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lovifie · 24 days

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Accidentally Kidnapping Mafia Boss Price

A.K.A. Reverse Trope Writing Prompts

masterlist

cw: guns, car accident

You hate your job, and part of it, is because of how much you hate your boss.

If watching "The Devil Wears Prada" taught you anything, is that working as an assistant is an exhausting, humiliating and underpaid job.

But still... is the best one you have had.

So when your boss tells you that you need to drive his car to get his dog to the hairdresser, you agree. Because out of all the disgusting things that he makes you do, driving his way too expensive car to take his actual delight of a dog to the hairdresser and waiting two paid hours while doing anything, it's really not the worst.

Taking the keys from his desk when he tells you that the dog is already in the car waiting and that you better hurry, you waste no time in taking the elevator. Three massive men, in black suits, walk out right as you enter; catching on the corner of your eye as they walk towards your boss's office.

You recognise the car immediately, only a money freak like your boss could afford it; so without even looking at the back seat, you turn on the car making the engine roar before going out onto the road.

Missing the identical car parked behind the column.

The dog must be sleeping behind, you assume when you can't hear his usual panting. You can hear his breathing, and the sound of movement. But it's the sound of a lighter that makes you look up into the rearview mirror.

You freeze when you lock eyes with the man sitting in the back seat. Blue eyes, mutton chops and a mischievous smile on his lips.

"You are not the dog." It's the only thing you can say, thankful for the red light and the fact the car is stopped, unable to look away from the mirror.

"Well, good morning to you too, darling." He says, a deep chuckle escaping his lips around his cigar.

"You- You can't smoke here, my boss, he hates-" You mumble, trying to keep an eye out for the changing street light.

"I can't smoke in my own car, sweetheart?" He asks, cocking his head as he does.

"Pardon?" You ask, turning your head to finally look at him. The massive man sitting cross-legged on the back seat, the suit obviously expensive for the way it clings to all the right parts of his muscular body.

"I think you got into the wrong car, sweetheart." He says, resting his elbow on the door.

"No, no. This is my boss's car and you are supposed to be a dog!" You exclaim, pointing at him. "Where is the dog!?"

"Are you calling me a dog?" He asks, amusement in his voice.

"No! I- I'm supposed to take the dog to the fucking groomers, not you!" You say, exasperated.

"I wouldn't say no to a grooms session." He says, rubbing his beard as he looks into the window reflection. "The light's green."

You furrowed your eyebrow, jumping when the car behind honks at you and you start driving again.

"You should probably drive me back, though. My boys won't take nicely your attempted kidnap." He says casually, looking at the back of your head. "Especially Ghost."

"Who are you? A mob?" You ask, snickering to yourself.

"Precisely." He answers with a nod of his head. "Not to sound cocky, but have you heard of the 141, right?"

And it takes a second for the pieces to fall together, Price chuckes again when he sees your eyes widen at the realisation.

"No!"

"Yes."

"Noo!"

"Yeeah!"

"You are not!"

"I am, in fact."

"You can't be!"

"Well, I am, love."

You rub your hand over your face, quickly using it to change the destination on the GPS to go back to your building.

"I- I will drive you back, and I'll get on the car I'm supposed to, yeah? We can leave this as a funny history, right?" You ask, looking at him through the rearview mirrors.

"Sounds good with me. We wouldn't want anyone thinking you tried to kidnap me, right, love?" He asks and you quickly shake your head. "You are a good girl, right? An honest mistake?"

You nod your head eagerly, trying to fight the tears back. And something about the pathetic scene playing before him must make him feel bad because he leans forward, resting his hand on your shoulder. "It's all good, sweetheart. Let's go back."

You nod again, sniffling with a lack of decorum; and when you look forward again, you can only see a black car driving beside you. You make eye contact with the driver, coming face to face with a skeleton mask.

He then moves back, letting you see the man sitting beside him and the gun he is holding. Pointing at you.

You barely have time to raise your shoulder, moving your head down, before you feel the pain on your arm. It makes you lose control of the car, driving straight into a light pole.

You hit your head on the driving wheel knocking yourself out, and the last thing you hear before going dark is the man behind you shouting.

"Johnny, you bloody muppet!"

It could have been hours by the time you come back to your senses, hearing the car alarm going off and the searing pain of the bullet wound on your shoulder.

"I said that one of us should have stayed with you!" You hear a muffled voice complain from outside the car.

"I don't need a nanny, Kyle. Besides, the three of you are a bigger threat than what the poor girl was." You recognise the voice as the man that was sitting behind you

"She managed to kidnap you, Price. I would call that a threat" A second mysterious voice adds.

"She was driving back! Was supposed to take a dog to get a haircut or something." The blue eyes man says.

"Eh, she's moving." A third voice says, considerably closer than the rest, urging you to move. You barely lift your head enough to see, coming face to face with the barrel of the gun.

"Make sure not to miss this time." One of the voices says.

"Johnny, lower the bloody gun!" The only voice you recognise says, the gun automatically lowering.

"But why, sir?" The man whines, apparently angry at not being allowed to kill you.

"Because you three dumbs dumbs just killed her boss when you were supposed to interrogate him, so that makes her both..." He says, leaning his arm on the ceiling of the car and looking at you. "our only source of information... And my new assistant. What do you say, sweetheart?"

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groguspicklejar · 6 months

Text

[takes place right after this]

you were going to combust. you can feel it.

the zip ties on your legs had been cut loose. but you came to realize that it was not for your benefit. your legs had been slung over a pair of broad shoulders, toes curling on his back. Gaz worked his mouth over you, his tongue stroking firmly through your soaked folds.

the other Sergeant, a Scottish man with a mohawk and the prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen, fondled your breasts and whispered the dirtiest things to you, drawing you closer to your orgasm than ever before.

the largest man, the one wearing a skull mask, watched on while Price circled your no-good husband like a shark, looking for answers. "so who else knows about the safe house?"

"i didn't tell nobody!" came his irate voice as he struggled against his restraints. you hissed sharply when the heat slinks down to the base of your spine because of having your swollen clit sucked and swirled upon by a feverish mouth.

a long moan drawls out of you, your head tipping back. delirium is starting to take over your senses. it's been building and building and for a while, they've denied your body what it needs. but now— now you think you're careening right towards the edge.

and this time, they have no intention of stopping you from hurling over.

"Soap." Price calls out, not looking away from your husband.

the Sergeant pulled his mouth away from your breast while he still played with the other. you whimpered softly, legs jerking when Gaz's fingers grazed the deepest sensitive nerve he could find inside your throbbing cunt.

"dinnae think she'll last long, Captain." he sounds as wrecked as you feel. "her legs are tremblin'."

he wasn't lying. Gaz had his arms hooked around your thighs, to keep you still. you moaned helplessly as he swirled his tongue against your clit, the fire in your belly licking at your pelvis. you catch the fondness in his eyes when you looked down to watch him, to watch the way his tongue licked through your folds.

he was so good— so fucking good at what he does. you bet they all were in different ways. but Gaz is the first to have you like this, and that is something you'll hold dearly to your heart.

you think he knows it too. when they found out that you've never had your pussy eaten, not even by your sorry excuse of a husband, he was the first to volunteer. and he took the task very seriously.

Blair fumed in his chair, trying as best as he can to kick and scream, but to no avail. the chair only makes a loud sound when it scrapes against the floor, yet he does not get anywhere beyond that. "that is my wife, goddammit!"

"doesn't look like it from my perspective, mate." Ghost muses, tilting his head. you think he's smiling underneath that mask.

"last chance." Price leans to down to look at Blair. "who else knows?"

"i don't know!"

Price sighs and goes to stand behind the restrained man, gripping his hair tightly to make him look at you.

"when she comes in his mouth," he starts, eyes trailing to your dazed expression, to the your glazed eyes as he spoke loud enough for all to hear. "we're each going to take turns with her and we're going to make her forget that she's even married." Blair hissed, eyes widening when the grip in his hair grew tighter. "and we're going to make you watch every second of it."

"hell, that's if she'll even remember your name by the time we're done with her—" Ghost cuts off when you wail, your back arching off the chair while your toes curled deliciously.

you think your head blanked. dark spots clouded your vision as the ecstasy consumed you. Gaz held fast, groaning loudly into your cunt, keeping his thumb firm on your clit while you gushed eagerly in his mouth, prolonging your pleasure. you slumped over the chair, panting deeply, when the high slowly came to a stop.

"tha's a good fuckin' girl." Soap cheered with a wicked smile.

Price chuckled. "Soap, you're first. Gaz, you're next."

"no, don't you fucking touch her—"

you were delirious and dizzy when the zip ties on your arms got cut loose. for a moment, you felt weightless, a hand cradling your head when it lolled back until you were set down on a dark surface.

someone was touching your legs, spreading you open, fingers sinking into your pulsing cunt.

"Steamin' bloody jesus, Gaz." a voice groaned. "she's fucking soaked. what did ye do tae the poor lass?"

"just a little magic trick." a chuckle followed before you were yanked further on the edge of the hard surface.

it's a desk. you were lying on a desk. your husband's desk. your eyes fluttered open to find Soap's heated stare lingering on your breasts, his cock hard and a hand cupping its base as he glides it through your slick folds. your leg instinctively curled against his hip as he pushed inside, a weak mewl escaping you.

"fuck..." his head tilts back as he drawls before he immediately starts fucking you in earnest. you don't get a chance to breathe before the next orgasm starts building up in your veins.

he's rough with you, praising you for taking him so well. places a hand on your stomach before it trails to your breasts as his thrusts hammer against your throbbing walls with a glint in his eye. he plucks your nipples, painfully pulling them, grinning when you mewl and make weak attempts to shove at his hand.

you feel it coming all too fast, your breath seizing in your lungs as the pleasure overrides your system. he fucks you harder, a howl escaping his mouth when he cums inside you. he's so mean about it too, especially when he mocks your husband.

"she's so fucking tight when she cums." he pants, grinning. "bet ye've never felt tha', have ye?"

Gaz is a little softer with you. takes his time dragging his cock in and out of you, watching your expression twist to that of pleasure. but he's just as heinous to your spouse as Soap while moans spill out of your mouth.

"you've never made her sound like that, huh?" he scoffs, chuckling with a shake of his head. he wasn't referring to your moans, but the lewd squelches of your pussy as he jerks his hips. "some husband, you are. it's fucking pathetic."

you don't know why that made you clench tightly around him, but it takes him by surprise. "oh, you like it when we talk shit about him?"

and just like that, the small comment opens Pandora's box.

"such a good little wife you are, putting up with him." he says. "he doesn't deserve a sweet cunt like yours."

Ghost makes Blair listen to every one of those insults. how his cock was only ever good for nothing. wasted on a good pussy like yours.

"aww, gonna cry?" Gaz cooed mockingly when he saw Blair's cheeks flushed red from rage and his eyes were glazed with tears.

"what a muppet." Price muttered. "poor thing needed us to save her."

Gaz makes you sit up so he could still fuck you but pressed his lips your ear, whispering for only you to hear, "he doesn't deserve you, love."

that was what tipped you over.

your breath catches in your lungs as you hold onto him, his hips stuttering when your cunt squeezes him. he floods your pussy with a muffled groan against your shoulder. your heart ached when he lays you back down and slips out of you, pressing one last kiss on your lips and handing you over to the next man.

"oh, no, ye don't." you barely had the strength to shift your gaze to find Soap angling Blair's head towards you. "keep watching them do what ye couldn't do."

Ghost walks over to you, passing by Gaz, who pats his shoulder.

"go easy on her, Ghost." he says. "she's fragile."

"noted." the masked man replies before he reaches you.

you were a little scared when you noticed how broad he is up close. he slowly parts your legs, fingers dipping inside you for a moment, a small whimper leaving your throat.

"fuckin' hell." he drones hoarsely, eyes darkening at the cum dribbling out of you. "you boys did a number on 'er."

to your surprise, he flips you over and spreads your legs. he bends one of your knees on the table

"brace yourself, love." you barely had the time to hold onto the edge of the table. a squeak bursts out of you when you feel the tip slipping inside.

oh, he's big. you breathe through your nose, your forehead pressing against the table. he pushes in slowly, drawing a strained moan from you.

when he pulls back, you're allowed a moment of respite before his hips snap. a sharp cry is heard out of you as he settles inside your cunt, humming deeply as he relishes the feeling of you.

"taking me so well, love." he begins a low pace, letting you adjust to his size. his hand grips your neck and he pulls you close, your back to his chest, making sure your husband saw every detail. "did he fuck you like this, sweetheart?"

your spine prickles with heat as his thrusts continue to increase in speed. you moaned softly, his hand squeezing your neck while the other played with your breast.

you manage to shake your head, eyes rolling back as he flicked one nipple with his fingers. "no? well, that's a damn shame."

your eyes catch a glimpse of Gaz leaning back on the couch as his hand squeezes his cock while he watches. Soap palms his cock as he was standing behind Blair, whispering something in his ear that you couldn't quite catch. but the gleam in his eye when his gaze finds yours made you whimper.

you feel Ghost's lips at your ear. "if you were mine, i'd fuck you in every position ever known to man on ever piece of furniture in sight."

you whine at the idea. of being fucked like that. of being his. of being theirs.

it makes your cunt pulsate, makes you tremble in his grasp. "oh, fuck."

his hand slides down until— your eyes squeeze shut as a shaky moan leaves your parted mouth, "ah!"

the salacious noises are all you could hear besides his grunts in your ear. his fingers swirled around your clit until you squirmed and ached, clawing at the hand at your neck.

"cum on my cock, lovie." he urges softly. "make it yours."

you think you screamed when you plummeted to the abyss. you don't know. hard to hear above the ringing in your ears, but you felt it all. Ghost gently laid you down, your breasts mushed against the expensive wooden desk and turned your head just enough for Blair to take a good long look at your dazed expression.

all the while you felt Ghost's cock plunge in and out of you at a brutal pace, making you drool all over the table until his cum bursts deep inside your pussy. some part of you felt guilty for enjoying this. yet the other part enjoyed the way your husband's face crumpled at the sight of you.

not because you were being fucked by someone other than him. but because you liked knowing he was made aware of the fact that he couldn't fuck anyone to save his own life.

"saved the best for last." you heard Ghost's voice.

you panted softly as you waited. Ghost's cum leaked out of you, dripping on the desk. you didn't think you could take much more.

you thought Price was going to take you from behind like his Lieutenant did, but no. he gently flips you on your back, eyes immediately dipping to your messy cunt.

"pretty little thing, ain't she?" he muses.

"damn right, Captain." you heard Gaz's voice, his breaths a little unsteady from where he is. "feels like a fucking dream too."

"is that right?" a dark chuckle follows the rhetorical inquiry. he's then interrupted by faint struggling, eyes shifting to what you assume is your husband.

his screams are muffled this time. you crane your view just in time to see him getting smacked in the face by Soap.

"keep him quiet." Price commanded. "i want to enjoy this as much as you boys did."

your eyes widen when he lifts your leg and rests it on his shoulder, faint rustling sounds and a belt clinking. your eyes drop low to find the red tip smearing all over the mess the others left on your folds before he taps the head on your clit a few times.

your toes curled and your head softly falls back on the desk. he presses inside just a bit, causing you to wince, the stretch a little overwhelming already. "relax a bit for me, darlin'."

he pushes deeper, your hand presses against his stomach as you whined, "i can't—"

"yes, you can, love." he draws back, giving you a moment to breathe. "just one more, come on." your eyes peered open and you found his gaze. "one more and we'll have a nice bath drawn for you and then we'll put you to bed."

you don't know how you've lasted this long. you don't even know if you're still going to be alive by the time he's done with you.

he held your gaze as he dragged his cock inside, prompting a lewd moan from you. one snap of his hips and you were already clenching down on him.

"fuck, gonna cum f'me already, love?" he hums before throwing your other leg over his shoulder and bends you in half. "we're just getting started."

a broken sound comes out of you when he really starts to fuck you like he means it. the position allowed him to sink in so deep in the way that's going to haunt you for weeks.

he rocked his hips, each thrust had you gasping for air and clawing at his arms, stroking your sensitive walls like he wanted to carve himself into you forever. your weak cries didn't go unheard as you tried to shift away from the way his cock rammed into the deepest, most sensitive nerve.

"take it, darling." his hands grip your hips, his pace becoming more brutal, a white ring gathering at the hilt of him.

"please—" you mewled, but you don't know what for.

"take everything i give you. which is more than your husband ever did." he groaned when you tightened around him, reaching a hand between your bent legs to rub your clit.

heat flared all too rapidly and you felt like you imploded. your back arched as he pressed a firm hand on your stomach, groaning out loud as your pussy spasmed around his hard shaft. your mouth hung open but not a sound came out of you as his rapid thrusts dragged out your high.

you heard a hoarse shout and the sensation of his hot cum shooting into your pussy before you blacked out.

you woke up later on the softest bed in an unfamiliar room, wrapped in a fluffy pink gown. you smelled like shower gel and your skin didn't feel as sweaty and icky as you expected it to be. exhaustion had long settled into your bones, so you don't feel like getting out of bed.

someone opens the door and enters holding a tray filled with food. it's Gaz. he smiles as he puts down the tray on the dresser. "you must be hungry."

you think you might get used to this for a little while.

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charliemwrites · 3 months

Text

Mafia!au part 5!

A bit of fluff, a bit of drama, a bit of Soap!

Content: Attempted Gaslighting, Violence

“Gooood morning, sir!” you sing as you sweep into Mr. Price’s office. “And happy birthday!”

His head shoots up from whatever he was brooding over, brows arched high in genuine shock. Surprise is a good look on him.

“How the bloody hell did you know it’s my birthday?” he demands, sitting back in his chair.

You beam, sauntering right up to his desk. His eyes flick to the round white box balanced on top of your tablet. Nothing big, a little something you baked at home after a couple dissatisfying trials.

“It’s my job to know,” you reply easily.

He blinks– a habit you flatter yourself thinking he might have picked up from you. “What else do you know about me?”

You tilt your head at him, a smug curve to your lips.

“Just the basics. Your full name and birthday,” you demure. Hold up your free hand and start rattling off on your fingers. “Height, allergies, tea preference, pastry preference, blood type, drink of choice…”

You set the box in front of him and resettle your tablet in the crook of your arm. He stares at you for a beat, expression bleached from surprise to outright shock. You spin your stylus around your fingers.

“Which is why I made you a marble cake with whiskey instead of rum.”

His eyes lock onto the unassuming white box. It’s not a big cake by any means, about six inches in diameter and only one layer. Just a small something for Price to have for himself. God knows the rest of the boys (and Farah) get enough treats from you as it is.

“You made this?” he asks, leaning a bit forward.

“Yessir,” you declare, “and I’m pretty good at it too. Perks of stress baking.”

He runs a hand down his face, as if his beard got ruffled. “Christ, you need a raise.”

“Yes. Anyway – I’ll get you a plate after I’m done,” you say, swatting at his curious hand. He huffs but sits back to give you his full attention. You smile in reward and begin reciting his schedule for the day.

He listens, only interrupting when he needs clarification on little details. You try not to be too endeared by the way his eyes occasionally flick to the covered cake. When you finish, you twitch your nose at him knowingly.

“I’ll get you a plate before I get started on that expense summary,” you say, turning on your heel.

You hum in surprise when a large, calloused hand catches your wrist. It’s not the hand of a businessman, you think, but a man used to work. A man who does the hard things for himself. Before meeting John Price, you would have scoffed at the thought of a rich man knowing labor. Price though… well, he’s been proving to be a welcome exception since the very start.

“Thank you for this, love,” he says, voice hitting that tone and pitch that makes your insides squirm. He caresses his thumb over the tender skin before releasing you. “Really.”

You can already feel the blush climbing up the back of your neck, over your ears, creeping onto your cheeks. Can’t ever catch a break with him.

“Well, don’t thank me ‘til you’ve tried it,” you try to deflect.

“Weren’t you the one saying you’re decent at baking.”

“Yeah, well… maybe I poisoned you or something – for that time you closed my skirt in the door.”

He sputters a bit. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the indignance on his face. Such a handsome, almost regal man. You love to rile him up.

“I apologized. Profusely.”

And offered to buy you a new skirt entirely. The way you’d shrieked that that was not an appropriate response made Soap choke with laughter as people stared.

“Yeah, well, I hold a grudge,” you reply, shrugging.

It’s true, but not about things like that. Graves and his assistant? Oh, that’s practically a blood feud at this point. A silly little accident where your boss left a crease in your fourth favorite skirt? That’s not even something to forgive him for, but you sure as hell will never forget. Especially when he still seems mildly sheepish about it.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he grumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking about grudges or poisoning, but the dramatics finally make you laugh.

“But I could be the last,” you call over your shoulder as you flounce out.

Not for long though, returning with a disposable fork from the breakroom. There’s something amusing to only you about a man in a thousand-pound suit using cheap plastic.

“Come to see me keel over for yourself, then?” he asks.

“Well, I can’t have you getting cake crumbs on the expense reports,” you reason.

He’s already got the lid open. No icing on the cake – you’re shit at decorating, so you chose a recipe without icing. The flavor of the whiskey and sugar should be plenty. To make up for it, you folded a tiny placard and wrote “Happy Birthday, Boss!” in your best loopy cursive.

He takes the fork, fingers brushing yours in the process. You remind yourself not to snatch your hand away like a scandalized Victorian lady. Christ, you really need to get it together.

“Tell me how you like it,” you say, making to leave again.

“Come try it yourself,” he protests.

You pause, give him an amused look. “I didn’t actually poison it, sir. You’ve not done anything that heinous. Yet.”

He snorts, carefully digging out a respectable bite from the edge. “If you see fit to toss a little rat poison in, then I’ll likely having it coming.”

You hum. “Arsenic is more my style. Classic.”

In the corner of the room, Simon makes a little noise you’ve come to recognize as repressed laughter. You shoot him a quick, amused look, before shifting your attention back as Price gestures with the fork.

“Regardless, you should get a little taste of the fruits of your labor,” he offers.

The fruits of your labor, you think with a bit of regret, will be his enjoyment of your baking. You’re not sure when his admiration became your favorite part of the day, but you’re spoiled for positive feedback from your otherwise stern boss.

“You first,” you insist, “it’s your birthday after all.”

He keeps unnerving eye contact as he brings the bite to his mouth, tongue flicking out to catch any spare crumbs. He hums, eyes closing a for a second in enjoyment, before opening and fixating on you again.

“That’s bloody brilliant, love.”

He scoops up another piece, brings it right to your mouth. You hurry to put a hand beneath in case it falls; don’t even think before parting your lips. Sugar and whiskey, chocolate and vanilla, burst across your tongue.

“Oh!” you hum, hiding your mouth while you chew. “That is pretty good.”

It only occurs to you as he takes another bite for himself, a twinkle in his eye, that you just ate after him. Used the same fork like it was nothing, like that’s an acceptable thing to do as his assistant. You’re not squeamish by any means, no. It’s just… it’s gotta be crossing some sort of professional line. You can’t imagine any of your previous bosses ever sharing with you like this.

“Let me tell you, if you did poison it,” he muses, “I wouldn’t mind it being the last thing I ate.”

You roll your eyes, swat lightly at his arm again. “I told you; it’s not poisoned.”

“I know, you just took a bite,” he answers smugly.

You click your tongue at him, playing at exasperated. “I’m going to work now.”

“Ta, love.”

“Oi, li’l miss?”

You glance up at Soap curiously.

(Recognize, in the back of your mind, that it’s a nickname that’s not only spread – thanks, Simon – but that you’re responding to as quickly as your own name now. You should probably feel some type of way about that. Probably righteously annoyed or something. You don’t.)

Soap is standing at your desk, shifting from foot to foot. Uneasy. But the expression on his usually friendly face isn’t nervous. It’s… something else. Something you don’t know how to decipher but makes you sit up a bit straighter, alert.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask, voice light.

“There’s some bloke down in the lobby, says he’s got a date with you?” he explains, frowning deeper than you’ve ever seen.

It gets deeper – and angrier – when he sees the blood drain from your face. You push your chair away from your desk to hide the tremble that’s trying to infest your hands.

Absolutely not. This is your place of work, dammit. Where you’re calm and collected, the person anyone can turn to for solutions. You’ve worked so hard to craft this sleek vessel of professional grace and you’re not about to have it sullied like this.

“He does not have a date with me,” you state, keeping your voice flat and tight. “Would you come down with me, please?”

“’Course,” he replies instantly.

You stop by Price’s office, knock twice, then poke your head in when he calls for entry.

“I’ve just got to pop out for a mo’,” you explain, “I’ll be right back!”

He nods and you duck out again before he can notice anything amiss. For a rich bastard, he’s too observant of others. (Especially you.)

“What’s he here fer, then?” Soap asks in the elevator.

You let out an annoyed puff of air. “A reality check, I assume.”

He side-eyes you but doesn’t ask any further before the doors open.

Sure enough, standing in the lobby, is the last man you want to see. Your ex, Brandon.

“There you are, bunny. You’ve been keeping me waiting for—”

“One, do not call me that. It’s inappropriate,” you interrupt, crisp and sharp. “Two, I haven’t been keeping you waiting, because there’s nothing to wait for. Three, get out.”

He rolls his eyes, that smarmy curve to his lips never leaving. You don’t think he’s even noticed Soap just behind you yet.

“Look, I know you’re still in a mood about everything,” he says, “but that’s why I’m taking you out. To smooth things over. Clear the air, and all that.”

“You’re not taking me out,” you repeat. “Get out.”

He crosses his arms, tilting his head in that condescending way you’ve always despised. It sets your teeth on edge, makes you burn with anger.

“This isn’t your building,” he goads, “you can’t kick me out.”

“Might as well be hers, mate,” Soap interjects, “she could kick out the goddamn queen.”

Brandon’s focus shifts to him. You feel a curl of vindictive satisfaction when his expression curdles a bit. Soap may not be a particularly tall man, but he can be intimidating. Built thick and strong, doesn’t bother to conceal his physique at all with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. And you’re not oblivious to his looks either. Soap is a handsome man. A walking ego bruise for a man like your ex.

“Fine,” he huffs, “then come outside so we can talk like adults.”

You click your tongue, fold your hands behind your back to conceal the way your fingers clench into fists. “We did talk like adults. You just failed to listen like one.”

And ohhhh, the petty satisfaction that bubbles through you at the way his teeth click in shock, a flush of embarrassed anger curtaining his face.

“Now, I’ll ask one more time and then my coworker is going to toss you out himself.” Soap chooses that moment to crack his knuckles. “Leave this building. You’re not welcome.”

You drop your arms and turn on your heel, ready to get back to work and compartmentalize this until you’ve got a fuck-off sized glass of wine in front of you.

“Hey, we’re not—”

Even if you did see what happened, you don’t think you could have followed. It happens so fast. One second, Soap’s eyes are on you. Burning with questions and fury on your behalf, checking that you’re okay. The next, he’s darted past you. There’s a scuffle, fancy shoes squeaking on polished floors, a thick, wet pop. Then Brandon is shouting in pain.

You jump, twist to see what the commotion is. Soap’s got a white-knuckled grip on Brandon’s extended wrist – though now it’s bent at an awful angle, you realize he must have been reaching for you. Your skin crawls.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid,” Soap growls, shoving Brandon back roughly.

He doesn’t fall on his ass but it’s a near thing. With the eyes of reception, a few employees, and you on him, he spits a curse at Soap and retreats. You stare after for a moment, lips parted in shock.

“All set, miss?” Soap asks, adjusting his sleeves.

“Um, yeah,” you say. Blink and pull yourself together. “I mean, yes. Let’s head back up before the boss misses us.”

He places a hand on the small of your back on the short walk back. It feels grounding rather than proprietary; you’re grateful for it. He lasts until the doors close before turning to you.

“The hell was that about, lass?”

You sigh, smooth your skirt down for lack of anything else to do. “That was my ex. He wants to… reconcile, I suppose. And he’s quite keen on getting his way.”

Soap mutters a few choice words under his breath. Scottish slang, you suspect. You’ll have to get him to teach you sometime.

“Anyway, thank you for your help,” you continue, eyes on the elevator doors. “I can’t believe he showed up here. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’ve nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hen,” he protests. “He’s the creeper here.”

You sigh. “I know, I just… you don’t think less of me, do you? That I didn’t… take care of him myself.”

Soap’s expression softens. He draws you into a quick one-armed hug. “You did take care of ‘im, far as I’m concerned. I was just there to enforce. No need to mess up yer pretty nails, aye?”

You smile, small but genuine. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime, li’l miss.”

The elevator chimes as it reaches the top floor. You turn to Soap just before the doors open.

“Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #mafia boss price #mafia!au #assistant!reader #oddly wholesome for a mafia au #john price x reader #john price #john soap mactavish

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dante-mightdie · 4 months

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thinkin' about 1950s!mafia!price and the pretty little lounge singer who performs at his club. waits for you in your dressing room after your set with a bottle of disgustingly expensive champagne. reaches down to pull a knife from his sock to pop it open with...

calls you dearie, sugarpie, dollface...

kisses your pouty lips and mumbling an apology when he gets pulled away from your dates to deal with ahem... business...

dresses you up in the finest silks, furs, and jewels so he can parade you around on his arm, showing everyone what belongs to him...

has a wicked temper that only you can calm him down from. cupping his cheeks and saying his name in that soft, sing-song voice that never fails to melt his heart

#mw2 #cod mw2 #captain john price x reader #captain john price #john price x reader #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #1950s!mafia!price

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 month

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Mafia Price mayhaps?

Pretty please :)

Price didn't get into business because he wanted money or because he liked power. He had enough for a small farm and a buffer period of figuring out whatever the fuck was happening in his life, even after the dishonorable discharge over a fuck up he had to cover for the higher-ups. He didn't go into illegal gun trading and organized crime for the love of the game. He had money when he was booted out of the military. It's just that his boys didn't. No money, no purpose, only a dishonorable discharge and feeling of betrayal on their backs - and yes, he understands it's a pitiful fucking excuse for starting to support the very same system he sometimes had to fight, but he does what he has to do. Ghost, Gaz and Soap needed a new goal in their lives - and something as far from being a merc as possible. Besides, after years of service to her Majesty, Price deserves a luxurious leather chair to sit on and good imported cigars to smoke. He also deserves you, a pretty little thing who is way too nice for him. You're out of his world, completely - a nice girl, a good girl. In the past, when he was still Captain Price, he might have considered picking you up with some cheesy one-liner, buying you a drink or something nice to wear, and then ghost you for forever because his job is too dangerous to allow himself connections. He would have prided himself in thinking he is keeping you safe while jerking off to some vaguely similar porn star. Well, Price is done being a selfless servant of his community. He deserves the girl, even if that means moving a bit too fast and having Ghost choke her just enough so she would fall right into John's arms and in his bed. If you're a smart girl, you would know better than to try and resist the most dangerous guy in the whole country and his henchmen. If you're a good girl, you would know just how much he is willing to give you - as long as you don't try to force him away.

#cod #cod x reader #yandere cod #mafia!cod #mafia!price #john price x you #price x reader #yandere price

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jj-the-hobbit171 · 2 months

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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….

#poly 141 x reader #cod x male reader #task force 141 x reader #john price x male reader #mafia au #141 x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod x reader

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vnards · 2 months

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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

#mafia!141 #mafia!au #cod #captain john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #poly 141 x reader #vnardshoard

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moongreenlight · 1 month

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Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit.

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely.

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye.

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled.

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages. Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own.

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her.

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier.

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels.

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.”

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

#I'm mafia-baiting sorry #This was really just to get me back into posting my writing lol #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #price cod #captain john price #john price #captain price #price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #mafia au

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 23 days

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Silly Mafia au thoughts

You know your boss is involved with organised crime.

The flashy cars, men in tailored suits, call girls that come and go, and the odd hours he keeps.

It screams organised crime or some kind, or a cult.

But you’ve been able to keep it all separate from your personal life.

You have hobbies, boyfriends and girlfriends and people that fit somewhere nicely in between. Your dog is getting old but he pretends he’s still a puppy.

Who cares what goes on behind closed doors, you’re pretty sure a similar job for Bezos or Musk would hold a similar body count, but would pay significantly less.

You think nothing of it, having spent years on the cusp of that world, until you come home to a broken lock and a busted doorframe.

You don’t call the police. That would be suicide.

So you get your pepper spray ready and creep through your flat with shaky hands and a heart threatening to burst in your chest.

It’s only when you hear the jingle of your dog’s collar do you feel the dread settle over you.

“Whatever you need, please just leave my dog alone, do whatever you want to me, just let him go.”

You’re pushing through into your bedroom when you see your boss propped against your pillows, dog cuddled up in his lap. He’s bloodied and broken as you note the duct tape, tampons, and sanitary towels he’s used to patch up open wounds across his torso.

“We need to talk.”

John price never asking you for a thing until it’s his last option.

I dunno just having high rambling thoughts 🫶🏻

#john price #mafia au #captain john price #john price mafia au #john price au #cod au #cod mafia au #tf141 mafia #tf141 au #john price x reader

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cordeliawhohung · 5 months

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Mafia!141 Masterlist

a place for me to put all my mafia!141 related fics so i don't bog down my regular masterlist!

Series:

In Limbo: (Ghost) is it wrong to fall in love while waiting to die?

Price x wife!Reader:

he likes showing you off

when his meetings go wrong...

treating him

proposal and baby talk

john "that's my fuckin' wife" price

how you two fall in love

you're jealous

you're drunk and jealous

taking care of you after you have a kid

your first time

you're insecure

you don't think you're a good mum

Ghost x shy!Reader:

you meet him for the first time

you're at Price's club

headcanons

everyone's watching

he learns you're a virgin

you're drunk

you wanna suck his dick

he helps you feel confident

he helps you feel confident again

you want a baby

he wants you to ride him

more confidence again

he helps you masturbate

guard dog

Soap x nurse!Reader:

how you two meet

you're grumpy after work

no touching

how you two really meet

Gaz x mafia!Reader:

you're a proper pain in the ass

you need a place to stay

Other:

Leftovers [1]: Mr. and Mrs. Price don't know how to take care of you properly. Simon is hellbent on saving you, no matter the means.

Leftovers [2]: you're his, now

Leftovers [3]: you love him

the boys are drunk

you can find any small comments and other anon asks by searching #mafia!141 in my blog!

#mafia!price #mafia!141 #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #cod smut #john price smut #captain price smut #price smut #mafia!ghost #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #f!reader

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charliemwrites · 4 months

Text

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #oddly wholesome for a mafia au #mafia!au #mafia boss price #assistant reader

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dante-mightdie · 4 months

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Price!Mafia 👀💦

Man definitely be the type to carry the reader bridal style over small little things like a mud puddle don’t want those heels to get dirty

kicking and squealing rn

he’s just such a gentleman!!! always pulls your chair out, opens every door you’re gonna walk in, helps you put on your coat or offers you his when it gets chilly

always refills your glass when it gets empty and he always makes sure you get served first

kneels down and gently grips your ankle as he helps you put your heels on <33 places a kiss to the inside of your knee with a cheeky grin

melts when you call him jonathan. sounds like honey pouring from your lips

#mw2 #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #1950s!mafia!price

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agawilder · 20 days

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The moment when u suddenly click a filter on your work and it looks better than org (0_--)

She belives in pasta monster from now on i guess... I think its the italian filter making ppl so hot

#digital art #art #digital painting #fanart #life is strange #life is strange fanart #chloe lis #chloe price #chloe price on drugs #yes i think the pasta mafia got her #amberprice #Chloe price being hot just like a heated up spagethii from walmart

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petwifed · 2 months

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crazy how everytime someone hates on fat readers, price goes and fucks 5 more fat women :/

#running my mouth🎀#because the amount of hate i just saw abt fat / chubby readers was ABSURD.#no way ur that mad #call of duty #call of duty x reader #fat reader #chubby reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #i just read a fat reader price im waiting for next update #it’s mafia au it’s soooo good

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vnards · 2 months

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MafiaAU pt 2

“Here you go!”

Ghost’s fingers stuttered.

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

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

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

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

A shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grabs the napkin as he goes.

next part ->

previous part masterlist

#cod mw2 #captain john price #simon ghost riley #john price #kyle gaz garrick #mafia!141 #mafia!au #poly 141 #poly 141 x reader

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