotone, making you wonder if he was mocking you.

still, you began rambling about yourself and your life. his cold eyes never left your face and your lips. he listened intently. once you finished, he sent you off.

over the next few weeks, ghost showed more interest in you. in his own sarcastic way at least.

he understood gaz and soap’s gushing now. everyday, he became eager to see you. he hated whenever you left. he needed your cute little presence around him.

it became a habit for him to call you into his office and listen to you talk. he resisted the urge to pin you down and make you squirm.

ghost had become infatuated with you, just as his business partners had.

i made the original post a month ago and finally got the motivation to follow up on it, idk who’s gonna be next also this is unedited jdfjcjfj

masterlist! | reblogs and comments appreciated.

[madamecaos]

The Howling

AU Werewolf Mafia: F|Reader x AU Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Synopsis: You move to a new town and the people there are just... strange.

Warning: 18+ Mature in next chapters, Lil Gore, Mate-Trope, Alpha-Omega trope, Angst, Overall Violence and Dark Themes

A/N: This is me, avoiding my other WIPs so I can pantsy-through another story that I'm not sure how to plot. Well, I couldn’t decide between Werewolves or Mafia AU, so here’s both.

It was known.

The first night of a full moon after Winter Solstice, every citizen of the little town had to bar their doors, stay inside and hope that sunrise received them unscathed. Otherwise, the victims of little Arcadea wouldn’t come to save you from the mauling beasts. Everyone knew you weren’t meant to go outside.

If only you had known that beasts also lurked in the daylight.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You were new in town. The aftermath of a bad relationship and a great offer of a remote position gave you freedom enough to move to a new place. As long as you had Wi-Fi, you could work. When the opportunity arose in a niche little town, away from the city and surrounded by a sea of woodland, you took it. Anything to place miles and miles between you and your psychotic ex was a great offer.

A ride an hour away from the city was an improvement. Anything was.

But despite the cute little cafes and the upcoming Christmas festivities, the town didn’t receive you with open arms. The locals weren’t gracious to newcomers, so you did everything possible to not intrude.

That’s why you found yourself hiding in the little library, staking claim of your little corner with a watered-down coffee between your hands. It was lukewarm, but enough to stave away the chilling breeze coming from the open doors. Aside from the fact that this was the only place with decent Wi-Fi, it was comfortable and quiet.

Kate, the local librarian, could be heard chatting away as the truck backed up near the entrance. Tuesday meant that new books were coming in. And Tuesday meant that the delivery guy would burst your quiet bubble any second now.

You hadn’t been here a full month and you already felt like you knew too much about him.

Soap was chatty and had a smile too wide that didn’t match your grumpiness. And what kind of name was Soap?

Without looking up, you heard his footsteps. You imagined that he skipped your way, going by the obnoxious clatter of his keys and whatever else he had in his pockets.

Maybe you needed more caffeine to be nicer, you thought as your temples pulsed with an upcoming headache. It was something inexplicable, but whenever Soap came near your instincts went haywire. The urge to be defensive and argumentative rose within you like a second nature.

“New Lass,” he called you, almost cheering. You rolled your eyes at the nickname he donned you with as you refused to give him your name. It seemed that you acting wary of men made him think he had to try and get on your good side, the tough way, by being annoyingly too cheery. To add to your annoyance, your reactions only incited him more.

“Got ya’ more books. Want to see the new batch?” He asked too loudly with excitement, and you winced. “Oh, my bad. Inside voice.” He half-apologized, shrugging with a smile still plastered on his annoying features.

You were just… annoyed.

You took in his outfit. His usual black overall was replaced by dark jeans and a light jacket. Even his mohawk was not covered by the usual beanie, which prompted you to ask him something finally. “Going on a vacation?”

His clothing was not meant for the blistering cold outside.

“Wow,” Soap placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “Oh, New Lass. I thought you were mute.”

“Selective,” you answered shortly, then looked down to pretend to write an email. You hoped he took the hint but going by the lack of screeching chair at his usual loud departure, he was still sitting in front of you.

His shoulders shook in silent laughter, and you questioned him with merely a risen eyebrow. “You would get along with my boss. You two would be a party.”

At your frown, he explained, “Silent and grumpy.”

“Soap!” Someone called from the entrance, allowing you peace as he walked away with a wave. What an odd man.

“See ya, New Lass.” Without turning back, he answered just as gruffly to the person that had demanded his attention, an attitude he had never directed at you despite your unwelcoming brashness. You couldn’t hear the rest, them being too far away.

Peace and quiet drove away the turmoil that usually came along with Soap’s presence, but your temples still pulsed with a surging headache.

“20 years less and I would,” Kate sighed as she closed the door with a click, looking through the glass doors as the truck drove away. Finally, warmth permeated the library again.

“Would what?” You asked and Kate looked at you like you were dense. Well, you kind of were.

“I don’t go for the young ones, but maybe Soap can be an exception,” As realization dawned at what she implied, Kate held in her amusement behind her titivating grin.

“Aren’t you married?”

“Like that has to do anything with it,” Kate rolled her eyes playfully and you ignored the uncomfortable thought of loyalty being so casually dismissed. Again, another reaction you had to thank your ex.  “And you? No man back home that calls you lass?”

The wiggle in her eyebrows brought you a little out of your dark cloud. “No, no man for me.”

You went back to your screen, ignoring the understanding look from Kate.

“Ah, we all came to Arcadea to escape from something,” she said, salvaging what little conversation you had with her. You weren’t exactly social, and amongst the locals, she was the most welcoming one. But that all made sense when she mentioned she was a foreigner as well, married her husband and was brought to the little town where she founded her dream little bookshop.

That might explain the why and how the place stood afloat, seeing as you were the only customer you had seen inside. What you didn’t have a theory for was the mysterious merchandise of books she received weekly, and yet the contents of the library hadn’t changed once.

Soap looked nice and approachable, but the gruffness, tattoos and bulking arms convinced you that it was not smart to ask. The curling instinct you had adopted from the big city told you he was not merely a delivery boy. But it was none of your business, or so you repeated to yourself every time something odd happened in little Arcadea.

And it was a lot.

“You ok there, love?” Kate asked as you stared ahead, lost in thought.

“I think I’m clocking out early,” You stretched in your chair, closing the laptop. “This migraine calls for a long nap.”

“All right, hope you feel better!” Kate called out as you made your way to the exit. Until she left you with a parting advice.

“Oh, and y/n” She started, the lack of endearment calling for your attention. You turned, expecting the common cheery demeanor one can expect from Kate. Instead, the hardened glance made you freeze. The grim expression seamlessly bleeding away the woman you had been getting to know these past few weeks. This was a stranger standing in front of you. “Don’t go out tonight.”

Without any chance of asking for an explanation, the happy demeanor returned, and Kate left you gaping at the entrance as she hummed away to the back of the store.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

She surely had meant ‘go out’ as ‘hang out’, right? You weren’t exactly friendly with the locals yet, only a few.  Kate was paranoid and you were starving. And it was Tuesday. Nothing happened on Tuesdays.

After sleeping away the headache for what felt like days, you woke up parched and ready to eat a whole three course meal. The migraine had ceased enough for you to see without flinching at every little light, but you knew that if you didn’t eat soon, it would worsen. So still in pijamas, with fuzzy boots and a big hoodie to complete the look, you went out into the cold with your phone, cash and your keys.

The diner across the block closed late, at least late enough for you to eat. And if it fit the mood, you might aim for a milkshake, you thought as you headed into the center of the town.

As you walked, you hugged yourself to stave away the breeze weaving through the trees. The woodland was so close to the town you could hear the leaves moving, its hushing billowing out through the deserted streets.

The cold painted your breath in huffs, your distance to the diner decreasing. But as you kept your pace, you couldn’t help but recognize the unusual solace of the roads. They were devoid of life, vendors already settled down for the night. 

Your footsteps on gravel were the only sounds disrupting the silence, but even without any more sounds, the eerie feeling of someone staring at you made you walk faster.

Nothing could’ve told you someone was staring at you but your intuition, your paranoia getting the best of you. You snapped your head back, hoping that your fear was only induced by the darkness. The weathered headlamps were enough to let you confirm that you were wrong. No one was there, no shadows followed you. With nothing to show for, you kept walking, pace hurrying nonetheless.

The bell on the door charmed at your entrance. It was quiet, oddly so. You were often received by the boisterous waitress that covered the nightshift. She made the best lattes and made you laugh, getting you away from your shy nature.

All worn booths were empty as you sat in your preferred corner, read the menu that you’ve read a thousand times before, and looked around. It was odd that you hadn’t seen nor heard the waitress yet.

The restaurant looked empty, abandoned even. So with courage, you stood up and sat at the bar, ringing the bell for service. Right now, you would do anything for crumbs.

“Hi, dear,” the waitress whose name tag read as Darla, gave you a hurried smile. “I’m sorry, but we’re closing early today.”

“Please,” Yes, you resorted to begging. “I’m starving. Just the usual.”

“I-“ she stuttered. “The kitchen is already closed. The cook clocked out early.”

At the last word, the entrance bell chimed behind you, making you turn curiously. You felt the breeze, you heard the bell and you heard the door closing… but there was no one there. All tables were as empty when you arrived.

You turned back to face the waitress. The question in your lips stopped mid track at her expression. Her dark complexion had gone white, eyes wide eyed and petrified.

“Make the girl a plate.”

A low rumbling voice said from behind you, and you saw fear bleed into Darla’s expression.

You looked back immediately to your right, your gaze clashing with broad shoulders first, biceps bulging beneath a tight fitted black shirt. It seemed as if his height went on and on as your head tilted upwards, taking in the broadness of the looming man dressed as walking death.

Dark eyes beneath a skull mask perilously studied you. His stare unflinching, unmoving, as your heart made its way to your throat with fear… and something else. Something odd and uncanny made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. The sensation of someone chasing you confused you. You were sitting still, and he hadn’t made himself an obvious threat, despite the oddity of his mask in the middle of a local dinner.  Your mind spun at the lack of sense, your heart wildly beating, pinned beneath his stare. While petrified on the stool, your body slowly but surely felt heat rise, perspiration building along your temples as if you had already ran a mile.

That damned migraine came back tenfold, and you still sat there, looking up like a deer in headlights, eyes threatening to scrunch at the buzzing lights. If you were to look away first, he would take it as you submitting to whatever fear was taking ahold of you. You kept silent, holding in your gasps of air. 

What is this? Who was he?

Somehow, he had walked behind you so silently and so fast, you hadn’t seen him enter. He had crossed half the diner in seconds, landing at the opposite side of you. Something you wanted to believe was impossible, but here he was.

He was the first to break eye contact, allowing air into your lungs. All the odd warming sensations stopped at his departure. Without a glance back, he entered the kitchen then pivoted to the exit door, Darla moving away to give him a wide berth of space.

“New cook?” You joked timidly, trying to break the tension of the now fretting waitress. Metal spoons and pans clattered as she filled a foam container with whatever she could find. Her hands shook.

“Go,” Darla whispered with a pointed look, handing you a bag with whatever lukewarm food. At your hesitation to leave her alone, she pushed it to your chest, then motioned you to the door. 

“I can pay-“

Darla side stepped the counter, hands on your shoulders pivoting you to the exit.

“It’s on the house. Now, don’t do anything stupid and stay inside.”

With that, the door clicked hurriedly behind you, not allowing you to turn and ask the million questions you had for her.

You were at odds with yourself as you stared at your dark reflection on the glass door. 

On one hand, you wanted peace. It was the main reason you came to this town for, and asking the right or wrong questions often led you into more problems. But on the other hand, a huge man with a skull mask with an in-defensive woman didn’t bode well. And the panic in her eyes made you repeat the interaction over and over again. 

Darla shut off the lights as she went back to the kitchen, leaving you standing at the closed entrance of the now dark restaurant.

You debated if it was worth it calling the police, or if that fell under the list of what Darla deemed as something stupid.

Holding the bag to yourself as you walked back to your apartment in a hurry, you ignored Darla’s warnings. You’d rather bet on the ‘stupid’ but safe option and put in an anonymous tip. The receiver sounded bored, nonchalant even, not caring that a woman was alone in her job with a strange man. The interaction didn’t go as planned, especially when the person you spoke with treated you as if you were insane and not something to believe. The conversation turned oddly quiet when they asked you to describe the man, the mention of a ‘skull mask’ twisting their questions into more personal ones.

Who are you? What’s your name? What’s your place of residence?

 You hung up.

You did what you could, right? At least Darla’s danger won’t fully fall into your consciousness, you tried to convince yourself.

But the interaction interrupted whatever you thought of doing that night. You couldn’t concentrate. There was something off-putting that insisted that you had to go back there, but you were astute enough to know that it wasn’t a safe route. As an outlet, you called the restaurant several times, hoping that the internet’s spotty phone number was a true one. No answer. Maybe… just maybe if you saw if Darla was ok, you could rest. Then after assuring her safety, you would be relaxed enough to go back to your own business and hide in your apartment once again. After scarfing down the lukewarm food and pacing over the options, you did something else Darla had mentioned, something she had warned against.

With keys between your knuckles and pepper spray in your pocket, you went back outside. You just wanted to see that Darla wasn’t hurt. One glance and you were out.

This was the moment in horror movies when one would demean the main character for doing something so obviously stupid, you thought as you shivered with adrenaline and uncertainty.

The streets were just as empty as the restaurant, a full moon at its peak providing most light.  The pavement was so dark its reflection bathed the street in white.

As you neared, you slowed your pace and approached cautiously.  You shook the doors by the handles, but they were already locked. That much you already knew… but you’ve seen the odd man going out the other exit.

Cautiously, you tiptoed to the right corner and came around, peeking into the darkness to scope the back of the establishment. This is surely the way you’ll die, you thought with a tight grip of your keys as you rounded the wall. And at the turn, you clashed into something warm, so warm that the hands grasping you back to a wide chest could be felt through all your layers of clothing.

It was almost as if he had materialized from the shadows. Even with whatever minor moonlight shone through, it was not dark enough for you to be completely blind. You should’ve seen him coming.

You pushed the person back with all your strength, but they did nothing but chuckle, still too near for your comfort. At the sound and the familiarity of the creeping sensation crawling up your neck, you relaxed a little.

“Oh lass, I didn’t think it was like that,” Soap goaded, holding you close. “Only one word today and you’re already throwing yourself at me.”

“Get off me,” you shook your arms as you looked around him, behind him. At least, tried to, but he annoyingly planted himself in your line of sight, prohibiting you from searching for another sign of life.

“Hey, attention on me, yeah?” Soap stood closer, presence prompting you back to his attention.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned him, gaze still looking around you. “Where’s Darla?”

“Whose Darla?” Soap mused as he walked forward, forcing you to take steps back. “And I could ask the same.”

“I’m hungry,” you answered quickly, knowing that would be the first excuse you would use if the waitress asked for your intentions by disobeying her warning.

“Something told me you ate,” Soap said as he pointed with a look the red stain on your hoodie. He leaned closer and inhaled. You leaned back and ignored the odd gesture. “Pasta, to be exact.”

“Well, I’m still hungry.”

Seconds passed, and gloom dimmed his grin.

“Ah,” Soap sighed, disappointed. “So you’re the one that called the police.”

You froze, fear chilling the back of your neck. How did he know that? Nervous sweat and an accelerating heart with wide eyes took over you. Annoying Soap wasn’t acting like a child prying for your attention anymore. The seriousness and the slow tilt of his head made him seem as a complete stranger, much like Kate had been.

Had she known the danger of the delivery boy? Was she in on whatever was going on?  

“Oh? Did the police come by?” You asked, thinking that it would be best not to admit anything. “Why would they need to come here?”

Soap’s lips tilted, and not in the amusement you’d been accustomed to. At your struggle to swallow, his sight slowly landed on your throat. His gaze leisurely angled up to your eyes, moonlight catching oddly on his irises.

“Hm,” he took his index finger to his chin, musing into the air mockingly. “What to do with you now.”

He looked down on you, as if he was holding a secret you didn’t know. Deliberating… In a sudden flash, he was beside you, arm around your shoulders back pushing you forward. His proximity jolted you, your temples resurging the headache from earlier.

“Come, It’s time you to meet the boys,” He offered, not leaving you another option.

“What boys? I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m leaving now.” You tried to turn back, but the both of you had already walked to the back where you supposed the dumpsters were.

“This is not a good idea, so I’m leav-“ You tried to say again, but it was too late.

“Look what I found,” Soap said loudly. As you rounded the corner, you blinked at the dim light, the backlight providing enough for you to make out three silhouettes and… maybe a dog in the back? They all looked big, all broad as Soap, but Soap lacked what they had in height.  

The same man that had interrupted you earlier stood the furthest, his imposing shadow drawing perturbing darkness over the bricked wall, swallowing whatever light the moon provided. You could make out his form through the darkness. He was unfazed, unmoving, unlike his counterparts.

His untiring glare pinned you in place again, imposing itself in front of the prowling dusk-like silhouette bleeding away at the corner of your eye.

“What have you done?” One of the other men questioned with despair, genuinely worried at your presence petrified beside Soap. With a hand movement, the motion-sensor light activated, bathing the strangers with a harsh truth, immediately providing you with the information you were lacking. Now you understood Darla’s fear, its sight leaving you breathless.

The man in the skull mask was accompanied by other two, all just as bulky and threatening. The man perturbed at your presence was dressed in casual black just as Soap, the other one dressed in a police uniform. The golden badge caught in the light as the man stood taller, preparing for action, as if to chase you when you imminently ran away.

But your gaze couldn’t really focus on anything else except the dead body laying between them, all men surrounding the corpse. A pool of blood gushed from the cook’s torn neck, a chunk of it missing. You didn’t really know him… had known him.

He had been rude and standoffish, much like the rest of the citizens of the little town, but you really hadn’t seen any action that prompted for death, and a bloody one at that. But again, not knowing much about anyone had led you to this moment, prying for the safety of a stranger.

And now someone was dead, and you might be next. They all stared at you, at your rising panic.

“I didn’t think you would kill him so quickly,” Soap said nonchalantly, and your heart pounded itself into your throat, crawling upwards through your ribcage, preventing you from screaming. He voiced it so casually, as if this was his norm. “And besides, she’s the one that ratted us out.” 

You felt the burn of Soap’s gaze on your profile, his arm around your arm confining. Suffocating.

“Brave for someone so little.”

The one in the police uniform stepped forward slowly, stern look at odds with the amusement in his voice. He might have seemed the oldest with the light mutton chop-beard, or at least the leader, going by the respect in Soap’s expression. As he got nearer, you felt Soap stand straighter. If he was someone Soap respected, he was someone you were to fear. That much you knew.

Their accents were not much like your own.

Your eyes jumped frantically from the body to him, the Sheriff badge pinned to his uniform catching in the light again, giving away his job position. Even with the threat imminently approaching, you also watched around him. The other stranger and the skull mask staring back at you were not forgotten. Too many threats you had to watch out for, you thought as you searched for an exit, for a way to drive away the attention from you.

“Don’t touch me,” You furiously shook Soap’s arm, ducking away, the lack of warmth reminding you of how actually cold it was. Your hurried breaths came out in puffing mist, truly showing them how scared you were. The fingers tightly curled around your keys were wait, fully prepared to drive jam your only weapon into someone’s throat, even if it did nothing but distract. You were determined to die fighting.

As if knowing your intentions, your eyes returned to the man you had briefly met before at his amused huff, the black of his skull mask camouflaging with the darkness behind him. It was almost like you couldn’t help but stare back at death.

Despite being the one standing the farthest away, too still for him to seem preoccupied at your actions, you knew subconsciously he was the biggest threat of them all.

“Hm, pup has teeth,” the Sheriff mused as he frowned, annoyance in his face aimed at Soap.

“And the other one is a yapper,” the one with the skull camouflage retorted, comment aimed at Soap too, his voice again sounding like a grumble in your ears, as if was too low of a sound for you to register.

Instinctively you minutely winced, adrenaline making your pulse jump.

The Sherrif’s ever studying gaze caught the movement, frown turning menacing. “That seems like a problem.”

You waited for him to pounce, to cut your throat as they had done to the one that cooked the best burgers in town. Or at least, for him to command you to start digging your own grave.

Seconds went by and the breeze picked up momentarily. Only the lulling shush of the billowing leaves was heard. You shivered as it hit the back of your neck, flying some of your loose baby hairs to your cheeks.

You wanted to think you were delirious. No matter how subtle the rise of his shoulders, you could tell when he inhaled. As did the others, simultaneously.

The threatening nature of the leader flattened to a blank expression, but his eyes, unmoving from your features, were as intense as your ongoing rising panic. You understood immediate violence, already bracing for whatever they had planned from the moment you saw them. What you didn’t understand was the realization dawning on the other two at the back, nor the proud stance in Soap.

But the Sheriff raised his hands in a placating manner and took a few steps back, submissive, expression now beseeching you to not fear him. The shift in attitude had you gripping your keys between your knuckles harder, thinking it was another tactic to lower your inhibitions.

“Impossible,” the unmasked one at the back whispered, eyes wide in disbelief.

“She’s had a headache for days now,” Soap added the much unnecessary comment. You glared, realizing that he had been observing you too closely, Kate probably spying for him. She was the only one that knew about the headaches.

“Grumpier each time I come near,” Soap added, almost tenderly. At your glare, he grinned. “See?”

“What? Can you shut up?” You sneered, taking more steps back, them allowing it. Almost feeling violated at the fact that you never had any privacy, anger interlaced itself with your never-ending fear. Your shifting mood wouldn’t now stab Soap in fear, but in rage at his grating voice.

“Easy there.”

The one with the mask hummed at the bite in your tone. That rumbling sound again drove your gaze to his like a moth to flame. It was sorely a reminder of your precarious situation, a gravely dangerous one.

You have been here before, trapped with a man that wanted to hurt you, you thought. You thought you escaped from that, that Arcadea was your way out. But as Soap stood near, you realized it was lie, and you might never come back alive this time. Four men and one woman didn’t bode well for other reasons too; you weren’t a stranger to the sins against your flesh either.

“You should smell her,” Soap finally said, humming with pride, not understanding how unsettling it was for you to hear. The creepiness in the comment made you forget about your anger momentarily, your eyes catching the lifeless ones of the cook. Slowly, your gaze drifted upwards, until it landed on now luminescent eyes behind a mask, moonlight reflecting oddly. Even through it, you noticed the harsh frown aimed at you. It spelled danger, and that was enough for you to bolt.

“Soap!”

You pivoted and ran, but just as quickly, you stopped and skidded on pavement. The adrenaline didn’t allow you to feel the shock of you landing on your behind, your hands taking the brunt of the impact as you stared upwards wide-eyed.

There was nowhere to go, and there was no way you could run away from it.

A hulking figure bled from the shadows, rising at its hunches. Snarling teeth, each one the size of your forearm, salivated in a snarling smile. A wolf the size of a two-story house stood amidst the night, hiding the high full moon behind it, taking the sight of your exits with him.

A hand caught you by the back of the hoodie as you crawled back, pulling you up.

“Breathe, lass,” Soap instructed in what he thought was a comforting way, but his grasp along the sight of the nearing beast turned your stomach. “You’re ok.”

“No, Soap!”

Before he could heed his boss’s warnings, Soap’s hand grasped the back of your neck gently. It was the first time he made skin to skin contact, and what a mistake that was.

 Electricity cursed through you painfully and you screeched. It started from the top of your neck then down to your lower back, blinding agony crawling like a shiver down your spine. You fell to your knees, bone clacking with the floor loudly.

“You NEVER touch a dormant, much less her!” The Sheriff ran to your aid, hands hovering yet not daring to touch your shivering form. Something was strangling you from the back, your fingers clawing your throat and the nape of your neck where Soap touched you as you gasped for air.

The daring Sherriff finally grasped your wrists over your sweater, avoiding skin,  preventing you from hurting yourself.

“Breathe through it, love,” he encouraged, hiding away the panic in his voice.

Soap jumped away from you at your scream, looking at his hand blamed for assaulting you.

“What do we do?” The one that mentioned the odd impossibility of your existence also stood near, worried gaze aimed at your hunching form. “We’ve never met an Omega before.”

Perspiration seeped through your clothing, shivers racking all over your body. You now laid down completely, hugging your bruised knees to your chest in fetal position.

A sudden current of unexplained emotions surged through the odd sensations of your body. Almost like not knowing how to pick, your emotions jumped from blinding rage, and oh so suddenly, back to despair then again to happiness. Sobs of overwhelming consciousness were pulled from you against your will. Your hands were freed, allowing you to clutch your head.

“Make it stop,” you begged repetitively through your crying, migraine increasing by the second.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Soap repeated again and again, apologies increasing at your wails.

You covered your ears at his voice, clenching your eyes shut.

“Hush” the gruff man sporting the mask said from the back. “No Beta should speak now.”

They made way as he neared, steps carefully calculated.

Unlike Soap’s voice, the lower rumbling coming from the looming shadow didn’t feel like screeching. His voice almost lulled you from the up and coming anguish caving away in your chest.

“What’s happening to me?” You managed to choke out, your voice feeling like nails trying to crawl up your trachea.

“It will pass soon,” he said, dark eyes intensely focusing on your own. He didn’t kneel beside the others, standing away, hiding your sight from the pacing beast behind his back, almost sensing how uncomfortable it made you. Even through the neutral tone and mask, you noticed how agitated he was at your state. The why and the how of the reason you knew that was lost on you.

“Stop that, you’re making her nervous,” the Sheriff spoke at the beast’s growl, but with a huff, it followed instructions and laid down slowly, as if not to disturb you.

After one last upsurge of overwhelming emotions, it slowly lulled down to a passive wave that you had to fight through. It was almost as if it had drained you, physically and emotionally. You could only stare in a haze at the military boots kneeling beside you.

Minutes followed in silence, allowing you reprieve from your heightened senses as your tears didn’t cease.

“How are you feeling, pup?” The Sherriff asked lowly, scared of disturbing you from your sudden peace. You tried to breathe out an answer, but nothing came out. You laid down there, limp, and exhausted, and yet it was not enough to stave away the need for comfort.

This wasn’t you, but you couldn’t fight the honing focus of your sight. And through your breathing, a scent snapped you up into action, like a string pulling you forward. The men hovering over you leaned back as you raised your head slowly but desperately. It was a need for… you weren’t sure for what.

Without aiming to, your self-preservation was lost amidst the confusion, making you forget all these months where you forced yourself into isolation, away from people and their touch.

You looked around, as if searching for something. The men stared at you bewildered as it called to you, sounding like a faraway howl deafening your usual self. It moved you against your will, it’s rebounding echo merging into a chorus of ravenous animals demanding your presence. The image of snarling teeth right behind your neck snapped into your mind.

Without control of your movements, you clumsily rose to your hands and knees, palms scraping the pavement as you crawled forward. The men shielding you made way, confused at your desperate state. Your gaze roved around, until landing exactly on what you were instinctually searching for, on whom you were called to.

He wasn’t far away, standing close to the comrades kneeling beside you. As you neared slowly, you saw the eyes behind the mask minutely widen.

“Ghost?” the Sheriff asked slowly, given his frozen state at your crumbling form reaching for his ankles. It was almost as if you couldn’t wait to get to him, your hands not knowing if to push you forward or reach for him.

You finally got to the stoic man, grasping his pants by his ankles, pleading at his towering indifference. You pulled and pulled, and a whine was pulled from you when he didn’t move.

Finally, you dared to look up, eyes clashing with amber irises in an intensity that matched the onslaught of sensations you were forced to breathe through earlier. It wasn’t animosity that found you, but shock and confusion, and maybe awe. From your view from the floor, it was almost humbling that a man that size was just as confused as you.

Your eyes watered at the sight of his unmoving form, reaching closer and upwards with the intention to climb him.

“Simon.” Someone sternly called his name, snapping him from whatever had made him freeze in panic like a novice. He slowly but surely kneeled, your hands refusing to let go of his clothes. Just as desperately, when he reached your height, your arms tried to close around him, pressing your body to him in a tight hug, but his torso was too big for you to touch your fingertips at his back.

The cold of the pavement, along with the smell of blood, had left you shivering. Almost too cold to be natural, until a big, tattooed hand gently, tentatively, placed itself at the nape of your neck.

Your lashes fluttered at the warm sensation, shoulders sagging in releaf, allowing you to breathe normally.

The others looked up, surprised at the kind gesture given by their most ruthless killer, or so you assumed going by the blood you had seen stuck at the soles of his boots.

Without waiting for instructions, that hand traveled slowly down your arm then to your side as if not to spook you. Just as carefully, an arm locked itself behind your knees, bringing you to his chest. The screeching need of him to hold you lulled, allowing exhaustion to melt you against him.

“Ghost?” Soap whispered, looking over you with trepidation at the consequences of him using his voice. “What are you doing?”

Your head felt heavy, forehead resting in the space beneath his jaw and his neck. Even through the baclava you could smell him, musk and something akin to sandalwood easing you to rest. The warmth surrounding you might have emanated from the hard chest you were pressed against or the trunk for arms now holding you to him, you weren’t sure what made you feel suddenly so secure. The only thing you were sure about right now was how tired you felt.

The masked man that had terrified you in the beginning dignified Soap’s question with merely a grunt for an answer, his quiet steps lulling you to a deep sleep.  

From far away, the howling now didn’t sound so menacing, nor so loud, easing into your subconsciousness as if it were completely natural, for his warmth had quieted whatever unexplained horrors had taken over you.

A/N: Hoped you likes it! I'm open to suggestions on what should happen next 𓏗𓏗

[cordeliawhohung]

simon wants you to ride him. you're a little self conscious. he has the perfect solution.

mafia!141

When Simon admitted to you how badly he wanted you to ride him, so many thoughts flooded your mind you were left torn. You wanted to do it, wanted to please him, yet some malevolent pit of anxiety ate away at the back of your mind. You weren't very experienced when it came to things like that, and the idea of Simon staring up at you as you clumsily attempted to fuck him nearly made you cringe. It made you feel stupid. Of course you knew he would never think anything insidious about you, yet your mind had a tendency to play tricks on you, no matter how wrong it was.

Simon's solution? Blindfold him.

It was a makeshift one; a balaclava that he flipped the bottom half up to cover his eyes, yet it was enough to get the job done. The only features of his face you were able to make out was the faint curve of his nose and the gentle parting of his lips as you straddled his hips. Simon was soft and careful as he helped guide himself into you, allowing you to lower yourself onto him with a soft sigh. There was something different about the angle he entered you at that had your thighs clenching around him so hard you swore they'd bruise.

"Easy," he prompted softly. Simon was always patient with you, always reminding you to take your time, but this time was a little different. His anticipation was obvious in the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed and the throbbing of his cock inside of you. Yet, his hands were soft and comforting against your waist as he rubbed his thumbs along your side as if to remind himself of your fragility. "Take it slow, yeah?"

So you did. Testing the waters, you rocked your hips forward in a circular motion, forcing his sensitive tip to grind against the rubbery barrier of your cervix. It felt strange to have him so deep, to split you so deliciously, and then to just stay there, filling you and keeping you full. Despite the blindfold, Simon was not helpless underneath you. His hips twitched upwards in reaction to the little stimulation you provided to him, prompting you to give him more.

Eventually you fell into a comfortable rhythm, and the crux of your ass slapped against the meat of his thighs each time your body crashed against his. His heart pounded away in his chest and you could feel the sensation ripple all the way through his body and to your hands which rested against his stomach to keep yourself steady. Thick corded muscles tensed in his tattooed arms as he began to assist you in bouncing on his length. He lifted you so high just to pull you back onto him it nearly knocked the breath out of you. Emptied just to be filled to the brim so suddenly, and over and over again.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn perfect," he groaned. Soon, your movement alone wasn't enough, and as he bounced you up and down like a doll, his hips began to thrust upwards to meet your body halfway, which sent a moan tumbling out of your mouth. "Doin' so well, treatin' me so good, fuckin' hell..."

At some point, you weren't even riding Simon any more. Between the way he held you by your hips, forcing you up and down on his cock, and thrusting up into you, he did all the work. You could feel all his want and desire pour into you like it usually did when you two fucked, but there was something missing. His eyes. Those beautiful eyes that always looked at you as if you held the world in the palm of your hands, that always devoured you in the kindest way possible.

You collapsed forward, breasts pressing against his chest as your lips collided with his where you ate up his groan. Sticky sweat clung to your body but you ignored it as your hands snaked up to his jaw and then to his cheeks underneath his makeshift blindfold. As you pulled out of the kiss, you carefully removed the mask from over Simon's eyes, revealing his dark, wanting gaze and his messy hair. He had a full view of you with your glistening skin and your dancing body. His eyes soaked up the way your body shook with every thrust, how your breasts bounced from the force, how your lips parted with your moans...

Simon came without warning. There was nothing he could do to hold back or even edge himself from the sight of you, and instead he pulled you down onto him one last time before you felt his warmth flood your cunt and legs twitch behind you. Panting, you allowed yourself to fall limp as you pressed your face into the side of his warm neck, and he returned the gesture in kind as he embraced you, keeping you close to him.

"Sorry," he said once he was able to catch his breath. "Didn't mean to... fuck, just seein' you like that, I couldn't... christ...."

Giggling, you kissed the soft tissue that rested in the crook of his neck before you nuzzled even closer to him, basking in the damp warmth of his body. A strange part of you buzzed at his words, at realizing that you had such an intimate hold over him. Where you had been anxious about the idea of him seeing you like that, so clumsy, he had come completely undone just at the sight of you. So you silenced his apologies with your mouth on his before you leaned back to get a look at his flushed face and messy hair.

"Don't apologize," you said sheepishly. "I'll take it as a compliment."

Smirking, Simon's hands gently came to rest on your hips. "Good."

Suddenly, your world spun as Simon twisted to the side, switching your positions so that you laid on your back underneath him. You squeaked at the whirling movement, something he didn't acknowledge as he began to press kisses against your neck with a hungry groan.

"What are you-?" you attempted to ask, but your question was cut off as Simon pressed his hand against your aching clit.

"What?" he asked, smirk evident in his tone. "You didn't think we were done just because I finished, did you?"

[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????

[oceantornadoo]

ok hear me out…mafia au arranged marriage with simon riley???

you pull up to your wedding day and for some reason your to-be husband is wearing a mask at the altar?! when the officiant says “you may kiss your bride” and he kisses you with the mask on, you wonder if you’re doomed to a loveless marriage like the other women you know for the rest of your life. when in actuality, simon is so over his head gone for you he has to keep the mask on so his fellow mafia members don’t see him blushing. has to be gruff when he speaks to you so you don’t report back to your father how loving he can be. like when he buys you an entire wardrobe of clothes in your size and lets you rearrange his house in any way you like. or when he doesn’t consummate the marriage until you absolutely beg for it, coming to him sticky and wanting because you can’t come without thinking of your masked husband and his rough hands. when he lets you take the mask off, one day over his lips, the next week above his crooked nose, then finally over his head. when he lays between your thighs and lets you play with his hair as he methodically cleans his guns, always ready for the next threat. when he’s late to dinner one night, showing up with a knife wound, and lets you put all those first aid skills to use. when he whispers “i love you” knowing that in his cruel world, those words only mean certain death, but he needs to say them anyways.

[ghosts-cyphera]

Undercover ghost x mafia wife DONT DO THIS TO ME LO. DONT PLANT THAT IDEA IN MY HEAD.

Don’t imagine reader was sold off incredibly young to her current husband who’s twice her age as part of a deal. Don’t picture her living life surrounded by greys until her husband new right hand man comes into her life. Don’t imagine ghost forced to listen to you cry as your husband has his way with you.

Don’t imagine Simon trying to get you to flip, to become a snitch, he’ll keep you safe. He can put your husband away, you just have to trust him.

NO BECAUSE KAT THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WAS THINKING

I might be really messed up but I also kinda want her husband to care so little of her that he’s literally using her as a part of his business deals. sharing her with his clients—including ghost.

it’s supposed to be just for the night to sweeten the deal between your husband and undercover!ghost who is posing as a weapons dealer for the mission, but something about the way ghost looks at you feels different.

he doesn’t make you feel used like the other men do. the way he touches you is caring: the way he talks to you gentle.

it all feels safe, and good. it’s all something you have never known before, so is it really your fault that mister bennett is suddenly all you can think about?

I’M JUST SAYING.

[robertdenir0sgf]

my pinterest is full of masked men i’m so scared to open it when somebody else is around🤭

[sadist1224]

I need the Mafia!141 AU

I just want one more Mafia!141, but where you are not a sweet helpless girl, but a junior police lieutenant who was not accepted back into service due to injury.

And so you work in a bar that belongs to Valeria, and you don't give a shit who's a thug or not, but at some point you find yourself involved in this cycle of mafia events between gangs 141, CorTak, Los Vaqueros, Shadows and Connie, although you are essentially a civilian.

But instead of being a victim, you, as a former policeman, begin to nightmare overconfident mafiosi, defend your point of view and protect ordinary civilians from them.

Of course, you attract their attention, especially 141, who dragged you into this mess.

Sop and Gaz, who come to your bar for the first time, see you and go to greet you with a happy face, and you point guns in their faces, because WHAT the HELL do they think they can just kidnap you to blackmail your idiot ex who dared to steal money from them.

Sop and Gaz, who liked you right away, are still tied up in a chair, and they didn't mean you any harm, but work is work and now they're trying to make amends.

Imagine the faces of Price and the Ghost when Johnny and Kyle tell them that they met you at the bar behind the counter, and the men's eyes immediately light up with interest, because this is Valeria's bar, and she is still a dark horse.

Of course, they are setting up surveillance on you, but you are not blindly sewn, so you literally burst into Price's office and poke him in the face with this espionage. Your threats don't sound so impressive to him, but your sharp angry look and tough stance ignite something in him that he has long forgotten about. And he agrees to stop the surveillance, but in return he sends his boys to follow you.

Since then, there has not been a day when b 141 has not appeared in your bar. Of course, it annoyed you, but then you resigned yourself to working in a bar and helping those in need.

At some point, Joni brings Alejandro and Rudy to the bar, and Valeria is not happy about this, but you calm her down, saying that you keep everything under control.

Johnny, who quietly boils with jealousy when you respond to a light flirtation of Mexicans, but you only give him an angry look.

Kyle, who arrives a little later and finds Sope smoking at the entrance with an offended expression on his face.

And you see the upset expression on the face of the man with the mohawk, and the way Gaz gently rubs his shoulders, trying to cheer him up, and your heart thaws a little bit.

Johnny is ready to blow something up with happiness when you secretly send these two two stacks of whiskey on the house. The smiles on their faces are so bright, like children's, that you can't take offense at these two anymore. But this does not mean that you have posted a Price List or (even more so) A ghost who tried not to contact you at all.

A ghost who already knows where you live, what you drive, what kind of coffee you prefer and what books you read.

A ghost who actually feels sympathy for you for the strength of your character and a moderately kind heart, but he also thinks that you obviously like Gas and Soap more than he does, so he does not want to get into your fragile relationship with his subordinates, for fear of breaking everything.

A ghost who refuses Johnny to go to the bar with him until the last moment, but eventually breaks down when Sope talks about his favorite bourbon, which you ordered just the other day.

A ghost who sees no point in giving flowers, preferring something more practical and necessary for you. Therefore, by the end of the evening, he imperceptibly leaves you a generous tip, knowing what a precarious economic situation you are in, and that you will obviously refuse them if you are given them on purpose.

Price, who has been trying to get information about you all this time after you appeared in his office, but apart from your date of birth, place of birth and place of study, he can't find anything, even with his connections, so he considers you "clean".

Price, who is so intrigued by their new friend from the bar that he sets up a business meeting with Los Vaqueros in it, making a new secret gathering point out of your place of work.

Needless to say, Valeria was not happy about it? But she does not blame you in any way, because you are almost her sister, and if she could, she would have made you her right hand in her underground business long ago, but you deliberately ask not to involve yourself in this.

The bar where you work unwittingly becomes a neutral zone, and the bar area becomes Valeria's area, which means your area. And now you are unwittingly responsible for its inhabitants. But you agree to this, because these people - your neighbors and friends - have become your family and you will do everything to protect your small area from mafia groups and keep peace in it.

[jj-the-hobbit171]

haha jus read roses and Champaign and brain is alive yay who hoo

anyways Mafia! reader needing to leave mid sex cuz sm shitters started to cause some trouble for the organization and it goes smth like dis

Rando ass goon: *barges into room* BOSS BAD NE-...

*insert Mafia reader having sexy time w/ any 1 in 141 (you choose who it is)*

Goon: um...

Mafia! reader already angry: THE FUCK YA SHIT???

goon: *explanation of the very big problem* (you choose to what it is)

Mafia! reader: *already getting dressed* *looks at (ghost soap gaz idk you choose) with the most menacing expression ever* be back got a problem i need to tend to...

thats all <3

ignore if uncomfortable

OMG I CAN JUST IMAGINE!

like, reader and ghost are having be best sex of the week. No missions, finished a dinner date, had some wine. Cleared the schedule, and when reader is balls deep, giving back shots….

Goon: SIR THERES AN EMERGENCY AT THE DOooocckksss…..

Reader:What! Now! Why?!?!??

Ghost: ( so confused) huh?!?!?

Goon: umm( explains big problem, while sweating bullets at reader picking up their gun)

Reader: (sighs, turning to ghost) I’ll be back, stay

[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.

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