The first time Simon Riley saw you, you were elbow-deep in blood that wasn’t yours.
The underground clinic smelled like antiseptic trying—and failing—to mask gunpowder and iron. It was past midnight. The city above was asleep. Down here, men like him came to be stitched back together.
You didn’t look up when he was carried in.
“Put him on the table,” you ordered calmly, voice steady in a way that made grown men obey. “And if any of you pass out, I am not catching you.”
A few of his soldiers muttered, but they listened.
Simon watched you through half-lidded eyes as you cut through his shirt. Big hands, gentle movements. Your brows pinched slightly when you saw the bullet wound near his ribs.
“Lucky,” you murmured. “Missed the lung by a whisper.”
He almost laughed. Lucky wasn’t a word often associated with him.
“You’re the nurse?” His voice was rough, distorted slightly by the skull-patterned mask he refused to remove.
You paused, meeting his eyes for the first time. You didn’t flinch. Most people did.
“I’m the only one willing to patch up men who show up with armed escorts,” you replied evenly. “So yes.”
One of his men bristled. “Watch your tone—”
You didn’t even glance at him. “If he wants to live, you’ll all be quiet.”
Silence.
Simon felt something unfamiliar then—not fear. Not anger.
Respect.
You worked efficiently, cleaning the wound, removing the bullet with practiced precision. Your fingers were warm. Steady. When he tensed, you pressed a firm hand to his shoulder.
“Breathe,” you said softly. “You’re not dying tonight.”
You sounded certain.
He believed you.
He came back two weeks later.
Not because he was injured.
Because he wanted to see you.
You were reorganizing supplies when he stepped into the clinic alone this time. No entourage. No chaos. Just the heavy presence of him.
“You’re healed,” you noted without turning around.
“Am I?” he asked.
Now you looked at him, unimpressed. “If you’ve torn your stitches doing something stupid, I will personally let you suffer.”
A corner of his mouth twitched beneath the mask.
“I didn’t tear them.”
“Then why are you here, Mr. Riley?”
He stepped closer. The air shifted with him. Dangerous. Controlled violence in a tailored coat.
“Thought I’d thank you properly.”
“You paid.”
“That wasn’t thanks.”
You studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing the risk of entertaining a man whispered about in every dark corner of the city.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you said quietly. “Men like you don’t visit places twice unless they’re claiming them.”
His gaze sharpened.
“And what if I am?”
Your heartbeat betrayed you first. He noticed. Of course he did.
“I’m not something you get to own,” you replied, chin lifting.
A slow step closer. He stopped just short of touching you.
“Good,” he said lowly. “I don’t want to own you.”
The confession hung heavy between you.
“I want you to choose.”
Your breath hitched.
No one had ever spoken to him like that. No one had ever refused to bow. You were fearless in a way that unsettled him. You saw the blood on his hands—and still stitched him back together.
“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.
His voice dropped, rough velvet. “Only to people who try to hurt what’s mine.”
The word mine wasn’t possessive. It was protective.
And somehow, that was worse.
You should’ve told him to leave.
Instead, you stepped closer.
“Then don’t give me a reason to need protection.”
His gloved hand hovered near your waist, not touching. Waiting.
Choosing.
And when you leaned into him first, Simon Riley—mafia king, ghost of the underworld—let out a quiet breath like he’d just lost a war he hadn’t realized he was fighting.
Because for the first time in years, he wanted something that couldn’t be taken by force.
Synopsis: You’re a law student who performs shows at night, and you catch the eyes of a group of dangerous men.
CW: May contain mature content, poly relationship, afab!reader, very suggestive themes.
Bonus : Laces
They all stared at the laced underwear, delicately displayed on the glass table. Kyle spoke first.
“The most honest thing to do is to give it back to her. No bad conscience—“
“I’ll take it.” Johnny said, reaching forward, the other three men stood abruptly and Kyle blocked his way.
“Get off me,” Johnny pushed, “you said you didn’t want it.”
Kyle shoved him back.
“I never said that.” He defended
“You did.” Simon lied,
“I heard it too,” John nodded.
“Oh, fuck off!” Kyle exclaimed.
“I s’pose it leaves the three of us.” Johnny said ignoring him.
“I only said we should be correct about this,” Kyle cut in, “besides, I’m the one who found the thing, shouldn't I be the one to keep it?”
“You lost that advantage when you made it a group meeting.” John shrugged.
“You should have kept it for yourself, mate,” Simon added.
“I would’ve.” Johnny said, then took a frighteningly serious tone as he continued, “She always lets Simon in her room. He can steal one whenever he likes. Leave it to us, eh?” He pleaded.
“No.” Simon replied, they all glanced at him.
“You’ve stolen one before, haven’t you?” Kyle asked, Simon remained silent but Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “How many?”
“This one’s used.” Simon stated avoiding the question.
“Aye right, you can fuck off! That leaves us two. Price,” Johnny said. John’s hands fell on his hips, waiting for his proposition, “I’ll nosh your knob for it,”
“Come off it, you’ve done it for free,” he dismissed,
“I’ll suck harder—“
“We’re not fucking teenagers, are we? It’s a bloody pair of panties, we’re better than this.” Kyle tried to reason. Johnny looked almost offended.
“Speak for yerself mate, I’m fuckin' disgustin'. I'll take the fuckin' thing and have a wank over it!”
“Any other use would be a disservice, really.” Price nodded.
Simon hummed.
Kyle chewed on his lip, sensing he would lose to the three bigger men in front of him. He really should have kept this to himself.
“Well, I’m a decent bloke,” he started, “I’ll do the right thing and bring it to her” he lied, reaching for it, but was immediately blown off.
“Ye’d love that, huh, ye cheeky cunt,” Johnny snarled, his accent getting thicker as he got more riled up.
“Come on! it’s mine!” He finally admitted,
“She don' even fuckin' like ye!” Johnny yelled out frustrated.
“Should I remind you who’s currently higher on her shit list, Mr. Emotional?"
The upstairs door creaked open, and they heard footsteps as you skipped down the stairs.
Before anyone could react, Price reached forward, fingers wrapped around the lace, shoving it in his pocket right as you turned the corner.
“Hey, you guys seen my—“
Shocked by his own speed, John was unable to keep his victorious smile hidden.
He spun on his heels instead facing the window, his finger rubbing over his mouth silently laughing.
Kyle clicked his tongue, pushing off the table.
“Fuckin' bastard,” Johnny muttered furiously.
Simon, however, was the same stoic looming man, waiting for any inquiry you could have.
"Looking for something, dove?" He asked.
"My study book..." you trailed, a frown forming on your face as you took in the odd scene in front of you.
“What is going on?” You asked, instinctively looking at Johnny, his gaze softened when it met yours but you quickly looked away.
Realising you didn't mean to talk to him first.
“Did something happen?” You asked, this time to no one in particular. John finally managed to regain his composure.
“Nothing Doll, just business being…erratic this morning, I’m sorry,” John said as his fingers ran through his beard.
“Oh, I thought that maybe you'd found something…” you muttered disappointed.
John walked closer, “No, but rest assured, your issue is at the top of our priorities.”
“It's fine, I understand you have your…jobs on the side.” You said, glancing around the room hesitantly.
“What is it?” Kyle asked. You rolled your eyes, but answered anyway.
“I need to go shopping.” You said.
“With the amount of clothes you already have?”
“Not—" you sighed, "Don't be weird about it, but I need to go shop for some underwear…I was sure Simon brought a bunch but, ugh—whatever, is someone free to drive me?”
John bit his lip, turning to Simon, who held the most unbothered expression. Before he could say anything, a smile spread on your lips.
“Oh, the gentle giant’s free?” You asked, to which he tilted his head, unused to a positive nickname from you.
“Oh fuck off,” Johnny scoffed. You lost your smile, and he quickly retracted “Not you–”
“I’m sorry, didn’t want to impose.”
“You never impose,” Simon replied, immediately stepping closer.
“At least you’re always sweet,” You smiled softly.
Johnny rolled his eyes so hard he almost got a headache.
“It’s the least he can do,” Kyle muttered bitterly.
John cleared his throat, swallowing a laugh. “Sorry, love, we still have things to discuss. How about you get ready? Simon will take you out, yeah?”
“Yeah…okay...Thanks again!” you said, confusion plastered all over your face.
After you disappeared in your room and shut the door.
They all turned to the masked man.
“I think we’ve gone overboard with the stealing, haven’t we?” John said, raising a brow at his second in command.
“My mistake, I might have lost count.” He replied
“You lost count?!” Kyle yelled, “You absolute scumbag!” he walked out outraged.
Simon has been legally declared dead for almost 2 years, he lives in a tiny shoebox on the outskirts of town only ever paying in cash, it's small but he doesn't mind it fits his lifestyle perfectly. Ghost comes alive at night working with the rest of the 141, his little apartment is mostly where their stock is kept, wads of cash, guns stored in every corner, drugs and other substances stacked neatly in boxes, and the occasional person who doesn't wanna talk. To the average eye though he's just a mundane guy living life with the little that he has, sure there's stories about why he's always wearing a full mask, about the scars that peek out from his clothes, and stories about him always watching who goes in and out of the town but none of them would expect him to be the notorious Ghost.
Simon likes his little life, he's kinda adopted a little German shepherd that roams near his apartment building, Soap started calling her Riley, Simon remembers he said ‘she reminds me o’ ye. Bin through o’ lot’ and Soap left it at that but ever since then Simons started calling her Riley and she’s started to respond to the name. Simon chose his apartment 2 years ago, it's situated next to a lesser known road that leads into the city, he watches everyone who comes and goes from the road making both mental and physical notes about anyone even remotely suspicious, plus he's planted cameras all over the building. So imagine his surprise when he's walking back home one morning and sees a pretty little bird he is sure he has never seen before, he stands there watching her as she crouches next to her bags to continue petting Riley, who has clearly already taken a liking to her. He ducks behind a corner as you pass by with Riley in tow, he expects you to keep walking past but you stop in front of the door right next to his, after a second you gently shoved the door open, carefully moving your bags into your front room.
Simon could have swore he made it very clear to the landlord that he didn't want any direct neighbors, but maybe having a pretty little bird next door would have some perks.
this will probably be a series or at the very least a few parts cause I really like the idea and I miss writing a series
mafia ghost needs an obedient pup that will wait for him settled on her knees, docile and lacking of sharp canines, knowing only how to please when he comes back from some business, irritated and in dare need to let off some steam.
simon needs you underneath his wooden desk, with your tongue sticking out, just a warm throat for him, sucking around his rudy tip with your eyes sparkling, directed towards his amber gaze, incinerating every little spot on your face as he gazes at the hollow of your warming up cheeks.
you lap around the veiny girth of him and beading slit until he decides to fuck up into your throat, sucking at the thick cock that pulses on your tongue, stretching your lips, until he places his calloused palms on both sides of your face and starts to thrust.
he needs you being able to wait for him already bare, not a single fabric concealing your flesh or being scattered on the floor, as if you already walked into his cabinet naked, settling yourself on the cold surface of the desk with spread legs, leaking honeyed slick, smearing it along your folds.
simon would like someone as unabashed as himself, to have your fingers stuffed in his mouth, letting him suck and lick on the strings of your cloying slick, as he rolls his hips and thrusts forward, bullying the meaty length of his cock in your tight cunt, velvety and sopping wet, a paradise for him.
to have not something of his own, but someone that will stick beside him on their own accord, and you're the one he needs, placed on his bulky lap during an annoying meeting, face nuzzled against the curve of his neck as he fiddles with your clit.
it's not even his personal chef, you were hired by Price and live there full time. but Simon is almost always at his boss's office with him being second in command and all.
and yet he always finds his way to the kitchen. if he doesn't find you there, he knows you left little snacks for him to munch on technically, you left them for Price but you made extra for Simon because your boss always complained that his midnight snacks weren't enough.
you're not surprised that Simon likes your cooking and practically eats anything he can get his hands on. because after all, as you always say, "big boy's got a big stomach to fill." a sentiment that always makes his chest puff up and his eyes crinkle.
he fell in love with you your cooking because his rough childhood never allowed almost all the good food that he wanted to enjoy. from full plates of meals to sweet treats like red veltvet brownies and cinnamon rolls. things that remind him that life is good, that there's always something to look forward to after a day filled with blood and gun powder.
which is why Price is ready to either let Simon move in or let the big man have you in his home full time.
Summary: Sanderson gets a taste of what the 141 can do. Our favorite Scot gets some alone time with Simon.
CW: kidnapping, torture, there will be smut, mdni, complete series warnings
AN: um hi, please enjoy!
Kyle may have been the face of some of their more legal dealings, but he got his hands dirty when he needed to. Today he was needed at one of the warehouses to collect a very special person.
Ryder was still locked in one of their cells, he had yet to speak about who he had been working for that night, but he had talked about a whole slew of other things, including the fact that he slept with a woman who was married to a very important politician. Kyle was still doing the work to verify that claim. It could be a very useful situation.
Tonight though, Ryder was going on a little trip.
John had Sanderson locked up in one of the safe rooms in the penthouse, the room itself hidden behind a false wall that very few people knew existed. It was intended to be used as a panic room, but John had more frequently used it for special guests he wanted to keep close but out of sight. A man could be tied up inside, screaming for help and the person on the other side of the wall would never hear them.
Sanderson was destined for that room and even though Simon had reported back that the man had been cooperative John wanted him to know what was at stake, just how serious this situation was. Sanderson’s benefactor might have promised him death if he spoke but the 141 could do worse.
Ryder was soaking wet by the time Kyle arrived. He had been bathed, or rather, washed down with a hose and then shoved into clean clothes. He was knelt on the floor, his hands tied behind his back. His hair hung stringy from his head, dripping into his eyes. His face was covered in half healed bruises and a patchy beard.
Not even man enough to grow a full beard, Kyle thought viciously to himself, but then he banished that line of thinking. That wasn’t what made a man, Ryder was less of a man because he was a disloyal, spineless rat.
“Alright?” Kyle asked, sneering down at the bound man.
Ryder spit at Kyle’s feet.
“Careful,” he warned, Ryder recoiling from the perceived threat. “We have places to go, and if you behave you might lived to see this room again.”
"Fuck you, mate.”
"Not your mate, you made sure of that, didn’t ya?”
Ryder didn’t speak again, not after one of the guards bullied him into a gag and pulled a sack over his head. On the ride over to the penthouse, he didn’t move from his spot on the floor of the SUV. They could drive into Price’s private area of the building parking and head right to the private elevator to the penthouse. They controlled all of the security feeds for that part of the building as well as any other public areas that they may host guests in. They didn’t typically bring trash home, but many of their other guests, their business partners, appreciated their anonymity that came with their visits.
The penthouse was already buzzing with activity when they arrived. Simon and Soap were sat on the couch, Simon sipping a bourbon, the Scot drinking a beer and grinning at some joke Simon had said. They were looking comfortable and Kyle hoped that Simon took their talk seriously. He wasn’t trying to pawn off his lover on someone else, but Simon had lived a hard life, the man deserved all the happiness he could have.
Kyle knew the dangers of this line of work, the dangers of their past life. The incident with Ryder had more than hammered that home. And while the thrill of danger could be exhilarating, that moment had reminded Kyle that it wasn’t just about him, because when he came home that night his lovers had pampered him, showering him in their own versions of affection. Knowing that he could leave them behind? That he could be the cause of a gaping hole in Simon’s already fragile heart? Kyle knew that Soap’s affection wouldn’t be a replacement for him, but it made him feel better knowing that Simon was taken care of.
This wasn’t his typical line of thought, Kyle had spent years as a solider, many of those with John and Simon, and they knew the risks when they took those first tentative steps to being more. During that time and after, in the early days of the 141 becoming part of the Price family he hadn’t had this nagging worry.
It may have been this threat hanging over their heads, and unknown thing that could take his lovers away from him or him from them.
Kyle couldn’t let this cloud his decisions though, he needed a clear mind if they were going to tackle this thing head on. And that meant not worrying about Simon, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the sight of the two men squashed onto the couch that was meant for men of a much smaller stature. Soap may not have been as tall as Simon or John, but he made up for it with brawn.
“That him?” Simon asked, peeling his attention away from Soap.
Kyle nodded. They had both met Ryder since coming to work for the Price family, but he was looking decidedly unlike his usual self. No flashy new clothes, no bejeweled watches, no gold chain handing around his neck. He had been stripped of all of that.
“Waste of space, keeping him around.”
Ryder started to pull against his binds, his fingers flexing around nothing where they were tied behind his back.
“Don’t rile him up, save that for our guest.”
It was unlikely they would let Ryder go after this much time. He knew too much and had been far too abused by their organization. It went with the territory. They didn’t claim to be good men, they had done unspeakable things for crown and country, what was a little bit of crime from the comfort of home? Who got to decide when the killing was justified? Was righteous? Was for the common good?
It had been too easy for the Kyle to adjust to it. He hadn’t grown up around it like Soap or John, he didn’t have the rough upbringing that Simon did. Hell, he only knew about half of what Nikolai got up to when they were in the army.
In another life it might have bothered him to watch two of their men frog march Ryder into the room that had been prepared for this evening, it might have given him pause when they dragged out Sanderson, making a show of Ryder being dragged into the bedroom.
This was not another life and he felt nothing but annoyance as Ryder shouted against his gag.
A live stream had been set up of the bedroom where Ryder was taken. Sanderson was tied to a chair facing the screen. From there he could see Ryder. He was similarly bound to a chair.
“Yer goin’ tae watch this screen and then yer goin’ tae tell us what ye ken.”
Soap was all business now, none of the previous cheer remained.
On the screen Ghost appeared, walking across the space and roughly pulling the bag off of Ryder’s head. This was not Simon, not Kyle’s lover, this was the hardened solider, the man that got assignments others would not take, the suicide missions that he somehow always managed to come back from. John had put an end to those when Simon had joined the 141 but it didn’t take away from the fact that the man had talent.
Ghost had changed into all black, his face covered with a balaclava, the skull painted on it was worn at this point, but the idea was all the same. it was an intimidation tactic, they were putting on a show for Sanderson at John's request, but they were hoping for something more from Ryder.
He was half dead already, they had been feeding the man just enough to keep him alive but not enough to sustain him. He was gaunt as Ghost cut off his shift revealing a caved in chest, half healed wounds, and yellowing bruises. He had tacky tattoos, done in the traditional style but just a little too on the nose for someone who gave off the air of a wannabe gangster.
“Ready to talk?” Ghost’s voice was muffled over the stream, but the question was clear to Ryder, the man’s eyes wide as he tracked Ghost’s movements in the room, circling him and making a show of stopping at the table of instruments that that been set up for him.
Kyle knew he wouldn’t use any of them, he had seen the other man get more answers out of a prisoner with a pocketknife and cigarette than any of the fancy implements on the table. They were for show, part of the ambiance.
Ryder was mumbling something, the sound lost because he was still gagged.
Ghost picked up his knife, one that Kyle had seen him cleaning almost sensually on more than one occasion. He flipped a few times, shows just how comfortable he felt with it in his hand before approaching Ryder.
“This is ‘ow this is goin’ to go. I ask a question, you answer it and you get to keep your fingers. Fair?”
Ryder didn’t respond, he just continued to eye Ghost.
The camera angle was set up so that they had a clear view of Ryder, and at the moment the broad back of Ghost. Ryder was pale, paler than he had even been when Kyle pulled him from the warehouse. When Ghost removed the gag he took in wheezing gasps of air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. They hadn’t even gotten started and the man was shaking.
“Tell me who sent you.”
Ryder shook his head.
“Tell me, or I start with the pinky and work my way over.”
Ryder pulled against the zip ties around his wrists.
“I don’t want to watch this,” Sanderson whispered.
No one acknowledged him, not yet. Ghost had barely even started.
“Y’better start talkin’,” Ghost warned, approaching from the side of the frame so that his masked face was in view, the knife glinting in the light. He had a flare for the dramatic.
The door to the penthouse opened, the man gathered around the computer looked up as John entered the room they had Sanderson set up in.
“I miss anything?” He asked, casual, as if there wasn’t someone being tortured the room over. It wasn’t a rouse that it didn’t bother John, they had done worse, but it was a show for Sanderson. It said, look at us, look what we can do if you don’t cooperate.
They might have lacked the morals that other man had, that compass that told you right from wrong. That didn’t mean they didn’t have rules, guidelines for engagement. When John took over in his father’s place he wanted to make this city safer, he was given the opportunity to make the lives of these people better while still feeding the hunger for violence and control that the military had bred into him.
Kyle admired him something fierce.
He also couldn’t take his eyes off of him, Price was currently dressed like the mafia boss he was. Three piece suit, perfectly tailored, as he crossed the room he pulled the bow tie undone, cracking his neck and letting out a sigh. It was over the top but not all for Sanderson, Price had had a prior commitment that evening, a very convenient cover for the activities they had all been up to. Even though he very much was the driver of the truck that Simon and Soap had carried Sanderson into.
“Just gettin’started,” Soap answered.
"This is just getting started?” Sanderson asked, finally finding his tongue and looking very green around the gills.
“We take threats very seriously,” John explained, pulling the bow tie the rest of the way off and shrugging out of the jacket.
Sanderson didn’t look away from the screen as Ghost yanked Ryder’s hand free of the binds and positioned it on the table in front of him. He was babbling incoherently now, the words incomprehensible through the stream.
Ryder’s scream of pain was cut off by John pushing shut the laptop, ending the stream but not the interrogation that would hopefully get Ghost answers.
“I promise I’ll tell you everything,” Sanderson’s words were rushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the man was near to hyperventilating.
“Who is your boss?”
“I don’t know his name. When he first reached out it was to purchase Hermes, a solicitor contacted me about a buyer. But the app was outdated, I hadn’t worked at it all since I first made it. After I explained the technical side he offered to hire me. He arranged for everything, the move, the apartment.”
”And the threats?” John asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looming over Sanderson.
”Threats?”
“The ones that I have been receiving, deliveries courtesy of an Hermes courier.”
”I didn’t know it was threats. He told me to send him a list of couriers to choose from.”
”Why? Why not different people each time?”
”I don’t know, I asked, told him it was easier to just let anyone take the jobs. He didn’t want that. I have the emails, you can read them.”
"Why that courier?”
"I don't know why he chose them. They had a good rating on the app, worked most days. I could almost always price the deliveries well enough for them to take the job.”
"What does your benefactor know about them?”
"Personally? He has all of the credentials to access the admin, it has all of their employment info. It’s just me so I had to build the system to maintain itself as much as possible, but we can both access it, create any shipments, access any manifests. It’s not an unprofitable model at this scale, the overhead is minimum.”
"Don’t care about the overhead, mate.”
Kyle set a notebook on the table and a pen in front of Sanderson. The other man flinched away from him as he undid the ties of his left hand, the shows had done its job. Sanderson was appropriately afraid of them.
“I’m going to need you to write down everything you know about this man, no detail is too small.”
"I’ve tried to find him, back when he first reached out. He’s a ghost.”
"We have better resources, now get writing.”
*****
John hadn’t been able to pay attention to the interrogation, Sanderson’s words were meaningless when all he could think of was Simon, Ghost, in all black, the painted skull mask covering his face, eye black obscuring his skin, eyes hard like amber as they stared ahead. The shift from the man who had accompanied him to pick up Sanderson to the man who walked into that room with Ryder was breathtaking.
Hours later, when they were back at Price’s place on the edge of the city, John still couldn’t get the image out of his mind. Simon hadn’t returned yet, Price had sent Kyle and John home once they had gotten sufficient information out of Sanderson. Kyle was making calls the moment the car started, John driving them through the already familiar route from the penthouse to the house. He wanted to ask more about Ghost, about what they would do now, but Kyle had disappeared into Price’s office, leaving John to wandering the house alone.
It wasn’t until much later into the night that he woke to the sound of the door slamming shut, and hushed voices whispering before another door shut.
John had fallen asleep on the slick leather chesterfield in the living room, one of the plush throw pillows tucked under his head as he stared at the ceiling until his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep. The light had been on when he had laid down, Kyle must have turned it off at some point. It wouldn’t have been the first time one of the 141 had found him asleep somewhere in the house that was not his own bed. He hadn’t been out of the service as long as the rest, his body still wired to get sleep whenever he could and where ever he could.
The couch was comfortable enough that he could just roll over and sleep the rest of the night. No one would bother him, not until the morning when Price would wake up at the crack of dawn and start banging around the kitchen as he made coffee.
It was a good enough plan, one that didn’t take much consideration when he already felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, convinced he was dreaming when he heard the footsteps approaching, heard his name being whispered.
John’s snapped open. The room was still dark, but not dark enough to miss the shadowy figure looming over him. Simon still had the mask on, he’s shoulders rising and falling as he breathed, tension clear in the slopes of muscle.
“Y’lright?” John asked, voice rough from sleep.
”Shouldn’t sleep ‘ere.”
”S’nae tae bad,” John replied, eyes closing again.
It was a testament to how comfortable John had been with the 141 that he barely acknowledge the feel of arms slipping under his neck and his knees. It was surely a dream, no one had every carried him to sleep as a child, the MacTavishes that had raised him had let him run wild in the Highlands and had never been the nurturing type. Maybe that’s why the sleep habits of soldiers had come so easy to him.
It was nice to imagine this was what it felt like to be loved. The feeling was fleeting, and even in his sleep John wanted to savor this moment, savor the warm press of another body against him, the beating of a heart, the smell of smoke, the smell of blood—
John’s eyes snapped open. It wasn’t a dream. He was very much being held in the arms of the man who just hours ago was cutting the fingers off another man.
A flurry of words poured from his mouth, his brain struggling to catch up.
"English, MacTavish,” Simon warned, hefting John up in his arms.
John couldn’t help but squirm, how the fuck was Simon carrying him like a baby?
Simon brought John to his room, dropping him unceremoniously on the bed, bursting the warm bubble. He didn’t move to leave, just stood there at the side of John’s bed looking down at him in the dark.
Knowing that Simon was still wearing the clothes he wore to interrogate Ryder, the scent of blood thick, the balaclava still pulled down over his face did something to John. Simon was a vision, even in the dark, even when he hid himself from the world, John saw him.
And now that he had felt those powerful arms around him? Lifting him up like a wean? Fuck, he was hard and if Simon didn’t leave soon the masked man was going to be treated to a show as he rubbed one out.
“Ye comin’ or goin’?”
”Wot?”
John shifted over in the bed, it was more than big enough for the two of them. When he had imagined being with Simon, and he had imagined it more than once, it hadn’t been like this. It had been far more hot and heavy, but there was something about the other man that put John on edge.
“Sit.”
It was too dark to make out Simon’s eyes, those little micro-expressions that John thought he could sometimes understand, so he held his breath as he waited, trying to will away his hard on.
When he thought the other man was about to leave, Simon took a step forward, twisting as he sat on the edge of the bed facing away from John.
Kyle and Price had cornered John after they had finished their plan to pickup Sanderson, the plan was easy, straightforward. John knew he could handle it, he was ready to show them he deserved his place here and when they stopped him he assumed it was to warn him to protect Simon, to have his six, but that had been so far from what they wanted.
Don’t have to mean anything, but you have our blessing.
Kyle had later sat with him and explained their relationship, explained how the unconventional partnership had started and how they had always left it open to more. Explained that the three of them had agreed that they deserved happiness in whatever form they could get it as long as they always remained loyal to each other in the ways that mattered.
What they hadn’t told him was how Simon felt about all of that, because right now John wanted nothing more to reach over and give them other man anything he wanted. Anything to quell the nervous energy that poured off of him.
“Ahm goin’ tae take yer jacket off,” John’s voiced was steadier than his hands as he reached out, giving Simon more than enough time to move.
Simon’s body radiated heat as John pulled back at the collar of the jacket, peeling it away and carefully maneuvering each of Simon’s arms out of it. The positioning was awkward, John knelt behind the other man, but it felt right.
Next was his shirt. John reaching between Simon’s waist and his arms, grasping the shirt at the bottom hem and pulling it up, forcing Simon to lift his arms as the shirt came up. It was discarded one the floor.
The pants were harder. He didn’t want to break the illusion, the semblance of privacy, push too hard against Simon’s boundaries. A shiver raced down John’s spine as he slipped off the bed and came to kneel in front of Simon. He only needed to scoot a few centimeters forward and he would be boxed in by those thick thighs.
With delicate, light touches he reached forward and unbuttoned Simon’s pants, pulling the zipper down before reaching up to grasp the belt loops and pulling them down. Simon helped, lifting his hips when the material bunched up. John wanted to savor this moment, savor the expanses of skin that was revealed, pale enough to see in the dim light.
He was knelt at the altar of a man who smelt like gunpowder and blood, but when his hand reached out and cupped John’s face it felt like salvation.
John looked up, not for permission, but something else, something he didn’t have words for. His mother had died before she could hold him, his father cast him aside in the name of safety but it was just a thinly veiled attempt to escape his own grief, the women that raised him did so out of duty, not out of love. He knew when he joined the army it would never fill that cavernous place he felt in his soul. No amount of rage, or anger, or bloodshed completed him.
“Kyle talked to ye?” Simon asked, finally breaking his silence, his face still blocked by the mask, his hand pulling away from John.
“Aye, both of ‘em. Got the full Captain treatment. ‘Ave tae ‘ave ye home by midnight or we're both grounded.”
It felt easier to tease Simon then to acknowledge the ache in his chest.
“Bloody hell.”
John wasn’t sure Simon had ground to stand on when he was sat in boxer briefs and a balaclava looking straight of a cheesy porno. But the quip had the intended effect as Simon’s shoulders dropped, muscles relaxing more and more.
Could that be enough for John? Could knowing that he helped the Ghost relax be enough when he knew the man he was knelt before could always just go back to his other lovers and John would be right here, alone, just an afterthought, a bother.
"Wot's goin' on in that pretty 'ead of yours?"
John wished the light was on in the room so that he could see Simon better, could study the planes of his chest, the scars that bisected his skin, the splotches of blood that had permeated his clothes and stood out against the pale expanses.
He stored it all away for later when he could draw it in the sketchbook he had stashed in his nightstand.
"Ye think Ahm pretty?"
"If you could shut your bloody gob for more than five seconds you'd be the prettiest thing around."
"Ah ken a way ye could shut me up?"
John liked to think he could see the heat in Simon's gaze, but the room was dark and all he had to go on was the way Simon's hand reached back out, fingers digging into his hair and pulling his head back.
John couldn't swallow down the whimper or the heat that crept down his neck when Simon chuckled darkly, leaning forward and crowding in to John's space.
"Y'wanna suck my cock?"
John tried to nod, not trusting his voice, but the hold Simon had on him kept him in place.
Tonight he would suck Simon's cock, tomorrow he could worry about that emptiness no amount of cum would fill.
"Gaggin' for it already?"
His gaze fell to Simon's lap, his cock was pressed again the fabric of his boxers demanding John's attention. He felt cross-eyed, trying to see more but Simon's still held is head back.
"Please, Simon, please let mah go, please," John begged, his own cock pressed hard again his jeans.
"Come on then."
As soon as John felt the pressure abate, Simon's fingers releasing their hold, he was leaning forward, fingers slipping into the waistband of Simon's boxers and yanking them down impatiently.
Again he lamented the darkness of the room, he would give anything to properly see the beast of a cock that now laid heavy on Simon's leg.
John reached forward, one hand snaking around Simon's leg and pulling himself forward so that he was between Simon's thighs firmly while the other ghosted over the velvety skin of his cock. John wanted to savor this moment, savor the musk of Simon's skin, the warmth between his legs, that first taste as he pulled back Simon's foreskin and lapped at his slit.
Simon groaned as John swirled his tongue around the head of his cock before sucking it into the wet warmth of John's mouth. John was certain he had never sucked a cock like this, the girth of it was impressive and intimidating. The fact that this wasn't a quick hookup in a dingy pub bathroom or broom closet on base hiding from their CO had his head spinning.
He hallowed out his cheeks, sucking on the head before popping off, wasting no time before licking down, tonguing at the veiny shaft.
When he reached the base he nuzzled into the warmth there, the delicate skin, the vulnerability. This giant of a man reduced to nothing but a moaning mess when John sucked Simon's sack into his mouth.
The feel of the delicate skin had John rutting against nothing, his own cock painfully hard, pressing against this zipper in search of any amount of friction.
It was the most exquisite torture.
Simon's hand tightened in John's hair while John's hand slicked up and down Simon's spit soaked cock. John had spent weeks thinking about this cock and now that he was here, in a place he never thought he would be, he didn't want this moment to end.
"Goin' to let me cum down that tight little throat?" Simon growled, pulling John away so that Simon could peer down at him.
It might have been dark in the room, but John could feel the hunger in that heavy gaze.
John didn't bother to answer, diving forward with renewed enthusiasm, quickly working Simon's cock as far as it could go. While John bobbed and swallowed against Simon's cockhead, his hand was wrapped firmly around the base, sticky from spit and precum, adding that extra pressure that John knew from experience was delicious.
John was lost in the movements, the rhythmic back and forth, his own heart beating so loudly he couldn't hear Simon's warnings that he was going to cum, didn't know what was happening until he was gulping down Simon's milky spend, the unexpected thrust hitting the back of his throat, blocking his breath in a way that had his limited vision blacking out around the edges.
Then he heard it, two works breaking through the static, fuck Johnny.
Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.
His name on Simon's tongue bouncing around his head, the sudden loss of air, the lightheadedness, the taste of Simon on his tongue, the combination of it all had John cuming in his own pants.
He pulled off of Simon's cock with a pop, leaning in to lick it clean before sitting back on his heels. His thoughts were fuzzy, his breathe still ragged, shoulders rising and falling as he tried to regain his composure.
"Fuckin' hell, Johnny," Simon murmured, leaning over and pulling John to his feet.
Had he had his wits about him he might have admired the sheer strength of this man, but he was cumdrunk and a bit lightheaded still, letting himself be manhandled until John was tucked away in the bed and Simon had put back on his boxers but had discarded the balaclava, the darkness doing the work to hide his face.
John hadn't meant to, but the moment he noticed Simon walking away he whimpered, the sound slipping out unexpectedly.
"Not leavin' ya, calm down," he chided, before disappearing not out the door to the hallway but into the attached bathroom.
When he returned he had a warm rag and had filled the glass of water that John kept next to the sink. With a tenderness that seemed impossible for such large hands Simon wiped John's face, the wetness cooling his skin as it dried.
"Liked suckin' my cock so much y'came in yer pants?"
"Fuck off," John said, trying to roll away, but Simon kept him in place, unbuttoning John's jeans and pulling down both the jeans and his boxers to reveal his sticky cock.
Simon then wiped away the cool cum before pulling John's pants the rest of the way down.
This time when Simon returned it was with a fresh pair of boxers, he moved as if to pull them up John's legs but John had regained enough control of his body and snatched them away, pulling them on himself.
"Ah should be the one doin' this fer ye, Ah was tryin' tae take care of ye."
"I know Johnny, now I'm takin' care of you. Budge over."
John hadn't expected anything that had happened this evening, but he had most definitely not expected to be manhandled in his bed, rolled over and moved around until the Ghost was cuddled up against his back, heavy hand firm against John's sternum as if to kept him in place.
Could he have left if he wanted to?
"Thank you," Simon murmured into his hair, long after the two had fallen into a comfortable silence. The Manc's accent was heavier with sleep, John had noticed it in the mornings when he sipped his coffee and Simon drank his tea.
"Huh?" John mumbled the words, not sure he was even awake.
"Get in my 'ead sometimes. Could 'ave just told me to piss off but ya didn't."
John wiggled around in Simon's hold until he was facing the other man, their bodies pressed firmly together, Simon's hand pulling him flush. Their faces close enough that their breath mingled and Johnny could rest his forehead against Simon's. All of that naked skin he couldn't see but he could certainly feel.
"We're a team now, aye? Couldnae let ye go it on yer own."
"More than a team, Johnny."
John's breath stuttered. More than a team?
"Dinnae say shite ye dinnae mean."
"Sayin' what I mean, Johnny."
John fell silent. Was this just the afterglow speaking? The adrenaline drop after the violence, the danger and then best head John had ever given? Did Simon really mean it?
John opened him mouth.
"Go the fuck ta sleep, Johnny. Can talk in the morn and then I'll fuck that tight little asshole of yours. And then, if ye need it we can talk again."
John didn't respond, he simply swallowed hard, his heart racing hard enough in his chest that there was no way Simon couldn't feel it galloping away.
They would talk in the morning. When John woke up, Simon would be here and they would talk and then maybe fuck.
Definitely fuck.
John focused on the sound of Simon's breathing, pushing away all of his chaotic, spinning thoughts, pushing away the creeping ache he felt less and less since joining the 141. Maybe cum and companionship could fill the hole in his life?
Cw: mention torture and drugs. afab!reader but try most to be gn.
Masterlist
Part 3
Horangi was walking down the hall when his attention was caught by Hutch and Roze standing in front of a one-way mirror. Curiosity piqued, he asked, "What are you up to?"
"Watching the boss torture an enemy underling," Roze replied, her eyes glinting with amusement as Hutch chuckled happily at the scene unfolding before them.
Raising an eyebrow, Horangi stepped closer to the window. He saw König pacing back and forth, visibly anxious, as he spoke to the enemy, who looked increasingly unsettled. Suddenly, König slammed his hand down on the table, causing the enemy to flinch.
"What’s the torture?" Horangi asked, confusion etched on his face. Hutch smirked, adjusting his shades. "The boss is asking for romantic advice from Deadman."
Horangi sighed, watching König slowly lower himself into the chair across from the captive, his hulking frame almost too large for the delicate wooden seat. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, a nervous habit uncharacteristic of the usually imposing man.
The captive, a wiry man with a bloodied nose, looked utterly bewildered. Sweat dripped from his brow as he stammered, “W-why are you asking me? I don’t—I don’t know anything about dating!”
König leaned forward, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he demanded, “Then what do you know about wooing someone? Surely you’ve liked someone before. Speak.”
The man fumbled, glancing toward the one-way mirror in silent desperation, as if pleading for a rescue that would never come.
Roze stifled a laugh, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “I never thought I’d see the day. Our Big bad Boss, König,…asking a guy who can’t even keep his own teeth in his mouth for advice on romance. This is priceless.”
Hutch let out a low chuckle, pushing his sunglasses up. “The boss is down bad. I mean, look at him—he’s got the guy more scared of giving the wrong pickup line than getting shot.”
Inside the room, König pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly frustrated with the captive's nonsensical answers. The poor man was a stuttering mess, rattling off clichés like, ‘Buy them flowers,’ and ‘Compliment their eyes.’
König growled softly, not out of anger, but sheer exasperation. “This is useless.” He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, causing the captive to flinch again. König loomed over him, arms crossed, his massive frame casting a shadow over the trembling man.
“I don’t need basic advice!” König barked, his voice deep and commanding. “I need something… meaningful. Specific. If you were trying to win someone over—someone kind, strong, and… special—what would you do?”
The captive blinked up at him, wide-eyed and utterly lost. “I—I don’t know! Cook for them? Write them a letter? Please, man, I don’t even have a girlfriend!”
Horangi, watching from the other side of the glass, finally sighed and turned to Hutch and Roze. “This is pathetic. Should we step in before he kills the guy with his awkwardness?”
“Nah,” Hutch replied with a grin. “This is better than TV. Besides, it’s not like the guy’s bleeding out or anything.”
Roze tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You think König will actually take advice from someone who’s tied to a chair?”
Before Horangi could respond, König’s voice boomed again, shaking the room with its intensity.
"Write what, exactly?" He leaned in closer to the captive, who was now shaking like a leaf. "Give me something better than 'flowers' or 'letters,' or I will personally—" He caught himself, exhaling sharply and stepping back, muttering under his breath in frustration.
The captive, desperate to avoid whatever fate his imagination was conjuring, blurted out, "S-surprise them! Do something unexpected! Something only you would do! Something that shows y-you’re thinking about them!"
König paused, straightening to his full height. His imposing shadow loomed even larger over the man as he stared down at him with piercing eyes. Slowly, a glimmer of realization crossed König’s face. He said nothing for a long moment, then gave a curt nod, muttering, “Hmm. Yes. That’s… something.”
The captive sagged in his chair, relief washing over him as König turned abruptly and made for the door.
From behind the glass, Roze covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “I swear to God, he’s going to come back tomorrow with a dozen roses and a poem, isn’t he?”
Hutch snorted, shaking his head. “If he writes a poem, I’m retiring. I’ve seen enough for one lifetime.”
Horangi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid… like kidnapping them instead of asking them on a date.”
The door to the interrogation room slammed open as König stepped out, his gaze distant, as if he were already lost in thought. He brushed past the group without a word, his broad shoulders rigid and his stride purposeful.
“Yup,” Roze said with a smirk, watching him disappear down the hall. “He’s definitely writing a poem.”
Hutch clapped Horangi on the back. “Good luck keeping him out of trouble. You’re going to need it.”
Horangi sighed again, glancing toward the interrogation room before reluctantly following after König. “This better not end with me having to talk him out of some overly dramatic romantic gesture…”
As the door clicked shut behind him, Roze and Hutch exchanged a look before bursting into laughter, their amusement echoing through the observation room.
It had been a couple of weeks since you last saw König. The memory of that night lingered in your mind, resurfacing at the most unexpected moments. You found yourself wondering—was his wound healing properly? Had he taken care of himself?
The thought gnawed at you as you went about your day, your hands busy with patients, but your mind elsewhere. You had done everything you could to stabilize him that night, yet the worry persisted. Men like him, with their dangerous lives and stoic fronts, weren’t the type to follow medical advice.
You sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you closed your clinic for the evening to grab some lunch. The streets were quiet, the crisp winter air biting against your cheeks as you locked the door behind you. You paused for a moment, glancing down the empty street, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows.
Was he okay? The question echoed in your mind again, and you shook your head with a small, self-deprecating smile. Why do I even care so much?
But deep down, you knew the answer. There had been something in König’s eyes that night—something that stuck with you. A vulnerability beneath the ice, a fleeting glimpse of someone who, for all his sharp edges and danger, carried a burden far heavier than any physical wound.
And now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just okay in general. You groan in frustration kicking a discarded can. Why?! You just met the man. You sighed. You look at the sky a little bit to ground yourself before continuing along your way. You entered your favorite dinner, Dash out.
The warm, familiar hum of Dash Out greeted you as you stepped inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, a sharp contrast to the biting chill outside. You waved to the staff behind the counter, giving them a tired but genuine smile.
Sliding into a booth near the window, you let out a long sigh and leaned back against the worn vinyl. This was your safe haven—a place where the stress of the day melted away with every sip of coffee or bite of a greasy burger.
A waitress approached, her name tag reading Lisa, her smile as warm as ever. “The usual?”
You nodded. “Please.”
Lisa scribbled on her notepad, her gaze flickering to your face with a touch of curiosity. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind. Long day?”
“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Something like that.”
Lisa gave you a knowing nod before walking off, leaving you to your thoughts. You stared out the window, watching the soft, lazy flakes of snow drift down, the streetlights casting a warm, amber glow over the quiet street. Your reflection stared back at you, and for a moment, you barely recognized the furrowed brow and distant eyes.
Your food arrived swiftly, the plate settling in front of you with a soft clink. A classic burger, fries, and a steaming cup of hot cocoa—comfort food at its finest. Lisa let you know the pie was on the house. You took a bite, hoping the familiar taste would provide some distraction, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.
The sound of the diner door opening pulled you from your reverie. You glanced up absently, expecting nothing more than another weary worker grabbing a late meal or perhaps a family seeking warmth from the biting cold outside.
But before you could focus on it, a pair of warm, calloused hands gently covered your eyes, halting your sip mid-air. A playful, familiar Scottish lilt followed. “Guess who it is, lass?”
You couldn’t suppress a smile, a soft laugh escaping as you tilted your head slightly. “Soap,” you said, the word slipping out with amused certainty.
The hands pulled away with a chuckle, and there he was—grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the world’s greatest prank. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned casually against the booth.
Next to him, Ghost stood silently, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the cheerful exchange. He rolled his eyes and scoffed under his breath before turning toward the counter, his gait purposeful as he went to collect the protection money for their boss.
You giggled, glancing back at Soap. “I see you brought Ghost with you on your rounds.”
“Yup, Doc,” Soap said, scratching the back of his neck with mock exasperation. “Didn’t want to, but you know—gangster life’s no walk in the park.” His grin widened, as if the admission didn’t carry the weight it should have.
Before you could respond, Lisa returned, balancing a tray with your pie. She set the plate in front of you with a warm smile. “Enjoy, honey,” she said before bustling off to tend to another table.
“Thanks, Lisa.” You glanced at Soap and tilted the plate slightly in his direction, your voice teasing. “Want some, Soap? Or is gangster life too glamorous for diner fries?”
“Never! That’s like forgetting the roots you came from!” Soap declared dramatically, as if you’d just suggested the unthinkable. “Plus, I love sharing fries with the person who’s saved our arses more times than I can count!”
Without waiting for an invitation, he plopped himself down in the seat across from you, stealing a fry with a triumphant grin.
You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. As Soap munched happily, Ghost returned from the counter, his dark gaze flicking between the two of you before settling on Soap with a mix of amusement and quiet disapproval.
You looked up at Ghost with a smile, gesturing toward the plate of fries you were now sharing. “Want some?” you offered lightly.
He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips under his mask as he slid into the booth beside you. “No thanks, Doll,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ll leave the fry-stealing to him.”
Soap, mid-bite, pointed a fry at Ghost. “That’s because you’re no fun, mate.”
Ghost gave him a sidelong glance, muttering, “I’m plenty fun. Just not when it comes to your greasy fingers all over the food.”
The banter made you smile as you picked up another fry, savoring the rare moment of levity amid the chaos their lives seemed to attract. It was hard not to think back to when you first met them. Soap had stormed into your clinic, practically kicking the door down, with Ghost slung over his back and bleeding profusely.
You’d barely had time to process their arrival before Soap started barking orders—half panicked, half determined. Ghost, even in his weakened state, had muttered something about "not scaring the doc." It had been a whirlwind of blood, adrenaline, and sharp commands, but you’d patched Ghost up, and from that moment on, the two had made you an unspoken part of their world.
Since then, they’d drop by every so often—not just for patch-ups, though those were frequent—but also to walk you home after late nights at the clinic or during their rounds collecting protection money for their boss. You knew the line of work they were in was dangerous, but you couldn’t deny the strange sense of security you felt whenever they were around.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Soap said, snapping you out of your thoughts as he stole another fry. “What’s on your mind?”
“Just remembering how we met,” you said with a small smile, glancing between him and Ghost. “And how you two basically barged into my life like a hurricane.”
Soap grinned, unrepentant. “Aye, but a good hurricane, right?”
Ghost shook his head, muttering, “More like a bloody disaster.”
You laughed softly, their easy camaraderie a welcome reprieve from the weight of your own thoughts. Likewise, your presence seemed to brighten their otherwise cold and chaotic world, though they’d never outright admit it. Yet the way they smiled at you in that unspoken, rare softness said enough.
After finishing your meal, the three of you stepped outside into the biting cold. They insisted on walking you back to the clinic—something they’d done countless times before. As the chill seeped into your bones, you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself, but it wasn’t enough to keep the cold at bay.
Ghost noticed, his sharp eyes catching the subtle shiver you tried to hide. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The material was heavy, smelling faintly of leather and a hint of something clean and woodsy.
“Here, Doll,” he murmured, his voice low but kind in its gruffness.
“No, I—It’s okay,” you stammered, feeling a bit flustered by the gesture. “We’re not far from the clinic. You’ll be cold.”
You tried to hand the jacket back, but Soap looped an arm around your shoulders with a grin, stopping you in your tracks.
“And let our favorite doc get sick?” he teased, his tone playful but firm. “Never! Ghost and I have seen enough blood for one lifetime, thank you very much. Now let’s get to the clinic, warm up with some tea, and then we’ll handle the rest of our business.”
You rolled your eyes with a fond smile but didn’t argue. Wrapped in Ghost’s jacket and flanked by the two men, you felt a sense of safety you didn’t often experience. As you walked, the quiet of the night was punctuated by the soft crunch of boots on snow and Soap’s endless chatter about everything and nothing.
For a moment, as the warm glow of the clinic’s lights came into view, you let yourself forget about the dangers that lurked in their world—and your own. The three of you entered the clinic, the familiar scent of antiseptic and faint lavender welcoming you like an old friend. Without hesitation, you all made your way to the break room, a cozy little space you had managed to make feel homier despite the sterile surroundings.
Soap, ever the ball of energy, immediately busied himself grabbing three mugs from the cupboard. “Tea’s on me!” he declared, his enthusiasm almost infectious as he examined the mismatched cups with mock seriousness.
Meanwhile, you filled the kettle, setting it to boil. You handed Ghost his jacket back, and he took it with a quiet nod, draping it over the back of a chair before sitting down. His tall frame seemed oddly at ease in the tiny space, though his ever-watchful gaze remained sharp, flicking from you to Soap and back again.
“Thanks for lending this,” you said softly, glancing at Ghost as you adjusted your sweater.
He gave a slight shrug, his mask concealing any hint of a smile, though his tone held the barest trace of warmth. “Didn’t want you catching cold. You’d be no use to anyone if you’re laid up sick.”
Soap turned around with a playful grin, balancing the mugs in one hand while gesturing dramatically with the other. “See, Doc? That’s as close to a love letter as Ghost will ever get. Cherish it!”
“Don’t push your luck, Soap,” Ghost muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.
You chuckled, shaking your head as you set the tea bags into the mugs Soap had placed on the counter. Once the water was ready, you poured it carefully, the steam rising and curling in the air. The quiet hum of the kettle, the clink of ceramic, and the shared companionship filled the small room with a sense of peace that felt rare in their chaotic world
The phone's shrill ring sliced through the comfortable quiet like a blade, cutting Soap off mid-sentence and making Ghost’s gaze sharpen instantly. Pulling the phone from your pocket, you glanced at the screen. The number was vaguely familiar, but as a doctor, you were accustomed to unexpected calls from patients in need.
With a soft sigh, you answered, balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you continued preparing the tea. “Hello, this is Dr. [Last Name]. How can I help you?”
A beat of silence stretched on the other end, broken only by faint, shallow breathing. A chill prickled at the back of your neck. Something about it felt wrong.
“Hello?” you repeated, this time with more authority.
The voice that finally responded was shaky, almost desperate. “Hase? Is this... is this you?”
You froze, your heart skipping a beat as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “König? Yes, it’s me.”
You didn’t notice Soap’s eyes widened or Ghost’s gaze turned cold as they recognized the name. König—the mob boss who controlled half the city and the territory just down the street from your clinic. A heavy silence hung in the air before the voice whispered, almost painfully, “Yes, it’s König, my Hase.”
You felt a warmth flush your cheeks, but you quickly brushed it aside, forcing your expression to remain neutral. “What can I do for you?”
There was a brief silence, the sound of steady breathing on the other end before König’s voice returned—tentative, yet edged with a quiet urgency. “I was wondering… if I could take you to dinner tonight at the Diamond Petals. Or tomorrow, if you’re not working. As a thank you… for everything.”
The request hung in the air, unexpected. Dinner at such a fancy restaurant? You smiled, a soft giggle escaping. “Yeah… I’d love to have dinner with you. Maybe tomorrow, though—I’ll need to shop for new clothes. I don’t have anything good to wear.”
“Nien,” he replied smoothly, his tone firm yet gentle. “Anything you wear looks like gold.”
The words, simple yet laced with affection, sent warmth flooding to your cheeks. Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could recover, he added, “What about I pick you up and take you shopping for clothes?”
His suggestion caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind racing to process the unexpected offer. Meanwhile, Ghost and Soap, lingering nearby, exchanged knowing glances. The palpable tension in the air was broken only by the sound of their deliberate throat-clearing, an unsubtle reminder of their presence.
“Sure,” you finally managed, your voice slightly flustered. “I’ll send you the location of my clinic then… see you later.”
You ended the call, the phone still warm in your hand as you set it down on the counter. Ghost calmly lifted his mask just over his nose, sipping his tea with deliberate slowness. The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, a subtle sign of amusement, while Soap, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned widely.
“So~ you’ve got yourself a boyfriend now, eh?” Soap teased, leaning against the counter with a cheeky tilt of his head.
You blushed furiously, waving your hands in protest. “It’s not like that!”
Soap’s grin widened as Ghost let out a low chuckle. “Aye, Doc. Whatever you say.”
Meanwhile, König stood in the dimly lit expanse of one of his warehouses, the sharp tang of metal and oil lingering in the air. His broad shoulders were tense, his posture rigid as he turned to the scene behind him. Vega and Roze hovered over their latest victim—a poor drug shipper whose trembling form bore the tattooed mark of the 141 on his neck.
The man's muffled gasps and splashes filled the room as Vega pressed his head underwater, his grip merciless, while Roze crouched beside them, her dark eyes glinting with cruel amusement. She glanced over her shoulder at König, an arched brow accompanying her mocking tone.
“So~ what did she say?” Roze asked, her voice dripping with feigned curiosity as she twirled a blade in her hand, its edge catching the faint light.
König’s gaze flickered to the struggling man for a moment, then back to Roze, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, almost detached.
“She said yes,” he murmured, the weight of the words carrying an edge that made even Vega glance up from her task.
Roze grinned, sharp and predatory. “Look at you, big guy. Dinner at the Diamond Petals, huh? Gonna make it all romantic?”
König’s towering frame shifted slightly as he took a step closer, his boots heavy against the concrete floor. “Focus,” he said, his voice cold enough to make the room feel even icier. “The questions are not for me.”
Roze’s smirk faltered, and she shrugged, motioning to Vega, who yanked the man’s head back above water with a violent jerk. The shivering victim gasped for air, coughing and sputtering, as König loomed over him, his massive shadow swallowing the man whole.
“Now,” König said softly, his tone deceptively calm but carrying an undercurrent of menace. “Let’s try this again. Who sent you?”
After promising Soap and Ghost that you’d text them after your “date,” you closed up your clinic and waved them goodbye. Their knowing smirks lingered in your mind, but you brushed them off, focusing instead on the evening ahead.
Standing outside in the cool night air, you waited patiently, smoothing down your outfit one more time to make sure everything was perfect.
Moments later, a sleek, black BMW with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. Your breath caught when König stepped out. Even with his mask on, you could tell he had gone out of his way to prepare for this. His broad frame was wrapped in a perfectly tailored black button-up shirt and slacks, the subtle sheen of his polished shoes catching the light.
The faint scent of musk and cedar drifted toward you, the unmistakable aroma of freshly applied cologne mingling with the lingering freshness of a recent shower. You couldn’t help but notice the effort he had put in—it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.
You instinctively sniffed yourself, worried for a fleeting moment about how you smelled. A wave of relief washed over you when you realized you didn’t smell unpleasant—your perfume still lingered, light and floral.
“Guten Abend,” König greeted, his voice deep and soft as he extended a hand toward you. “You look… breathtaking.”
Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you smiled shyly, taking his hand. “Thank you. You look great too.”
He held your hand for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles before he released it and gestured toward the car. “Shall we?”
You nodded, letting him open the car door for you. As you slid into the plush leather seat, your nerves began to settle, replaced by a growing excitement. Whatever tonight had in store, it was already starting to feel like something special.
As the car cruised smoothly toward the eastern side of the city, you stole a glance at König. His focus was trained on the road ahead, his large hands gripping the steering wheel with a surprising gentleness. The soft hum of the car’s engine filled the silence between you, and you found yourself nervously fiddling with the ends of your sleeves, wracking your brain for something—anything—to say.
Your gaze drifted out the window in quiet defeat, watching as the snow fell in lazy flakes, blanketing the streets in a serene glow.
Little did you know, König was locked in a similar mental battle. Small talk had never been his strength. Socializing, in general, was a struggle, a deep-seated insecurity born from years of bullying and isolation. Even now, he could still hear the mocking laughter of his classmates, and feel the sting of their taunts. The only reason he’d entered the mafia world was because a mobster had seen him, bloodied but unyielding, defending himself against a particularly cruel bully.
König let out a heavy sigh, the sound breaking the quiet tension in the car and catching your attention.
“Sorry, Liebling,” he muttered, his voice low and tinged with self-consciousness. “I am not... how do you say? Good at starting conversations. Sorry.”
His admission was so earnest, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten. You smiled softly, shaking your head.
“Don’t be,” you said, your voice kind. “I’m not that great at it either.”
You hesitated for a moment, then, desperate to keep the conversation going, asked, “What about your wound? Is it healed?”
Your cheeks flushed as soon as the words left your mouth, and you inwardly cringed. Of all things to ask…
König’s head tilted slightly toward you, and even with the mask, you could tell he was surprised—and perhaps a little touched—by your concern.
“It’s much better now,” he said, his tone warming. “Thanks to you.”
You glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile beneath the fabric of his mask. His hand briefly left the steering wheel to tap lightly at his side. “Your stitches—they hold perfectly. You are... very skilled.”
His compliment made your blush deepen, and you ducked your head to hide your smile. “I just did what anyone would do.”
“No,” he replied firmly, his voice softening again. “Not anyone. You cared.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, and the comfortable silence between you both felt surprisingly warm. You realized something else now—König had called you Liebling instead of his usual Hase. You couldn’t help but wonder about the change, and the question bubbled up before you could stop it.
“König,” you asked, your curiosity piqued, “What does Hase mean? And... why do you call me that?”
The sudden question seemed to catch König off guard. His face, though still obscured by the mask, darkened in a deep flush. He cleared his throat, a nervous, almost sheepish sound, before turning his attention back to the road as he guided the car into the parking lot of a luxury store.
You watched him closely, waiting for him to speak, the soft hum of the engine accompanying the brief pause.
After a moment, he exhaled, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as he parked the car. He took a slow breath, as if preparing himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was more measured, quieter than usual.
“It means... rabbit or hare,” he replied, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I called you that because... when we first met, your doctor’s coat made you look like a white rabbit in winter.”
The words were simple, but the warmth in his tone made your heart flutter. You blinked, surprised, but then a small smile tugged at your lips. The idea of him thinking of you that way—fragile, maybe, but also somehow strong—was endearing.
You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your cheeks warming from his unexpected but sweet reasoning. “A white rabbit, huh? That’s... oddly fitting, I think.”
König shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a faint hint of embarrassment in his posture, but there was something soft in his eyes as he glanced over at you. "I think you were my... safe place. Like how a rabbit would always hide in the snow."
His words settled in the car with a quiet, tender weight that was almost too much to process. You didn’t quite know what to say in response, but the gesture—his quiet affection—spoke volumes.
You couldn’t help but rest your head on König’s arm, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “I’m grateful you see me that way,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his presence. Then, with a playful smile, you added, “If I can say something... you remind me of a bear. You make me feel so safe, and yet, you’re so strong, but gentle too.”
König’s breath caught at your words, and a soft chuckle escaped him, a deep rumble that made your heart flutter. He gently tightened his arm around you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A bear, huh?” he said, his voice warm and almost teasing. “I can live with that. As long as I’m your bear.”
You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection, and smiled. The warmth between you felt unspoken, but it lingered in the air, like a silent promise. As the two of you shared a quiet moment, you stepped out of the car, his hand brushing against yours. Together, you walked towards the entrance of the store, the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet almost drowned out by the beating of your heart.
You entered the store, the soft chime of the door marking your arrival. At first, the clerks seemed uninterested in you, going about their tasks as if you were just another customer. But when they noticed König holding your hand, their demeanor shifted instantly. Their attention focused on you, and suddenly, they began pulling out the most elegant, expensive dresses, each more beautiful than the last. Yet, despite their efforts, nothing felt quite right. You sighed, feeling a little discouraged.
"Why don’t you look around while I talk to the clerk?" König suggested, noticing the frustration in your expression. You nodded, giving him a small smile, and wandered off, leaving him to converse with the store manager.
As you walked through the store, you couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness. Nothing seemed to catch your eye. But then, in the corner of your vision, something shimmered—something that made your heart skip a beat. A black silk off-shoulder gown with a striking collar. The material looked luxurious, the color deep and alluring, and you felt drawn to it immediately.
Without thinking, you walked straight toward it, your fingers grazing the fabric.
A store clerk, noticing your interest, approached with a polite smile. "Would you like to try it on, Miss?"
"Yes, please," you replied, your voice filled with excitement and a touch of hope. You couldn’t wait to see how it would look on you.
When you slipped into the gown, it fit you like a glove. The silk hugged your curves in all the right places, the off-shoulder design showcasing your collarbones beautifully. You turned to face the mirror, admiring the way the gown shimmered under the lights. To complete the look, you added red heels, their bold color a perfect contrast to the black silk, and slipped on a pair of pearl earrings and a matching necklace that the clerk suggested.
As you turned to take in your reflection, you caught a glimpse of König in the mirror. His eyes were locked on you, a look of awe on his face. He stood there, frozen for a moment, his usual confident demeanor replaced with something softer. The intensity in his gaze made your heart race as you smiled shyly at him.
“You look... breathtaking, Hase,” König murmured, his voice low and full of admiration. His words seemed to hang in the air between you, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared, leaving only the two of you.
You blushed, clasping your hands together. “Thank you, König. I think I’ll take it, but I can’t really let you pay for this. It’s… 2,500! Not to mention everything else–”
“It is a gift for saving my life, Meine Liebe,” König said softly, taking your hand and kissing it gently. His lips lingered for a moment before he pulled back to look at you, his eyes filled with sincerity.
You looked slightly puzzled. “But the dinner—”
“It was a way for me to try to confess my feelings. I’ve fallen in love with you, Meine Liebe. So now, I will properly say it. Will you go out with me, Hase?”
The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you froze in shock. Your heart raced as the realization sank in. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, your mind spinning. He had fallen for you? The man you had admired from a distance, the one who had quietly made an impact on your life—he felt the same way?
You couldn’t help but smile, your voice soft but steady. “Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips, but it was everything. It was the answer you both had been waiting for.
König’s face broke into a smile, his eyes shining with warmth and affection. He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. The world around you faded once again, and for the first time, you truly felt like you belonged with someone.
The car ride was quiet, the gentle hum of the engine filling the space as König drove you to your apartment. The soft glow of the streetlights passed by, casting fleeting shadows through the window. Neither of you spoke much, but there was a calm, unspoken understanding between you—comfort in each other's presence.
When the car finally came to a stop in front of your apartment building, König turned off the engine and met your gaze. The silence stretched for a moment, but there was no awkwardness, only a sense of warmth and connection.
"You sure you're okay?" König asked softly, his voice carrying that familiar concern.
You nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Thank you for everything tonight. It was... perfect."
His eyes softened as he gave you a small smile. "I’m glad you think so."
You opened the door and stepped out, pausing as you turned back to face him. “König?”
“Yes–”
Before he could say anything else, you leaned in quickly, pressing a gentle kiss on top of his mask. The contact was brief, but the warmth of it lingered between you, and you felt your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.
"Goodnight, König," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.
"Goodnight, Liebling," he replied, his voice filled with something tender, as his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. He smiled softly, his expression almost unreadable, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.
As you watched him drive away, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. Tonight had felt like something out of a dream, and as you walked toward the entrance of your building, your thoughts swirled with everything that had happened. You were already looking forward to whatever came next.
Back in the car, König blushed deeply, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He fumbled for his phone and quickly dialed Horangi, his voice nervous.
“Horangi... you won’t believe it... She kissed me...” König muttered, his words coming out in a rush.
Horangi's voice crackled on the other end, a knowing smirk evident in his tone. “Oh, really now? What did I tell you?”
König groaned, his face flushing even deeper. "Shut up... it was... it was on my mask, but still! She kissed me!"
The sound of Horangi laughing loudly was unmistakable, filling the quiet car. “Man, you’re blushing like crazy. Just wait till the others hear about this!”
König sighed, feeling embarrassed but also a little giddy, as his mind replayed the moment over and over.
Extra
Horangi hung up the phone with an amused look, his eyes scanning the group of mobsters who had been eagerly watching him. The tension in the room was palpable as they waited for his verdict. They had been betting on how König’s confession would go—whether it would scare the girl away, make things awkward, or perhaps be the perfect moment for romance.
Horangi glanced around at the eager faces, then with a dramatic pause, he delivered the news.
“She kissed him.”
The room erupted into chaos. Hutch and Roze both slammed their hands on the table, raging over their bet that it would make things awkward. “I knew it! I knew it was going to be awkward!” Roze grumbled, throwing his hands up in frustration.
Verge groaned from his corner, cursing under his breath. “Dammit! I bet it would scare her off. How did I get that so wrong?”
The only one who remained calm amidst the chaos was Oni, who was lounging comfortably on the couch, casually counting his winnings. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he observed the mayhem unfolding around him. He was the only one who had placed his bet on the doc not being scared away—and as the others argued, Oni leaned back, savoring his victory.
“Easy money,” he muttered to himself, not bothering to glance up at the group.
(A/N) I'm back! I think! Sorry for the month-long absence. A lot happened, but I think I'm back in the groove. This one is a bit on the shorter side, but I still hope you like it!!
Pairing: single dad! Mafia! Simon x baker! Reader
Warning: kissies, fluff, Simon is fucking smitten, a lot of money spending, little spice
Synopsis: Based on this post by @lunamoonbby
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
Once you had picked up Millie and Johnny, Simon drove everyone home. In the car, children’s music was blasting, Millie, Johnny, and you loudly singing along, while Simon just smiled, his hand placed on your thigh. When you arrived back in the garage, Millie was tired from all the shenanigans in the car and Johnny had to carry her upstairs.
“Let her nap for a bit, but not too long,” Simon mumbled quietly, authority but also adoration filled his voice.
Johnny nodded and sent you a grin before he walked off with Millie in his arms. Immediately, Simon’s arms found their way around your waist, pulling you against him.
“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he growled, his eyes still fixed on the retreating back of his employee.
You chuckled, leaning into him, with a grin on your face.
“I think that’s exactly why he does it.”
Simon grumbled something under his breath before he placed a light kiss against your temple and led you to the elevator. Johnny and Millie were already upstairs, so you had the elevator to yourself. While you were lifted to the penthouse, you quietly hummed along to the elevator music, a soft smile on your lips as you just enjoyed being with Simon. He was your savior through and through and you had never felt safer or more comfortable.
Too soon, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. The two of you walked into the apartment, and without realizing it, you let Simon lead you to his office. Once in the room, he closed the door behind you and pulled you to the couch against the opposing wall, making sure you were sitting on his lap. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, worry filling you as you raked your nails through his hair.
“Everything okay?”
He nodded, his eyes closed and a smile on his lips.
“Yeah, just tired.”
You hummed, moving your right hand to cradle his cheek, softly stroking the skin.
“We can skip dinner tonight. Gordon will understand and the dress won’t go to waste.”
“Dresses,” he corrected without opening his eyes.
You frowned, confusion filling you.
“Dress. Singular.”
“Nope. Dresses. Plural,” he purred, mischief evident in his voice.
Your left hand found the other side of his face as you turned it to look at you. He opened his eyes, a smirk on his lips as he took in your frown
“Simon…what did you do?”
The smirk turned into a grin as he checked his watch.
“They should be done by now. Let me show you,” he said, excitement vibrating in his voice.
As if you weighed nothing, he picked you up and carried you out of the room, ignoring you as you wrapped your arms around his neck in a panic. With quick strides, he walked through his apartment and climbed the stairs until he reached his bedroom. There, he finally sat you back down onto your feet, before he walked to a pair of doors you hadn’t noticed before.
“Promise me not to freak out.”
You shook your head, making him chuckle. Knowing he wouldn’t get that promise out of you, he just simply opened the doors and revealed a gigantic walk-in closet, Princess Diaries 2 style. Part of it was taken up by dark suits and some leisure clothing, clearly belonging to Simon, but everything else was filled with clothes way too colorful for the man in front of you. Jeans, shirts, hoodies, blouses, cardigans, skirts, dresses, shoes, accessories. As you walked in, it felt as if you had been transported into a luxury store. Mannequins were wearing the dress that Simon bought you today, as well as all the other dresses he had picked out for you. You found shoes in all different colors and styles, from sneakers to platform high-heels.
“How…?”
Simon chuckled, following behind you, his arms around your waist and chest against your back.
“Don’t worry about it. But…I hope you like the clothes. Picked most of them myself, and had a stylist get the rest.”
You spun around in his arms, your face contorted into a mix between a frown and a grin.
“When did you have time for that?”
You watched as his cheeks suddenly turned a light pink, and for some reason, he avoided looking you in the eyes.
“I may have started after I met you for the first time?”
Now you were definitely grinning, enjoying the bashful side of Simon.
“You mean when you didn’t even really know me?”
Simon groaned and tried to step back, but your arms around his waist stopped him.
“You’re really gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
You chuckled and nodded, still grinning up at the blushing man in front of you. Another groan left his lips before he took a deep breath and turned his face to look at you.
“From the moment I saw you, I knew you were going to be mine. The way you interacted with Millie, the way you smiled at me, and dammit the way your cupcakes tasted. All of that had me fall in love with you instantly. The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew I wanted you. And I always get what I want.”
You hummed, trying to play down the joy and love that confession had you feeling. But in reality, you knew that your cheeks were the color of strawberries and your heart was beating like crazy while your lips were stretched wide with the grin you were wearing.
“So…you love me?”
Simon chuckled, matching your grin.
“Like crazy,” he growled, his voice deep and rough.
He quickly bent down and captured your lips in a searing kiss. Your arms wrapped tightly around Simon's neck as you melted against him. His lips moved against yours with a passion that left you breathless, his strong hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.
When you finally broke apart for air, Simon rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting slightly. His blue eyes gazed into yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
"I love you too, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible but full of emotion. A smile spread across his face, lighting up his features in a way that made him look years younger.
He placed a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose before pulling back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips. "Now, as much as I'd love to continue this, we should probably start getting ready for dinner. We wouldn't want to keep Gordon waiting, would we?"
A frown settled on your face, worry filling you again. “Are you sure? We don’t have to go,” the worry that filled you slipped into your voice, making Simon smile.
“I’m fine, don’t worry, okay?” You nodded, not convinced, but for now, you’d let him be. Reluctantly, you stepped out of his embrace before glancing up at him. "But maybe we can continue this... later?" you suggested with a coy smile.
Simon's eyes darkened with desire as he nodded. "Oh, definitely. Count on it, love."
Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!
